Array The Brothers Grimm - Fairy Tales from the Brothers Grimm - A New English Version

When he got to the shore the water was dark grey, and waves were heaving themselves up from the depths with a horrible smell.

The fisherman said:

‘Well?’ said the flounder.

‘I’m sorry, but she wants to be king.’

‘Go home. She’s king already.’

So back he went. When he arrived at the palace it had become twice as large as before, and a tall tower stood over the entrance with a scarlet flag flying from the top. Sentries stood guarding the doors, and when the fisherman cautiously walked up to it they saluted him with such a crash of rifles he nearly jumped out of his shoes. Drummers beat their drums and trumpeters blew a fanfare and the great doors flew open.

He tiptoed inside and found that everything had been gilded, and was twice as big as before. Every cushion was covered in crimson velvet with gold embroidery. Golden tassels hung on everything that had a handle, every wall was hung with gold-framed portraits of the fisherman and his wife dressed as Roman emperors or kings and queens or gods and goddesses, and all the clocks chimed in welcome as he passed. Then a huge pair of doors flew open, and there was the whole court waiting to receive him.

A major-domo bellowed: ‘His Majesty the Fisherman!’

He went in, and hundreds of lords and ladies bowed low, and parted to let him walk up to the throne. And sitting on the throne, there was his wife wearing a robe of silk all covered in pearls and sapphires and emeralds. She had a golden crown on her head, and she was holding a sceptre made of gold and studded with rubies each at least the size of the fisherman’s big toe. On either side of the throne stood a line of ladies-in-waiting, each one a head shorter than the next, who all curtseyed as he approached.

‘Well, wife,’ said the fisherman, ‘are you king now?’

‘Yes, I’m king now,’ she said.

‘I’m glad to hear it,’ he said. ‘That’s very nice. Now we don‘t have to do any more wishing.’

‘H’mm,’ she said, tapping her fingers on the arm of the throne. ‘I’m not sure about that. I’ve been king so long I’m getting bored. Go back to the flounder and tell him that I want to be emperor.’

‘Oh, wife, think about it,’ said the fisherman. ‘He can’t make you emperor. There’s already an emperor, and there can only be one at a time.’

‘Don’t you dare speak to me like that! I’m the king, don’t you forget! You do as you’re told and go and talk to that flounder. If he can make me king, he can make me emperor. It’s all the same to him. Go on, go!’

So off he went, but he was very uneasy. This isn’t going to end well, he thought; the flounder will get fed up with all this wishing.

When he arrived at the seashore the water was black and dense and boiling up from the depths. A strong wind whipped the waves into foam. The fishermen stood there and said:

‘Well, tell me,’ said the flounder.

‘She wants to be emperor.’

‘Go home. She’s already emperor.’

So he went home again, and this time he found that the palace was even higher than before, with turrets at every corner, a row of cannons in front of it, and an entire regiment of soldiers marching up and down in scarlet uniforms. As soon as they saw him they stood to attention and saluted, and the cannons fired a volley that made his ears ache. The gate flew open and in he went, to discover that the entire inside of the building had been gilded, and that alabaster statues of himself and his wife in heroic postures stood along the walls. Everywhere he went, dukes or princes hastened to hold open the doors and bow low. In the throne room he found his wife sitting on a throne made of one piece of solid gold two miles high, and he could only see her because she was wearing a crown that was three yards high and two yards across. That was solid gold as well, set with carbuncles and emeralds. In one hand she held a sceptre and in the other, the imperial orb. Two rows of soldiers formed her personal guard, each one smaller than the next, ranging from giants as tall as the throne to little men no bigger than my finger, and all bristling with weapons. Princes, dukes, counts and earls and barons all waited in attendance.

The fishermen went to the foot of the throne and called up:

‘Wife, are you emperor now?’

‘What does it look like?’

‘Very impressive. I expect you’ll stop wishing at last.’

‘That’s you all over. Poverty of aspiration. This isn’t good enough, let me tell you.’

‘Oh, wife, not again!’

‘Go back to the flounder. Tell him I want to be pope.’

‘But you can’t be pope! There’s only one pope in the whole of Christendom!’

‘I’m the emperor,’ she shrieked, ‘and I’m telling you: go back to the flounder and order him to make me pope.’

‘No, no, that’s too much. Come on. I can’t do that.’

‘Nonsense! I order you to go to the flounder! Now go!’

The fisherman was frightened now. He felt sick, and his knees were trembling, and the wind was blowing wildly and tearing leaves from the trees. Darkness was falling. When he got to the shore, the waves were roaring and crashing on to the rocks with explosions like cannon fire. Out at sea he could see ships firing distress rockets as they tossed and weltered in the waves. There was one little bit of blue left in the sky, but it was surrounded by blood-red clouds and flashes of lightning.

In despair the fisherman cried:

‘Well, what does she want?’

‘She wants to be pope.’

‘Go home. She’s pope already.’

When he got home he found an immense church where the castle used to be. It was surrounded by palaces of every size and shape, but the church spire was higher than any of them. A vast crowd of people surged around trying to get in through the doors, but the crowd inside was even thicker, so the fisherman had to push and shove and struggle to get through. The church was illuminated by thousands and thousands of candles, and in every niche stood a box where a priest was busy hearing confessions. In the very centre was a vast golden throne, on which sat his wife, with three crowns on her head, one on top of another, and scarlet slippers on her feet. A row of bishops waited in line to crawl along the floor and kiss her right slipper, and an equally long line of abbots waited to crawl along and kiss the left. On her right hand she had a ring as big as a cockerel, and on her left a ring as big as a goose, and a long line of cardinals waited to kiss the right ring and a long line of archbishops to kiss the left.

The fisherman called up: ‘Wife, are you pope now?’

‘What does it look like?’

‘I’ve never seen a pope. I don’t know. Are you happy at last?’

She sat completely still and said nothing. All the kisses being showered on her hands and feet sounded like a lot of sparrows pecking at the dirt. The fisherman thought she hadn’t heard him, so he shouted up again: ‘Wife, are you happy yet?’

‘I don’t know. I’m not sure. I’ll have to think about it.’

They both went to bed, and the fisherman slept well, because he’d had a busy day. But his wife tossed and turned all night. She couldn’t decide if she was satisfied or not, and she couldn’t think what else to be after pope, so she had a poor night of it.