The Juniper Tree and Other Tales

by The Brothers Grimm

“What?” said his wife. “I’m king, and you’re my husband, so why don’t you go off at once? This minute! If he can make kings, he can make emperors. I want to be emperor, I must be emperor, so off you go!”

  The fisherman had to do as she said, but as he walked away he felt afraid, and he thought as he went along: This isn’t right, and it can’t turn out well. Wanting to be emperor is too outrageous, and the flounder will be getting tired of these wishes.

  By now he had reached the shore. The sea was black and thick, and beginning to foam up from the depths below, with bubbles rising, and such a whirlwind passed over the waves that they turned and swirled, and terror seized upon the man. So there he stood, and he said:

  “Mannie, mannie, timpty tee,

  Flounder swimming in the sea,

  My wife Mistress Ilsebill

  Wants a wish against my will.”

  “What does she want this time?” asked the flounder.

  “Oh, flounder,” said the fisherman, “my wife wants to be emperor.”

  “Go home,” said the flounder. “She’s emperor already.”

  So the man went home, and when he arrived the whole palace was made of polished marble, with alabaster statues and gold ornaments. Soldiers were marching up and down outside the entrance, blowing trumpets and beating drums. Inside, barons and counts and dukes were scurrying around as if they were mere servants, and they opened doors made of pure gold for him. When he went through the doors, he saw his wife sitting on a throne a good two miles high, made of a single piece of gold. She was wearing a great golden crown three ells high, holding her sceptre in one hand and the imperial orb in the other, and on both sides of her stood her gentlemen in waiting in two rows, each taller than the last, from the smallest dwarf to the biggest giant two miles tall. And many princes and dukes stood before her. So the fisherman went in, and he said, “Well, wife, are you emperor?”

  “Yes,” said she, “I’m emperor.”

  So he stood there looking her up and down, and after he had been looking at her like that for a while he said, “Well, I suppose that now you’re emperor you are happy.”

  “Husband,” she said, “what are you standing about for? Yes, so I’m emperor, and I want to be pope as well, so off you go to the flounder!”

  “Oh, wife,” said the fisherman, “what more can you wish for? You can’t be pope, there’s only one pope in all Christendom—the flounder can’t make you pope.”

  “Husband,” said his wife. “I want to be pope, so off you go! I must be pope this very day!”

  “No, wife,” said the fisherman. “I don’t want to ask him such a thing. This will come to no good end. It’s asking too much, when the flounder can’t make you pope.”

  “Don’t talk nonsense, husband,” said his wife. “If he can make emperors, he can make popes, so off you go at once. I am emperor and you’re my husband—now then, are you going to go and do as I say?”

  The fisherman felt terribly afraid, but off he went. He was queasy, he was shaking and trembling, and his knees were knocking. A great wind blew over the countryside, clouds were racing over the sky, and it was as dark as if evening were coming on. Leaves blew off the trees, and there were great waves in the sea, roaring as if the water were boiling. They broke on the shore, and in the distance the fisherman saw ships firing emergency signals as they rocked and danced on the waves. There was still a tiny patch of blue sky, right in the middle, but at the rim it was red as if a terrible storm were rising. The he went down to the shore, stood there in fear and trembling, and said:

  “Mannie, mannie, timpty tee,

  Flounder swimming in the sea,

  My wife Mistress Ilsebill

  Wants a wish against my will.”

  “What is it now?” asked the flounder.

  “Oh,” said the fisherman, “she wants to be pope.”

  “Off you go home,” said the flounder. “She’s pope already.”

  So he went home, and when he got there he saw a huge church surrounded by palaces. The place was crowded, with a great throng of people, and inside it was all lit by thousands upon thousands of lights, and his wife was dressed in cloth of gold, sitting on an even taller throne with three great golden crowns on her head, many great churchmen stood around her, and on both sides of her were two rows of candles, the largest as tall and thick as a tower, the smallest no bigger than a rushlight. And all the kings and emperors in the world were on their knees before her, kissing the toe of her slipper.

  “Well, wife,” said the fisherman, looking his fill at her, “so now you’re pope?”

  “Yes,” said she, “now I’m pope.”

  He went closer, still looking at her, and he felt as if he were looking into the bright sun. When he had gazed at her like that for some time, he said, “Oh, wife, you must be very happy to be pope!” But she sat there rigid as a tree, never moving or stirring. Then the fisherman said, “Wife, be content to be pope! There’s nothing greater for you to be now.”

  “I’m not so sure,” said his wife. With that they both went to bed, but she wasn’t happy, and couldn’t sleep for greedy longings, thinking all the time what she might yet become.

  The fisherman slept well and deeply, for he had had to run about a great deal that day. But his wife couldn’t sleep, she tossed and turned in bed all night, always thinking what she could become, and yet there was nothing higher left for her. At last the sun was about to rise, and when she saw the red light of dawn she sat upright in bed and stared out of the window at it. And when she saw the sun rising, she thought: I know, couldn’t I make the sun and the moon rise as well? “Husband,” she said, digging the fisherman in the ribs with her elbow, “wake up and go to see the flounder. I want to be like the Lord God Almighty!”

  Her husband was still drowsy, but he had such a shock that he fell out of bed. He thought he couldn’t have heard her properly, so he rubbed his eyes and said, “Wife, what did you say?”

  “Husband,” she said, “if I can’t make the sun and the moon rise, I just can’t bear it. I won’t have another peaceful hour if I can’t command them to rise myself.” And she looked at him very angrily, so that a shudder ran down his spine. “Of you go this very minute! I want to be like the Lord God Almighty!”

  “Oh, wife,” cried her husband, falling on his knees before her, “the flounder can’t do that. He can make emperors and popes—I beg you, think what you’re doing, stay pope!”

  She was so angry that her hair flew wildly around her head, and she screamed, “I can’t bear it! And I won’t bear it any longer, so off you go at once!”

  So he pulled on his trousers and ran like a man possessed.

  But outside a storm was breaking with such a roar that he could hardly keep on his feet. Houses and trees were blown down, the mountains trembled, great rocks rolled into the sea, and the sky was pitch black, with thunder and lightning. The waves of the sea were black and as tall as church towers and high hills, and they were all crowned with white foam. Then, although he couldn’t hear his own words, the fisherman cried:

  “Mannie, mannie, timpty tee,

  Flounder swimming in the sea,

  My wife Mistress Ilsebill

  Wants a wish against my will.”

  “So now what does she want?” asked the flounder.

  “Oh,” said the fisherman, “she wants to be like the Lord God Almighty.”

  “Go home,” said the flounder. “She’s back in the old pisspot.”

  And that’s where they are living to this day.

  ASHYPATTLE

  ASHYPATTLE

  THERE WAS ONCE a rich man whose wife fell ill, and when she felt that Death was near, she called her only daughter to her bedside, and said, “Dear child, be good and devout, and then the Lord God will always be with you, and I will look down on you from heaven and wish you well.” After that she closed her eyes and died. The girl went out to weep at her mother’s grave every day, and she was good and devout. When winter came, the grave was covered with
a white blanket of snow, and when the sun had melted the snow again in spring, the man married again.

  His new wife brought two daughters of her own with her. They were beautiful, with fair complexions, but they had unkind, black hearts. That was the beginning of a bad time for their stepsister. “Is that silly goose to sit with us in the parlour?” they said. “If she wants to eat she must earn her bread, so out with her to where a kitchen maid belongs!” They took away her pretty clothes, made her wear an old grey smock and gave her wooden clogs. “Look at the proud princess now, in all her finery!” they cried, laughing, and they led her off to the kitchen.

  Now she had to work hard from morning to night, getting up before sunrise, fetching water, lighting the fires, cooking and washing clothes. Even worse, her stepsisters did all they could think of to make her life a misery, mocking her, tipping peas and lentils into the ashes on the hearth, and making her sit there and pick them out again. In the evening, when she had worked until she was weary, she had no bed, but had to lie down in the ashes, and because that made her look dusty and dirty all the time, they called her Ashypattle.

  One day her father rode off to go to the fair, and he asked the two stepsisters what they would like him to bring them back.

  “Fine dresses,” said the first sister. “Pearls and jewels,” said the second.

  “And what about you, Ashypattle?” he asked. “What would you like?”

  “Dear Father, break off the first green shoot that brushes against your hat on the way home, and bring me that,” she said.

  So he bought fine dresses, pearls and jewels for the two stepsisters, and on the way home, as he was riding past some green bushes, he brushed past a hazel shoot that knocked his hat off. Then he broke the shoot off and took it with him. When he came home, he gave the stepsisters what they had wished for, and then he gave Ashypattle the hazel shoot. Ashypattle thanked him, went to her mother’s grave, and planted the shoot there, and she wept so hard that her tears fell on the green shoot and watered it. So it grew until it was a fine tree. Ashypattle went down to the grave to water it three times a day, and every time she was there a little white bird settled on the tree, and if she wished for something the little bird would throw down what she had wished for.

  It so happened that the King was holding a great festival which was to last for three days, and all the beautiful young girls of the country were invited, so that his son could choose one as his bride. When the two stepsisters heard that they were invited, they were very happy. They called for Ashypattle and said, “Comb our hair, clean our shoes, fasten our buckles, for we’re going to the wedding party at the King’s castle.”

  Ashypattle did as they told her, but she shed tears, because she would have liked to go to the party and dance as well, and she asked her stepmother to let her go with her sisters.

  “Nonsense, Ashypattle,” said her stepmother. “You want to go to the wedding party all over dust and dirt, do you? You have no dress or shoes, but still you want to dance?” But as the girl kept asking, her stepmother finally said, “There, I’ve tipped a dish of lentils into the ashes. If you can pick the lentils out again within two hours, you can go with your sisters.”

  The girl went out of the back door into the garden, and called, “All you tame pigeons, all the turtle doves I see, all you birds of the air, come and help me. The lentils are for the pot, the ashes on the hearth are not.”

  Then two white pigeons flew in at the kitchen window, and after them came the turtle doves, until at last all the birds of the air flew in and settled on the ashes. The pigeons bent their little heads and went peck, peck, peck, peck, and the other birds began as well, peck, peck, peck, peck, and they picked all the lentils out of the ashes and put them back in the dish. Before an hour was up they had finished, and they all flew out again. Then the girl took the dish of lentils to her stepmother. She was very happy, because now she thought that she could go to the wedding party.

  Her stepmother, however, said, “Oh no, Ashypattle, you have no fine dress, and you can’t dance. People would only laugh at you.” And when the girl burst into tears, she said, “Very well, if you can pick two dishes of lentils out of the ashes for me within an hour, you can go with your sisters.” She’ll never be able to do that, she thought. But when she had tipped two dishes of lentils into the ashes, the girl went out of the back door into the garden and called, “All you tame pigeons, all the turtle doves I see, all you birds of the air, come and help me. The lentils here are for the pot, the ashes on the hearth are not.”

  Then two white pigeons flew in at the kitchen window, and after them came the turtle doves, until at last all the birds of the air flew in and settled on the ashes. The pigeons bent their little heads and went peck, peck, peck, peck, and the other birds began as well, peck, peck, peck, peck, and they picked all the lentils out of the ashes and put them back in the two dishes. And before half an hour was up they had finished, and they all flew out again. Then the girl took the dishes of lentils to her stepmother. She was very happy, because now she thought that she could go to the wedding party. However, her stepmother said, “None of this does you any good. You can’t go too because you have no fine dress, and you can’t dance. We’d be ashamed of you.” And so saying, she turned her back on the girl and hurried away with her two proud daughters.

  When there was no one else left at home, Ashypattle went down to her mother’s grave under the hazel tree and called:

  “Little tree, shake—shake, little tree.

  Throw gold and silver down upon me.”

  Then the bird in the tree threw down a golden and silver dress, and dancing shoes embroidered with silk and silver. She quickly put on the dress, and went to the wedding party. Her stepsisters and stepmother didn’t recognize her, and thought that the newcomer who looked so beautiful in her golden dress must be the daughter of some foreign king. They never thought of Ashypattle at all, or if they did, they imagined that she was sitting in the dirt at home, picking lentils out of the ashes. The King’s son came towards her, took her by the hand, and they danced together. After that he would dance with no one else, but kept holding her hand, and if anyone else came to ask her to dance, he said, “She is my dancing partner.”

  Ashypattle danced until evening, and then she said she was going home. “I’ll go with you and escort you,” said the King’s son. But she ran away from him and jumped into the dovecote. The King’s son waited until her father happened to come by, and told him that the unknown girl was in the dovecote. The old man wondered: could she be Ashypattle? He asked them to bring him an axe and a hatchet, so that he could chop the dovecote in two, but when he had done that there was no one inside it. And when they all arrived home, there was Ashypattle lying in her dirty clothes in the ashes, with a dim oil lamp burning on the mantelpiece over the hearth, because she had jumped quickly down from the dovecote again, and then she ran back to the little hazel tree, took off her beautiful clothes and laid them down on the grave for the bird to carry them away again. Then she went back to the kitchen and sat down among the ashes in her grey smock.

  Next day, when the festivities began once more, and Ashypattle’s father, stepmother and stepsisters had left the house, Ashypattle went back to the hazel tree and said:

  “Little tree, shake—shake, little tree.

  Throw gold and silver down upon me.”

  Then the bird threw down an even more magnificent dress than on the first day. And when she appeared at the wedding party in that dress, everyone marvelled at her beauty. As for the King’s son, he had been waiting for her to arrive, and he immediately took her hand and danced only with her, saying, whenever anyone else asked her to dance, “She is my dancing partner.” When evening came, she said she was leaving, and the King’s son followed, because he wanted to see where she went, but she ran away from him into the garden behind her father’s house. There was a fine tall tree in the garden, laden with the most delicious pears. She climbed the tree as nimbly as a squirrel and hid
in the branches, and the King’s son didn’t know where she had gone. But he waited until her father came into the garden, and then he told him. “The strange girl got away from me again, and I think she is up in that pear tree.” Her father wondered again: Could that be Ashypattle? He had an axe brought, and chopped down the tree, but there was no one in the branches, and when he and his wife and her two daughters went into the kitchen, there lay Ashypattle among the ashes as usual, for she had jumped down from the tree on the other side, brought the beautiful clothes back to the bird in the hazel tree and put on her grey smock.

  On the third day, when her father and stepmother and the two sisters had left, Ashypattle went back to her mother’s grave and said to the little tree:

  “Little tree, shake—shake, little tree.

  Throw gold and silver down upon me.”

  This time the bird threw down a gleaming dress more beautiful than either of the others, and the slippers that went with it were golden. When she went to the wedding party in that dress, all present admired her so much that they were lost for words. The King’s son danced with no one but her, and when other men asked her to dance he told them, “She is my dancing partner.”

  When it was evening Ashypattle was going to leave, and although the King’s son wanted to go with her she ran away from him so fast that he couldn’t follow. But he had thought of a trick, and had had the flight of steps outside the castle covered with pitch. So when she ran down the steps, the girl’s left slipper stuck fast and was left behind. The King’s son picked it up, and it was small and delicate and all golden.

  Next day he went to Ashypattle’s father, and said to him, “The girl whose foot fits into this golden shoe shall be my wife, and no other.” The two sisters were delighted, because they had beautiful feet. The elder took the shoe into her bedroom to try it on, and her mother went with her. But she couldn’t squeeze her big toe in, and as the shoe was too small for her, her mother gave her a knife and said, “Cut off your toe. When you’re queen you won’t have to go anywhere on foot.” So the girl cut off her toe, crammed her foot into the shoe, bit back the pain and went out to the King’s son. Then he lifted her up on his horse, saying that she should be his bride, and rode away with her.