When the inspector calls, the chief weapon of fundamentalist fishermen–particularly those with long white beards–is Genesis 1:26-28:

These and similar verses may be taken as restricting imperial intervention to commercial fishery, but Caesar does not lack in determination.

The first English reference to royal fishery rights (albeit written in French) of which I am aware is in Britton (more early legal texts here), dated in 1865 by Francis Morgan Nichols to 1291-2, in the reign of Edward I, and possibly written under the influence of Alfonso el Sabio of Castile and Leon:

Thus the king lays claim to treasure trove, wrecks, whales and sturgeon; of God, however, no word. That’s why it’s fascinating to note the paradox of a curse, God’s fish, arising as euphemism for God’s Flesh, without God actually at the time having had a fish of his own. This rank injustice becomes the more unpalatable when we consider Tristam Shandy, in which, following a massacre of prescriptive grammarians, it is suggested that

While Laurence Sterne seems to be suggesting that only kings could swear using expressions like God’s fish–odds-fish is the commonest variant–, as we already know, poor old God didn’t even have a fish. Into this pond I would like to introduce the only royal, fishy curses on record from around Sterne’s time. Charles II emits all three; unfortunately he is much too early and the sources are much too late to be of any value, but do note that in none does the king introduce the name of the deity:

1. There is a tale, probably apocryphal, told of that notoriously merry monarch Charles II. There was a dinner to commemorate the foundation of the Royal Society. At the end of the evening, ‘with the peculiar gravity of countenance which he usually wore on such occasions,” he put a challenge to the Fellows. ‘Suppose two pails of water were fixed in two different scales that were equally poised, and which weighted equally alike, and that two live bream, or small fish, were put into either of these pails.’ he wanted to know the reason why that pail, with such additions should not weigh more than the other pail which stood against it. Many suggested possible explanations, and argued for their own suggestions with more or less vigour. But at last one who perhaps remembered that the motto of that great society is ‘Nullium in verba’ (Take no man’s word for it!) denied the assumption: “It would weigh more.” The King was delighted: ‘Odds fish, brother, you are in the right.’ (Isaac D’Israeli, The Quarrels of Authors (London, 1814))
2. A report of the condemned malefactors [ie victims of Judge Jeffries] being once made to him, one mobleman [sic; =furniture man?] interceded for one, another for another, until they were all pardoned excepting one. The King, looking round upon the council, asked of them if nobody would speak in behalf of this man? They all keeping silence, his majesty said, ‘”Cod’s fish, My lords! this is some poor devil who has, I suppose, neither money nor friends: come, I’ll be his friend myself!”‘ by which they were all saved. And it turned out afterwards, to his majesty’s great consolation, that the man whom he had pardoned by his own royal motive proved an object more worthy of compassion than any of the others. (James Holbert Wilson, Temple Bar: The City Golgatha.: A narrative of the historical occurances of a criminal character associated with the present bar (London, 1853))
3. D’Artagnan, delighted at the turn things were taking, but not for a moment losing his self-possession, replied, – “Sire, your majesty has no occasion to be alarmed. When I had the good fortune to take his grace, M. Monk was only a general; it is therefore only a general’s ransom that is due to me. But if the general will have the kindness to deliver me his sword, I shall consider myself paid; for there is nothing in the world but the general’s sword which is worth as much as himself.”
   “Odds fish! as my father said,” cried Charles. “That is a gallant proposal, and a gallant man, is he not, duke?”
   “Upon my honor, yes, sire,” and he drew his sword. “Monsieur,” said he to D’Artagnan, “here is what you demand. Many have handled a better blade; but however modest mine may be, I have never surrendered it to any one.” (Alexandre Dumas, The Vicomte de Bragelonne (Translation date?))

A brief trawl of the Go®pus would suggest to the statistically challenged that royal and divine fish do not get on, for while Scarlet Pimpernel-type oaths drop out of sight in the late nineteenth century, the twentieth century sees the emergence–principally in the United States, never kind on kings–of holy fish. This is true both of the fishing industry:

as well as of its Californian evangelical counterpart, the urbanite’s magic mushrooms:

[Obligatory reference to the heat, difficult in sleeping etc]

Categories: God, the angels and the orders of the faithful, Languages, Provisions and utensils of the household and the fields, Splog, Theatre

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1. Geoff
   August 23rd 2004 21:14

   Never let the ideology of narrative get in the way of some perfelctly good serendipities

2. Trevor
   August 23rd 2004 21:26

   Non secateur: gardening term for vegetation which you don’t bother to prune because it’s going to disintegrate anyway.