Stories I would like to have written, #1

‘The Emperor’s New Clothes’ by Hans Christian Andersen

You may not have read ‘The Emperor’s New Clothes’, but you will likely be familiar with its key elements: the emperor who believes he is wearing the robes made of the finest materials, so fine it cannot be seen by the stupid, and the ministers unable or unwilling to contradict him, the cheering crowds swept up in collective delusion, and the child who punctures it–“But he has nothing on at all!”

How many have thought of this child as they contradicted the crowd or countered prevailing opinion? How often has it been referenced by politicians, journalists, commentators, critics in the almost two centuries since its publication. An unalloyed, A-grade satire, all the more versatile for its sweet style and simplicity. It has become a by-word for the denunciation of vanity, pomposity, pretension. It has entered our folk memory.

There are few greater achievements for an author. Yet Hans Christian Andersen accomplished it more than once. His ‘The Ugly Duckling’ has come to represent the epitome of the pain and confusion of misunderstood identity in childhood, the essence of the misfit coming-of-age narrative.

It’s an adaptation!

But here’s the thing, and this may come as a surprise to you as much as it did to me, Hans Christian Andersen was not the author. ‘The Emperor’s New Clothes’ is an adaptation, perhaps the definitive adaptation, of a tale that originated in the Middle East and arrived in Europe, via Spain, as ‘The Invisible Cloth’, attributed to Infante Don Juan Manuel (1335).

The Two Swindlers

Reading these versions alongside each other draws your attention to a forgotten aspect of the story, forgotten by me, at least. The mechanism by which the two swindlers ensnare their victims. It is not vanity, not the promise of the finest materials, but a play on insecurities concerning reputation and status. The swindlers claim an implausible power for the cloth they propose to weave. In the Spanish version, the cloth will be invisible to those who are not of legitimate birth; in Hans Christian Andersen’s, it will be invisible if you are unfit for your office or unforgivably stupid.

Thus the ministers and the emperor himself are caught in an exquisite trap: no one dare admit the evidence of their own eyes for fear of losing their position. In scenes reminiscent of political satires like ‘The Thick of It’ or ‘Veep’ the swindlers invite the administration to participate in a kind of theatrical production which culminates in the pantomime of the emperor’s parade, with head of state appearing nude (or in underwear) in public, and page boys pretending to carry the train of a garment which does not exist. Delightful.

The reaction of the people is more depressing, and also less plausible. Rumours of the cloth’s revelatory powers spread through the assembled crowd and no one dare admit the truth about the emperor for fear of being considered stupid or illegitimate or unfit. (I confess for a long time I misremembered this episode and substituted a fear of authoritarian reprisals as the motive for their compliance.)

Much is made of the innocence of the child whose simple declaration transforms the attitude of the crowd. It is certainly an aspect that appeals to the child reader/listener of Andersen’s tale. It expresses a fantasy of influence of adults. The child is believed. It also rings true, a child would call it as they see it. But the earlier medieval version gives this role to a social outcast, “a negro”, who approaches the king directly to advise him of his error. He gets beaten for his pains, but the public illusion is shattered.

You can find Andersen’s version presented very nicely here:

Surlalunefairytales: The Emperor’s New Clothes

and previous versions are available here:

https://www.pitt.edu/~dash/type1620.html