Fairy Tales from the Brothers Grimm: A New English Version (11 page)

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.

Finally the sun rose, and when she saw the light she sat up in bed at once.

‘I’ve got it!’ she said. ‘Husband, wake up. Come on! Wake up!’

She dug him in the ribs till he groaned and opened his eyes.

‘What is it? What do you want?’

‘Go back to the flounder at once. I want to be God!’

That made him sit up. ‘What?’

‘I want to be God. I want to cause the sun and the moon to rise. I can’t bear it when I see them rising and I haven’t had anything to do with it. But if I were God, I could make it all happen. I could make them go backwards if I wanted. So go and tell the flounder I want to be God.’

He rubbed his eyes and looked at her, but she looked so crazy that he was scared, and got out of bed quickly.

‘Now!’ she screamed. ‘Go!’

‘Oh, please, wife,’ begged the poor man, falling to his knees, ‘think again, my love, think again. The flounder made you emperor and he made you pope, but he can’t make you God. That’s really impossible.’

She flew out of bed and hit him, her hair sticking out wildly from her head, her eyes rolling. She tore off her nightdress and screamed and stamped, shouting, ‘I can’t bear it to wait so long! You’re driving me insane! Go and do as I tell you right now!’

The fisherman tugged on his trousers, hopping out of the bedroom, and ran to the seashore. There was such a storm raging that he could hardly stand up against it. Rain lashed his face, trees were being torn up from the ground, houses were tumbled in every direction as great boulders came flying through the air, torn off the cliffs. The thunder crashed and the lightning flared, and the waves on the sea were as high as churches and castles and mountains, with sheets of foam flying from their crests.

‘Flounder, flounder, in the sea,

Listen up and come to me.

My wife, the modest Ilsebill,

Has sent me here to do her will.’

‘What does she want?’

‘Well, you see, she wants to be God.’

‘Go home. She’s back in the pisspot.’

And so she was, and there they are to this day.

***

Tale type:
ATU 555, ‘The Fisherman and His Wife’

Source:
a story written by Philipp Otto Runge

Similar stories:
Alexander Afanasyev: ‘The Goldfish’ (
Russian Fairy Tales
); Italo Calvino: ‘The Dragon with Seven Heads’ (
Italian Folktales
); Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm: ‘The Golden Children’ (
Children’s and Household Tales
)

A popular and widespread tale. The Calvino story, ‘The Dragon with Seven Heads’, shows how a very different story can be unfolded from a very similar beginning.

This version is full of energy and inventive detail. Like
‘The Juniper Tree’
, it comes from the pen of the Romantic painter Philipp Otto Runge (1777–1810), and was written in Plattdeutsch, or Low German, the dialect of his native Pomerania:

Dar wöör maal eens en Fischer un syne Fru, de waanden tosamen in’n Pißputt, dicht an der See . . .

It came to the Grimms with the help of Clemens Brentano and Achim von Arnim, writers who shared their growing interest in folk tales. On the evidence of these two stories, Runge was at least as gifted with the pen as with the brush. The climax builds with brilliant speed and effect, the gathering storm functioning as a celestial comment on the wife’s growing obsession.

Most translators have rendered
Pißputt
as ‘pigsty’ or some other such term. I couldn’t find anything better than ‘pisspot’.

TWELVE

THE BRAVE LITTLE TAILOR

One sunny morning a little tailor was sitting cross-legged on his table, as usual, next to the window on the top floor overlooking the street. He was in high spirits, sewing away with all his might, when along the street came an old woman selling jam.

‘Fine jam for sale! Buy my sweet jam!’

The little tailor liked the sound of that, so he called down: ‘Bring it up here, love! Let’s have a look!’

The old woman lugged her basket all the way up three flights of stairs. When she got there the tailor made her unpack every single jar, and examined each one closely, weighing it in his hand, holding it up to the light, sniffing the jam, and so forth. Finally he said, ‘This looks like a good ’un, this jar of strawberry. Weigh me out three ounces of that, my good woman, and if it comes to a quarter of a pound, so much the better.’

‘Don’t you want the whole pot?’

‘Good Lord, no. I can only afford a small amount.’

She weighed it out, grumbling, and went her way.

‘Well, God bless this jam, and may it give health and strength to all who eat it!’ said the tailor, and fetched a loaf of bread and a knife. He cut himself a hearty slice and spread it with jam.

‘That’ll taste good,’ he said, ‘but I’ll finish this jacket before I tuck in.’

He sprang on to the table again and took up the needle, sewing faster and faster. Meanwhile the sweet scent of the jam rose in the air, and floated round the room, and drifted out of the window. A squadron of flies who had been feasting on the corpse of a dog in the street outside caught the scent, and rose at once and flew up to look for it. They came in through the window and settled on the bread.

‘Hey! Who invited you?’ said the little tailor, and flapped his hand to drive them away. But they didn’t understand a word, and besides they were already busy with the jam, and they took no notice.

Finally the tailor lost his temper. ‘All right, you’ve asked for it now!’ he said, and he snatched up a piece of cloth and set about them furiously. When he drew breath and stood back, there were no fewer than seven of them lying dead with their legs in the air.

‘Well, what a hero I am!’ he said. ‘I’d better let the town know about this right away.’

He seized his scissors and quickly cut out a sash of crimson silk, and sewed on it in big letters of gold: ‘
SEVEN WITH ONE BLOW
!’

He put it on and looked in the mirror.

‘The town?’ he thought. ‘The whole world must know about this!’

And his heart skipped for joy like a lamb’s tail wagging. Before he set off to show the world, he looked around for something to take with him, but he could find only a bowl of cream cheese. He scooped that up and put it in his pocket, and ran downstairs and off through the streets. Outside the town gate he found a bird caught in a bush, and he put that in his pocket too. Then off he marched to see the world.

He was light and agile, so he didn’t tire easily. He followed the road all the way to the top of a mountain, and there he found a giant sitting on a rock taking his ease and admiring the view.

The little tailor marched up to him and said, ‘Good morning, friend! Are you out to see the world? That’s what I’m up to. How about joining forces and going along together?’

The giant looked at the little fellow with deep scorn. ‘You, you pipsqueak! You, you runt! Join forces with an insect like you?’

‘Oh, is that what you think?’ said the tailor, and unbuttoned his coat to show his sash. ‘This’ll show you the kind of man I am.’

The giant carefully spelt it out letter by letter: ‘
SEVEN WITH ONE BLOW
!’ And then his eyes opened wide.

‘Respect!’ he said. But he felt he still ought to test this fellow, so he went on: ‘You may have killed seven men with one blow, but that’s no great feat, if they were all little mice like you. Let’s see how strong you are. Can you do this?’

And he picked up a stone and squeezed it until his hand was trembling and his face was bright red and the veins were standing out on his head. He squeezed the stone so hard that he even managed to squeeze a few drops of water out of it.

‘Let’s see you do that, if you have the strength!’ he said.

‘Is that all?’ said the little tailor. ‘Nothing to it. Watch this.’

And he took the cream cheese out of his pocket and squeezed that. Of course the cheese was full of whey, and it was soon dripping down all over the tailor’s hand and on to the ground.

‘That was better than your effort,’ he said.

The giant scratched his head. ‘Well,’ he said. ‘Umm. All right then. Try this.’

He picked up another stone and threw it as high as he could. The stone went so high that it almost disappeared.

‘Not bad,’ said the little tailor, ‘but look, here it comes down again. I can do better than that.’

He took the bird out of his pocket and threw it up into the air, and as soon as the bird felt its freedom, it flew upwards and vanished.

‘When I throw something into the air, it never comes down,’ he said. ‘What d’you think of that, my extra-large friend?’

‘Umm,’ said the giant. ‘Well, you can squeeze and you can throw. But here comes the real test: let’s see what you can carry.’

He led the little tailor to the edge of the forest, where a great oak tree had just been cut down.

‘Help me carry this,’ the giant said.

‘With pleasure. You take the trunk and I’ll carry the leaves and the twigs, which are heavier anyway, as everyone knows.’

The giant bent down and held his breath and then hoisted the trunk on to his shoulder. Seeing that the giant couldn’t look behind, the little tailor jumped up and sat himself comfortably among the leaves, whistling ‘Three Tailors Bold Rode Out One Day’, while the giant staggered along the path carrying the whole weight of the tree on his shoulder.

The giant couldn’t go very far, because it was a huge tree, and pretty soon he came to a stop.

‘Hey, listen! I can’t go any further,’ he called out, and the tailor jumped down quickly before he could turn round, and took hold of a bunch of leaves and twigs with both arms, as if he’d just been carrying them.

‘A big fellow like you,’ he said, ‘and you can’t even manage half a tree? Dear oh dear, you need some exercise.’

They walked on a little way until they came to a cherry tree. The giant took hold of the topmost branches and pulled them down low, showing the tailor the ripest fruit.

‘Just hold on to this for a moment while I take a stone out of my shoe,’ he said, and the tailor took hold of the branch. When the giant let go, the branch shot back up, and the tailor, not being heavy enough to hold it down, was whisked up into the air.

But he was agile, and he was lucky enough to fall on a grassy bank where he could tumble down without hurting himself. He even managed to turn a neat somersault and end up on his feet.

‘Not strong enough to hold it down!’ said the giant. ‘Ha!’

‘Not at all,’ said the tailor. ‘A man who’s killed seven with one blow can hold any number of trees down. The fact is that those hunters over there were about to shoot into the thicket, and I thought I’d better get out of the way. I bet you can’t jump as high as I did. Have a try, go on.’

The giant took a run-up and tried, but he had a lot of weight to get off the ground, and he crashed into the top of the cherry tree and ended up tangled in the branches. So the little tailor won that contest too.

‘Well,’ said the giant, when he had clambered down to the ground again, ‘if you think you’re such a hero, come and spend the night in our cave. I live with a couple of other giants, and we’re not easily impressed, I can tell you.’

The tailor agreed with pleasure, and they set off for the cave. It was dark when they got there, and the two other giants were sitting next to a blazing fire. Each of them had a whole roast sheep in his hands, and was gnawing at it vigorously, with horrible grinding sucking noises.

The little tailor looked around. ‘It’s a lot bigger than my workshop,’ he said. ‘Where am I going to sleep?’

His giant showed him a gigantic bed. The tailor climbed up and lay down, but he couldn’t get comfortable, so while the giants were mumbling together by the fire he climbed down and tucked himself up in a corner of the cave.

At midnight the first giant, thinking that the little tailor was asleep, took a massive club and with one blow smashed the bed in half.

‘That’ll squash that grasshopper,’ he thought.

Early next morning the giants woke up and lumbered off into the woods. They’d completely forgotten about the little tailor. But he’d woken up bright and cheerful, and he came skipping after them, whistling and singing, and when they saw him they were struck with terror.

‘He’s alive!’

‘Help!’

‘Run for your life!’

And off they ran.

‘Well, so much for giants,’ said the tailor to himself. ‘Let’s go and look for another adventure.’

Following his nose, he wandered here and there for several days, until he came to a splendid palace. Flags were flying, soldiers were changing guard, and the tailor sat down on a grassy bank to admire it all. Feeling sleepy, he lay down and closed his eyes, and in a moment he was fast asleep.

While he slept, several passers-by caught sight of his crimson sash with the gold letters saying: ‘
SEVEN WITH ONE BLOW
!’ And they started talking:

‘He must be a great hero!’

‘But what’s he doing here?’

‘This is a time of peace, after all.’

‘I’m sure he’s a duke or something. Look at the nobility in his face.’

‘No, I reckon he’s a man of the people, but he’s certainly seen combat. You can see his proud military bearing, even in his sleep.’

‘
Seven with one blow
– imagine!’

‘We’d better tell the king.’

‘That’s a good idea. Let’s go right away!’

A group of them immediately sought an audience with the king, who listened with close attention. If the worst should happen and war were to break out, they said, at all costs they should try and obtain the services of this hero.

‘You’re absolutely right,’ said the king, and called for the chief of the defence staff. ‘Go and wait till that gentleman wakes up,’ the king told him, ‘and offer him the post of field marshal. We can’t afford to let any other kingdom get his services.’

The chief of the defence staff went and waited by the little tailor until he woke up.

‘His majesty would like to offer you the post of field marshal,’ he said, ‘with immediate command over the whole army.’

‘That’s exactly why I’m here!’ said the little tailor. ‘I’m ready and willing to enter the service of the king, and all my valour is at his disposal.’

A guard of honour was formed, and the little tailor was received with great ceremonial, and given his own apartment in the palace. He was also allowed to design his own uniform.

However, the soldiers he was going to command were very doubtful about the whole thing.

‘Suppose he takes a dislike to us?’

‘Or suppose he gives us commands we don’t like, and we try and argue with him?’

‘Yes! He can kill seven of us with one blow. We’re just ordinary soldiers. We can’t fight against someone like that.’

They talked about it in the barracks, and sent a delegation to the king.

‘Your majesty, we ask to be released from your service! We can’t stand up to a man who can kill seven of us with one blow. He’s a weapon of mass destruction!’

‘Let me think about it,’ said the king.

He was dismayed by the situation. To lose all his faithful soldiers just because of one man! But if he tried to get rid of the little tailor, who knew what would happen? The tailor might kill him and all the army, and then set himself up on the throne.

He thought long and hard about it, and finally had an idea. He sent for the little tailor and said: ‘Field marshal, I have a task that only you can perform. A great hero like you won’t refuse, I’m sure. In one of my forests there’s a pair of giants who are running riot through all the countryside, robbing, murdering, plundering, burning houses, and I don’t know what else. No one dares go near them for fear of their life. Now if you can get rid of these giants, I’ll give you my daughter in marriage, and half the kingdom besides for a dowry. And you can have a hundred horsemen to back you up.’

‘That’s the sort of offer I’ve been waiting for,’ thought the little tailor. ‘Your majesty, I accept the task with pleasure!’ he said. ‘I know how to deal with giants. But I don’t need the horsemen. Anyone who has killed seven with one blow doesn’t need to be afraid of two.’

So he set off, and he let the hundred horsemen come too, just for the sake of display. When they came to the edge of the forest, he said to them, ‘You wait here. I’ll deal with the giants, and when it’s safe to come in, I’ll call you.’

The little tailor marched boldly into the forest, looking this way and that. He soon found the giants. They were both asleep under an oak tree, snoring so hard that they blew the branches up and down. The tailor didn’t waste a moment. He filled his pockets with stones, climbed the tree and clambered out on to a branch till he was directly above the giants.

Then he dropped one stone after another on to the chest of one of the sleepers. The giant didn’t feel anything at first, but at last he woke up and clouted his companion.

‘What d’you think you’re doing, throwing stones at me?’

‘I’m not throwing stones!’ said the other giant. ‘You’re dreaming.’

They fell asleep again, and the tailor started throwing stones at the second giant, who woke up and thumped the first one.

‘Oy! Stop doing that!’

‘I’m not doing anything! What are you talking about?’

They grumbled a bit, but they were tired after all their plundering and pillaging, and they soon fell asleep again. So the little tailor chose his largest stone, and took careful aim, and hit the first giant right on the nose.

He woke with a roar. ‘That’s too much!’ he shouted. ‘I’m not putting up with this a moment longer!’

And he shoved the other giant so hard against the tree that it shook. The little tailor clung on tight so as not to fall off, and then he watched as the two giants set about each other in earnest. They thumped and bashed and kicked and walloped, and finally they were so angry that they both pulled up trees and hit each other with them so hard that they both fell dead at the same moment.