The swindlers announced that the outfit was ready. They held up their arms as though carrying something precious and dressed the emperor with great ceremony, fastening invisible buttons and adjusting invisible collars. The emperor turned this way and that in front of the mirror.

"How does it fit, Your Majesty?" asked the swindlers.

"Perfectly!" said the emperor, posing and preening before his reflection — seeing only his own underwear but determined not to admit it. "The fit is superb. The fabric is weightless. It feels as if I am wearing nothing at all!"

"That is the sign of truly fine cloth!" the swindlers assured him, struggling to keep straight faces.

A grand procession was arranged through the city streets so that all the citizens could admire the emperor's extraordinary new outfit. The emperor marched at the front, holding his head high, while servants walked behind him, pretending to carry the train of a robe that did not exist.

The streets were packed. Thousands of people lined the route, craning their necks to see the famous magical clothes. And what did they see? They saw their emperor walking through the streets in his underwear.

But nobody said a word. The magic of the swindlers' lie held firm — not because of any actual magic, but because of something far more powerful: the fear of being thought stupid. Every person in the crowd was thinking the same thing, but each believed they were the only one who could not see the clothes.

"What a magnificent outfit!" they shouted, desperate to prove their intelligence.

"The colours are so vivid!"

"The train is so elegant!"

Then a small child, standing at the front of the crowd with his father, looked at the emperor and said in a loud, clear voice:

"But he hasn't got anything on!"

The father tried to hush the child, but it was too late. The words rippled through the crowd like a stone dropped in still water. People began to whisper. Then murmur. Then speak openly.

"The child is right! He hasn't got anything on!"

The whisper became a roar. The entire crowd was shouting it now, laughing and pointing. The emperor felt a cold chill run down his bare spine. He knew they were right. He had known all along.

But what could he do? He was the emperor. The procession had to continue. So he lifted his chin even higher, straightened his shoulders, and marched on — more dignified than ever, but considerably less dressed.

The swindlers, meanwhile, had already left the city with their bags full of gold and silk thread, laughing all the way to the border.