Many years ago, there was an Emperor, who was so excessively fond of new clothes, that he spent all his money in dress. He did not trouble himself in the least about his soldiers; nor did he care to go either to the theater or the chase, except for the opportunities then afforded him for displaying his new clothes. He had a different suit for each hour of the day; and as of any other king or emperor, one is accustomed to say, "he is sitting in council," it was always said of him, "The Emperor is sitting in his wardrobe."

Time passed merrily in the large town which was his capital; strangers arrived every day at the court. One day, two rogues, calling themselves weavers, made their appearance. They gave out that they knew how to weave stuffs of the most beautiful colors and elaborate patterns, the clothes manufactured from which should have the wonderful property of remaining invisible to everyone who was unfit for the office he held, or who was extraordinarily simple in character.

"These must, indeed, be splendid clothes!" thought the Emperor. "Had I such a suit, I might at once find out what men in my realms are unfit for their office, and also be able to distinguish the wise from the foolish! This stuff must be woven for me immediately." And he caused large sums of money to be given to both the weavers in order that they might begin their work directly.

So the two pretended weavers set up two looms, and affected to work very busily, though in reality they did nothing at all. They asked for the most delicate silk and the purest gold thread; put both into their own knapsacks; and then continued their pretended work at the empty looms until late at night.

"I should like to know how the weavers are getting on with my cloth," said the Emperor to himself, after some little time had elapsed; he was, however, rather embarrassed, when he remembered that a simpleton, or one unfit for his office, would be unable to see the manufacture. To be sure, he thought he had nothing to risk in his own person; but yet, he would prefer sending somebody else, to bring him intelligence about the weavers, and their work, before he troubled himself in the affair. All the people throughout the city had heard of the wonderful property the cloth was to possess; and all were anxious to learn how wise, or how ignorant, their neighbors might prove to be.

 "I will send my faithful old minister to the weavers," said the Emperor at last, after some deliberation, "he will be best able to see how the cloth looks; for he is a man of sense, and no one can be more suitable for his office than be is."

So the faithful old minister went into the hall, where the knaves were working with all their might, at their empty looms. "What can be the meaning of this?" thought the old man, opening his eyes very wide. "I cannot discover the least bit of thread on the looms." However, he did not express his thoughts aloud.

The impostors requested him very courteously to be so good as to come nearer their looms; and then asked him whether the design pleased him, and whether the colors were not very beautiful; at the same time pointing to the empty frames. The poor old minister looked and looked, he could not discover anything on the looms, for a very good reason, viz: there was nothing there. "What!" thought he again. "Is it possible that I am a simpleton? I have never thought so myself; and no one must know it now if I am so. Can it be, that I am unfit for my office? No, that must not be said either. I will never confess that I could not see the stuff."

"Well, Sir Minister!" said one of the knaves, still pretending to work. "You do not say whether the stuff pleases you."

"Oh, it is excellent!" replied the old minister, looking at the loom through his spectacles. "This pattern, and the colors, yes, I will tell the Emperor without delay, how very beautiful I think them."

"We shall be much obliged to you," said the impostors, and then they named the different colors and described the pattern of the pretended stuff. The old minister listened attentively to their words, in order that he might repeat them to the Emperor; and then the knaves asked for more silk and gold, saying that it was necessary to complete what they had begun. However, they put all that was given them into their knapsacks; and continued to work with as much apparent diligence as before at their empty looms.

The Emperor now sent another officer of his court to see how the men were getting on, and to ascertain whether the cloth would soon be ready. It was just the same with this gentleman as with the minister; he surveyed the looms on all sides, but could see nothing at all but the empty frames.

"Does not the stuff appear as beautiful to you, as it did to my lord the minister?" asked the impostors of the Emperor's second ambassador; at the same time making the same gestures as before, and talking of the design and colors which were not there.

"I certainly am not stupid!" thought the messenger. "It must be, that I am not fit for my good, profitable office! That is very odd; however, no one shall know anything about it." And accordingly he praised the stuff he could not see, and declared that he was delighted with both colors and patterns. "Indeed, please your Imperial Majesty," said he to his sovereign when he returned, "the cloth which the weavers are preparing is extraordinarily magnificent."

The whole city was talking of the splendid cloth which the Emperor had ordered to be woven at his own expense.

And now the Emperor himself wished to see the costly manufacture, while it was still in the loom. Accompanied by a select number of officers of the court, among whom were the two honest men who had already admired the cloth, he went to the crafty impostors, who, as soon as they were aware of the Emperor's approach, went on working more diligently than ever; although they still did not pass a single thread through the looms.

"Is not the work absolutely magnificent?" said the two officers of the crown, already mentioned. "If your Majesty will only be pleased to look at it! What a splendid design! What glorious colors!" and at the same time they pointed to the empty frames; for they imagined that everyone else could see this exquisite piece of workmanship.

"How is this?" said the Emperor to himself. "I can see nothing! This is indeed a terrible affair! Am I a simpleton, or am I unfit to be an Emperor? That would be the worst thing that could happen--Oh! The cloth is charming," said he, aloud. "It has my complete approbation." And he smiled most graciously, and looked closely at the empty looms; for on no account would he say that he could not see what two of the officers of his court had praised so much. All his retinue now strained their eyes, hoping to discover something on the looms, but they could see no more than the others; nevertheless, they all exclaimed, "Oh, how beautiful!" and advised his majesty to have some new clothes made from this splendid material, for the approaching procession. "Magnificent! Charming! Excellent!" resounded on all sides; and everyone was uncommonly gay. The Emperor shared in the general satisfaction; and presented the impostors with the riband of an order of knighthood, to be worn in their button-holes, and the title of "Gentlemen Weavers."

The rogues sat up the whole of the night before the day on which the procession was to take place, and had sixteen lights burning, so that everyone might see how anxious they were to finish the Emperor's new suit. They pretended to roll the cloth off the looms; cut the air with their scissors; and sewed with needles without any thread in them. "See!" cried they, at last. "The Emperor's new clothes are ready!"

And now the Emperor, with all the grandees of his court, came to the weavers; and the rogues raised their arms, as if in the act of holding something up, saying, "Here are your Majesty's trousers! Here is the scarf! Here is the mantle! The whole suit is as light as a cobweb; one might fancy one has nothing at all on, when dressed in it; that, however, is the great virtue of this delicate cloth."

"Yes indeed!" said all the courtiers, although not one of them could see anything of this exquisite manufacture.

"If your Imperial Majesty will be graciously pleased to take off your clothes, we will fit on the new suit, in front of the looking glass."

The Emperor was accordingly undressed, and the rogues pretended to array him in his new suit; the Emperor turning round, from side to side, before the looking glass.

"How splendid his Majesty looks in his new clothes, and how well they fit!" everyone cried out. "What a design! What colors! These are indeed royal robes!"

"The canopy which is to be borne over your Majesty, in the procession, is waiting," announced the chief master of the ceremonies.

"I am quite ready," answered the Emperor. "Do my new clothes fit well?" asked he, turning himself round again before the looking glass, in order that he might appear to be examining his handsome suit.

The lords of the bedchamber, who were to carry his Majesty's train felt about on the ground, as if they were lifting up the ends of the mantle; and pretended to be carrying something; for they would by no means betray anything like simplicity, or unfitness for their office.

So now the Emperor walked under his high canopy in the midst of the procession, through the streets of his capital; and all the people standing by, and those at the windows, cried out, "Oh! How beautiful are our Emperor's new clothes! What a magnificent train there is to the mantle; and how gracefully the scarf hangs!" in short, no one would allow that he could not see these much-admired clothes; because, in doing so, he would have declared himself either a simpleton or unfit for his office. Certainly, none of the Emperor's various suits, had ever made so great an impression, as these invisible ones.

"But the Emperor has nothing at all on!" said a little child.

"Listen to the voice of innocence!" exclaimed his father; and what the child had said was whispered from one to another.

"But he has nothing at all on!" at last cried out all the people. The Emperor was vexed, for he knew that the people were right; but he thought the procession must go on now! And the lords of the bedchamber took greater pains than ever, to appear holding up a train, although, in reality, there was no train to hold.

It was autumn again. Sucking in the warm morning breeze, Mary smiled as she stretched her arms wide, as though embracing the beauty of nature. Jumping up and down in glee, she swirled around in the garden, with her long silky jet-black hair dancing behind her. By anyone’s standards, she was beautiful. Her cherry lips often gave way to smiles and laughter and her eyes a beautiful shade of blue.

She let the wind sting her cheeks as she ran around the garden, shrieking in joy, when she skidded on the fallen leaves only to find herself resting on the strong grasp of a hand. Opening her eyes, her heart momentarily stopped beating as she came face to face with a freckled-faced man. He grinned, revealing a row of yellowish teeth, and then opened his mouth, sending out a weave of nasty stench which smelled like a thousand rotten apples. Mary widened her eyes in horror, shocking the man as he lost grip of her and she fell on the floor.

Moaning miserably, she got up slowly from her supine position and grunted, flinging expletives at the bewildered man. But he only looked down without a word. “Are you mute! Can’t you even say sorry!” Mary cried out in frustration and stomped off. The man sighed and shook his head, picking up his broom to continue sweeping the fallen leaves.

The next day, Mary sat under a tree in the same garden, burying her face in her hands, sobbing uncontrollably. Suddenly, she felt her nose twitch as an unbearable stench gushed into her nostrils and she looked up, only to see a white handkerchief.

“You again” she folded her arms, obviously annoyed. The man lifted his right hand to the side of his forehead, an indication that he was sorry. He then pointed to the handkerchief, motioning her to wipe her tears. “A-Are you really… mute?” Mary stammered, afraid to know the answer. Instead, the man smiled, and distorted his face using his hands so he looked hilariously frightful. Mary laughed, and he whipped out a piece of paper from his back pocket and started scribbling. Like this, a few hours passed.

“If only my boyfriend was as understanding as you, John…” She mused sadly and continued, “But it doesn’t matter anymore.” And they sat in silence in the middle of the garden where brown leaves scattered, and where a beautiful friendship was already blossoming.

Day after day, Mary would look for John in the garden, where he would be sweeping the leaves. They enjoyed each other’s company immensely, even if it meant communicating through scraps of paper. Many a time, Mary did the talking and John, the listening, always ready with a handkerchief to chase away her sorrows. Whenever Mary was feeling down, John would bring her to the fields in the outskirts of the city where sunflowers bloomed its prettiest and hatred never existed. He would urge her to tell her unhappiness to a tree and then carve a tiny happy face at that portion of the trunk. Months soon passed, and this humble tree was soon filled with many happy faces. This was their paradise.

Unfortunately, their love was soon put to the test. It was past midnight. Mary was returning home from work and had taken the short cut through a deserted alley when two big burly men appeared before her. They had similar nasty stench drifting out of their mouths and snorted furiously like demented bulls.

“Leave John alone! He’s better off without women! He belongs with us to the underworld!” One of them boomed. Mary, frightened, shrieked and closed her eyes, muttering a short prayer as she anticipated her life to end at this juncture. Seconds passed, and she gingerly opened her eyes, to see an outline of a familiar figure wrestling with the two burly men. John was punched and kicked about like a rag doll. Blood trickling from his nose and forehead, he was sprawled on the ground, defenseless. “That’s what you get for betraying us,” they smirked in satisfaction and swaggered away.

“John!” Mary cried out, lifting him up and hugging him tightly. Examining his face carefully, she realised that like those burly men, he was filthy and smelly, but unlike them, he had the kindest and most beautiful eyes ever. She had come to love this man for who he was. It was a love that needed no words. Garnering the last ounce of strength in him, he took out the white handkerchief he always carried and held it out to her. She received the handkerchief with trembling hands. Inhaling sharply, she let Niagara Falls come.

“Promise me you’ll never leave me no matter what happens” She whispered. With quivering hands, he took out a scrap of paper and pen. “I’ll always be with you” He assured her. “I swear”. Smiling, she held out her last finger in which he hooked against his and they hugged.

Although belonging to different worlds, one a law graduate from Harvard and the other from the underworld, they never mentioned about their difference in status. Instead, their love only grew stronger after that fateful incident.

One day, Mary was on her way to the garden when a gush of fluid was flung at her face. Instantly, she felt a burning sensation in her eyes and the flash of light was soaked up by the spreading dark patches before her eyes. Her ear splitting screaming reverberated to John’s ears as he sallied forward towards the sound, only to see Mary already unconscious on the ground, and he knew it was the work of the two burly men.

Mary was rushed to the hospital forthwith but it was too late. She was to lose her sight. Her family was devastated and wailed in pain and anguish. Guilt-ridden to have caused misfortune to befall Mary and her family, John made up his mind. He knew what he had to do.

Packing the essentials, he decided to leave and quitted his job as a sweeper in the garden. Looking at the blissful pictures of Mary and himself, he sighed and threw them away.

“Mary! Can you see me?” Aunts jostled towards the weary girl and waved before her. The image she saw was a blur and she felt groggy. However, it was a great blessing that Mary had regained her sight. Looking into the mirror, she was startled to find that her eyes looked somewhat different. They were the same shade of blue, but now they exuberated great warmth and compassion.

Unfortunately, Mary soon realized that John had left her and was devastated. She bawled her heart out and pinned for him day and night. Thinking back on the promise he made to her, she hated him all the more.

One day, she decided to visit their place of paradise to relieve their happy days together. She walked to the tree where she used to pour out her unhappiness and leaned close to the trunk and touched its rough surface filled with happy faces. She wept uncontrollably as she ran her fingers down the trunk. Unexpectedly, she saw the words ‘I’ll be with you’ engraved on the foot of the tree trunk. Glimmers of hope began to light the darkness as she looked earnestly around, but what she saw left her dumbfounded.

On the bench sat a man with a pair of sunglasses and a walking stick. Under the scorching sun, he was sweating profusely and fished out a white handkerchief from his back pocket to wipe the perspiration. Coincidentally, a photo fell out from the pocket as well. With manifold feelings, Mary picked up the photo and looked at herself in the picture and was shocked. The man groped his back pocket for the photo and became flustered when it was no longer there. Slowly, Mary walked over and placed the photo in the man’s hands. It was only then that she tasted the warm salty wetness of her own tears and realized how hard she was crying.

The man bowed in gratitude and flashed his yellowish teeth which glistened in the morning sun.

“I’ll always be with you… “

Looking at the man who loved her so deeply, she smiled. Touching her eyes which were once his, tears streaked down her cheeks. His eyes brimming with her tears.

An old man and his dog were walking along a country road, enjoying the scenery, when it suddenly occurred to the man that he had died. He remembered dying, and realized, too, that the dog had been dead for many years. He wondered where the road would lead them, and continued onward.

After a while, they came to a high, white stone wall along one side of the road. It looked like fine marble. At the top of a long hill, it was broken by a tall, white arch that gleamed in the sunlight. When he was standing before it, he saw a magnificent gate in the arch that looked like mother of pearl, and the street that led to the gate looked like pure gold. He was pleased that he had finally arrived at heaven, and the man and his dog walked toward the gate. As he got closer, he saw someone sitting at a beautifully carved desk off to one side.

When he was close enough, he called out, "Excuse me, but is this heaven?" 

"Yes, it is, sir," the man answered.

"Wow! Would you happen to have some water?" the man asked.

"Of course, sir. Come right in, and I'll have some ice water brought right up." The gatekeeper gestured to his rear, and the huge gate began to open.

"I assume my friend can come in..." the man said, gesturing toward his dog.

But the reply was, "I'm sorry, sir, but we don't accept pets."

The man thought about it, then thanked the gatekeeper, turned back toward the road, and continued in the direction he had been going. After another long walk, he reached the top of another long hill, and he came to a dirt road which led through a farm gate. There was no fence, and it looked as if the gate had never been closed, as grass had grown up around it. As he approached the gate, he saw a man just inside, sitting in the shade of a tree in a rickety old chair, reading a book. "Excuse me!" he called to the reader. "Do you have any water?"

"Yeah, sure, there's a pump over there," the man said, pointing to a place that couldn't be seen from outside the gate. "Come on in and make yourself at home."

"How about my friend here?" the traveler gestured to the dog.

"He's welcome too, and there's a bowl by the pump," he said. They walked through the gate and, sure enough, there was an old-fashioned hand pump with a dipper hanging on it and a bowl next to it on the ground. The man filled the bowl for his dog, and then took a long drink himself.

When both were satisfied, he and the dog walked back toward the man, who was sitting under the tree waiting for them, and asked, "What do you call this place?" the traveler asked.

"This is heaven," was the answer.

"Well, that's confusing," the traveler said. "It certainly doesn't look like heaven, and there's another man down the road who said that place was heaven."

"Oh, you mean the place with the gold street and pearly gates?

"Yes, it was beautiful."

"Nope. That's hell."

"Doesn't it offend you for them to use the name of heaven like that?"

"No. I can see how you might think so, but it actually saves us a lot of time. They screen out the people who are willing to leave their best friends behind."