The Fisherman and His Wife

Once upon a time, there lived a fisherman and his wife in a filthy shack near the sea. Every day, the fisherman would go out fishing, and he would fish and fish.

One day, as he sat gazing into the clear water, his line suddenly went down, deep down to the bottom. When he hauled it up, he found a large flounder on the hook. To his astonishment, the flounder spoke, “Listen, fisherman, I beg you to let me live. I am not a real flounder but an enchanted prince. What good would it do you to kill me? I would not taste good to you. Put me back into the water and let me swim away.”

“Well,” said the man, “you needn’t make so many words about it. I’m quite ready to put back a flounder that can talk.” With that, he placed the fish back into the clear water, and the flounder darted to the bottom, leaving a long trail of blood behind him.

The fisherman got up and went back to his wife in the filthy shack. “Husband,” she said, “didn’t you catch anything today?”

“No,” said the man. “I caught a flounder that said he was an enchanted prince, so I let him go.”

“Didn’t you wish for anything first?” asked his wife.

“No,” said the man. “What should I have wished for?”

“Ah,” said the woman, “it’s terrible living always in this filthy shack. It stinks and is disgusting. You should have wished for a little cottage for us. Go back and call him. Tell him we want a little cottage. He will surely give it to us.”

“Alas,” said the man, “why should I go back there?”

“Well,” said the wife, “you did catch him, and then let him go again. He will surely do this for us. Go at once.”

The man was still not very willing, but he did not want to upset his wife, so he went back to the sea. The sea was no longer clear but yellow and green. He stood by it and said:

“Flounder, flounder in the sea, Come, I pray thee, here to me; For my wife, Dame Ilsabil, Wills not as I’d have her will.”

The flounder came swimming to him and said, “Well, what does she want then?”

“Ah,” said the man, half-ashamed, “she says that when I caught you, I ought to have wished for something. She doesn’t like to live in our filthy shack any longer, and would like a little cottage.”

“Go home then,” said the flounder. “She has it already.”

When the man went home, his wife was no longer in the old shack, but a pretty little cottage stood in its place, and his wife was sitting on a bench by the door. She took him by the hand and said, “Come in and see if this isn’t much better.” They went inside, and in the cottage, there was a small hallway and a beautiful living room, a bedroom where their bed stood, a kitchen and a dining room, all furnished with the finest furniture and utensils of tin and brass. Outside, there was a small yard with chickens and ducks, and a little garden with vegetables and fruit.

“See,” said the wife, “isn’t this nice?”

“Yes,” said the man, “and so it shall remain. We will live contentedly now.”

“We will think about that,” said the wife.

With that, they ate something and went to bed.

Everything went well for a week or two, and then the wife said, “Listen, husband, this cottage is too cramped, and the garden and yard are too small. The flounder could have given us a larger house. I want to live in a great stone castle. Go to the flounder and tell him to give us a castle.”

“Ah, wife,” said the man, “the cottage is good enough. Why should we live in a castle?”

“What?” said the wife. “Just go there. The flounder can do that easily, and will be glad to do it.”

“No, wife,” said the man, “the flounder has just given us the cottage. I don’t want to go back so soon. It might make the flounder angry.”

“Go,” said the wife. “He can do it easily and will be glad to do it. Just go.”

The man’s heart was heavy, and he was unwilling to go. He said to himself, “This is not right,” but he went nevertheless.

When he came to the sea, the water was purple and dark blue, gray and dense, and no longer green and yellow, but it was still calm.

The fisherman stood there and said:

“Flounder, flounder in the sea, Come, I pray thee, here to me; For my wife, Dame Ilsabil, Wills not as I’d have her will.”

“Well, what does she want now?” said the flounder.

“Alas,” said the man, somewhat troubled, “she wants to live in a great stone castle.”

“Go home. She is standing at the door,” said the flounder.

The man went home and thought he would find his old shack, but there stood a great stone palace, and his wife was just about to enter it. She took him by the hand and said, “Come in.” Then they went in, and inside the castle was a large hall with a marble floor, and there were many servants who opened the great doors for them. The walls were all bright with beautiful tapestries, and in the rooms were chairs and tables of pure gold, crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceilings, and all the rooms were beautifully carpeted. The finest food and wine were on the tables, ready to be served. Outside the palace, there was a large courtyard with stables for horses and cows, and the finest carriages one could wish for. There was also a magnificent garden with the most beautiful flowers and fruit trees, and a park that stretched for miles, containing deer, hares, and everything one could possibly want.

“Well,” said the wife, “isn’t this beautiful?”

“Yes, indeed,” said the man. “Now we’ll stay here and live in this beautiful castle. Now we’re happy.”

“We’ll think about it,” said the wife. “Let’s sleep on it.”

The next morning, the wife woke up first. It was just daybreak, and from her bed, she could see the magnificent countryside before her. Her husband was still sleeping, but she nudged him with her elbow and said, “Husband, get up and look out the window. Listen, couldn’t we be the king of all this land? Go to the flounder. We want to be king.”

“Ah, wife,” said the man, “why should we be king? I don’t want to be king.”

“Well,” said the wife, “if you don’t want to be king, I do. Go to the flounder. I want to be king.”

“Alas, wife,” said the man, “why do you want to be king? I don’t like to tell him that.”

“Why not?” said the wife. “Go at once. I must be king.”

So the man went, but he was quite sad that his wife wanted to be king. “This is not right and not right again,” he thought. “It’s too extreme. The flounder will grow tired of this at last.”

When he came to the sea, the water was dark gray and rising into the air, with a foul smell. He stood there and said:

“Flounder, flounder in the sea, Come, I pray thee, here to me; For my wife, Dame Ilsabil, Wills not as I’d have her will.”

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

“Alas,” said the man, “she wants to be king.”

“Go home. She is king already,” said the flounder.

So the man went home, and when he arrived, the castle had become much larger, with a tall tower and magnificent ornamentation. Guards stood outside the door, and many soldiers with kettledrums and trumpets. When he entered, he saw everything was made of pure marble with gold trimmings, and velvet drapes with gold tassels. The doors of the hall opened, and there he saw the whole court. His wife was sitting on a high throne of gold and diamonds, wearing a golden crown, and holding a scepter of gold and precious stones in her hand. On each side of her stood her maids-in-waiting in a row, each one a head shorter than the next.

He stood before her and said, “Ah, wife, are you king now?”

“Yes,” she said, “now I am king.”

He stood looking at her, and after looking for a while, he said, “Ah, wife, it is delightful that you are king. Now we have nothing more to wish for.”

“No, husband,” she said, becoming restless. “Time hangs heavy on my hands. I cannot bear it any longer. Go to the flounder. I am king, but I must be emperor too.”

“Alas, wife,” said the man, “why do you want to be emperor?”

“Husband,” she said, “go to the flounder. I want to be emperor.”

“Alas, wife,” said the man, “the flounder cannot make you emperor. There is only one emperor in the land. The flounder cannot make you emperor. I assure you, he cannot.”

“What?” said the wife. “I am king, and you are only my husband. Will you go this instant? Go! If he can make me king, he can make me emperor. I will be emperor. Go at once.”

So he had to go. But as he went, he was terrified and thought, “This will not end well. To ask to be emperor is shameless. The flounder will be tired of this at last.”

With that, he reached the sea. The sea was black and thick, heaving up from below. A sharp wind blew over it, sending the waves crashing. The man was afraid, but he stood there and said:

“Flounder, flounder in the sea, Come, I pray thee, here to me; For my wife, Dame Ilsabil, Wills not as I’d have her will.”

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

“Alas, flounder,” he said, “my wife wants to be emperor.”

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

So the man went home, and when he arrived, the entire castle was made of polished marble with alabaster statues and golden decorations. Soldiers were marching before the door, blowing trumpets and beating drums. Inside the palace, barons, counts, and dukes were walking around like servants, opening the doors for him, which were made of gold. As he entered, he saw his wife sitting on a throne made from a single block of gold, almost two miles high. She was wearing a massive golden crown studded with diamonds, three yards high. In one hand she held the scepter, and in the other the imperial orb. On both sides of her stood the guards in two rows, each smaller than the other, from giants two miles high down to the tiniest dwarf no bigger than my little finger.

Many princes and dukes were standing before her. The man went and stood among them and said, “Wife, are you emperor now?”

“Yes,” she said, “I am emperor.”

Then he stood and looked at her properly, and after he had looked at her for a while, he said, “Ah, wife, it suits you well to be emperor.”

“Husband,” she said, “why are you standing there? Now I am emperor, I want to be pope too. Go to the flounder.”

“Alas, wife,” said the man, “what won’t you wish for? You cannot be pope. There is only one pope in Christendom. The flounder cannot make you pope.”

“Husband,” she said, “I will be pope. Go immediately. I must be pope today.”

“No, wife,” said the man. “I can’t tell him that. It’s not right. It’s too much. The flounder cannot make you pope.”

“Husband,” said the wife, “don’t talk nonsense! If he can make me emperor, he can make me pope. Go at once. I am emperor, and you are only my husband. Will you go at once?”

He was afraid and went, but he was quite faint. He shivered and shook, and his knees trembled. A great wind blew over the land, clouds flew by, and it grew as dark as evening. Leaves blew from the trees, and the water roared and bubbled as if it were boiling, and splashed upon the shore. In the distance, he could see ships, which were firing distress signals and bouncing up and down on the waves. There was still a patch of blue in the sky, but toward the south, there was a great red streak, like a thunderstorm rising.

In great fear, he stood there and said:

“Flounder, flounder in the sea, Come, I pray thee, here to me; For my wife, Dame Ilsabil, Wills not as I’d have her will.”

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

“Alas,” said the man, “she wants to be pope.”

“Go home,” said the flounder. “She is pope already.”

So he went home, and when he arrived, there was a large church surrounded by palaces. He pushed his way through the crowd. Inside, everything was lit with thousands and thousands of candles, and his wife was clothed in gold, sitting on a much higher throne, wearing three great golden crowns. Around her were many church dignitaries, and on both sides of her were two rows of candles, the largest as thick and tall as a tower, down to the smallest kitchen candle. Kings and emperors were kneeling before her, kissing her shoe.

“Wife,” said the man, looking at her, “are you pope now?”

“Yes,” she said, “I am pope.”

So he stood and looked at her properly, and it was as if he were looking at the bright sun. After he had looked at her for a while, he said, “Ah, wife, it suits you well to be pope!”

But she sat as stiff as a tree, neither stirring nor moving.

Then he said, “Wife, now be content. You are pope. There can be nothing more you want to be.”

“I will think about that,” said the wife.

Then they both went to bed, but she was not content. Her ambition would not let her sleep. She kept thinking what she could become next. The man slept well and soundly, for he had done a lot of walking that day, but the wife could not sleep at all and tossed and turned from one side to the other all night long, thinking of what she could become, but she could not think of anything.

Then the sun was about to rise, and when she saw the dawn, she sat up in bed and watched through the window as the sun came up. “Ah,” she thought, “couldn’t I make the sun and moon rise? Husband!” she cried, poking him in the ribs with her elbow. “Wake up and go to the flounder. I want to be like God.”

The man was still half-asleep, but he was so horrified that he fell out of bed. He thought he must have heard wrong. He rubbed his eyes and said, “Alas, wife, what did you say?”

“Husband,” she said, “I cannot bear it when I see the sun and moon rising, and I cannot make them rise. I will not have a moment’s peace until I can make them rise too. Go to the flounder. I want to be like God.”

“Alas, wife,” said the man, falling on his knees before her, “the flounder cannot do that. He can make you emperor and pope, but I beg you, be content and remain pope.”

Then she flew into a rage, her hair flew wildly about her head, she tore open her nightgown, and kicked him with her foot and screamed, “I can’t bear it! I can’t bear it any longer! Go at once!”

The man hurried into his clothes and ran away like a madman.

Outside, a terrible storm was raging. The wind was blowing so hard that he could hardly stay on his feet. Houses and trees were blowing over, and mountains were shaking. The rocks were rolling into the sea, and the sky was pitch black. It was thundering and lightning, and the sea was tossing in black waves as high as church towers and mountains, all topped with white foam.

He shouted, but he could not hear his own words:

“Flounder, flounder in the sea, Come, I pray thee, here to me; For my wife, Dame Ilsabil, Wills not as I’d have her will.”

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

“Alas,” he said, “she wants to be like God.”

“Go home. She is sitting in your filthy shack again.”

And there they are to this very day.

And they did not live happily ever after.