The Fisherman and His Wife

Once there was a fisherman who lived with his wife in a poor little hut beside the sea, and every day he went out to fish. One morning his line went down, deep down into the clear water, and when he drew it up he had a great flounder on the hook.

“Listen, fisherman,” said the flounder. “I beg you, let me live. I am no ordinary flounder but an enchanted prince. Put me back in the water and let me swim.”

“You needn’t waste so many words on it,” said the man. “A fish that can talk I would let go in any case.”

He put the flounder back, and it sank away to the bottom. Then he went home to the hut.

“Did you catch nothing today?” his wife asked.

“I caught a flounder who said he was an enchanted prince, so I let him swim away again.”

“And you wished for nothing?” said his wife. “It is hard to live always in this dirty hut. Go back and tell him we want a little cottage. He will surely give us that.”

He did not want to go, but he did not want to cross his wife, so he walked down to the sea. The water was green and yellow now, and no longer clear. He stood and called:

Flounder, flounder in the sea,come, I beg you, come to me;for my wife, good Ilsabil,wants her way against my will.

The flounder came swimming up. “Well, what does she want?”

“Ah,” said the man, “my wife would rather not live in our hut. She would like a little cottage.”

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

Where the hut had stood there was a neat little cottage, and his wife sat on a bench by the door. Inside were a parlor and a bedroom, a kitchen and a pantry, and behind it a yard with hens and ducks.

“Isn’t that nice?” said his wife.

“Yes. And so it shall stay,” said the man. “Now we will live contented.”

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

A week went by, or two, and then she said, “This cottage is far too cramped, husband. I would like to live in a great stone castle. Go and tell the flounder to give us a castle.”

“The cottage is good enough,” said the man, “and he has only just given it to us. I don’t like to go back so soon. It might vex him.”

“He can do it easily, and he will be glad to,” she said. “Go.”

His heart was heavy. It is not right, he said to himself, and he went all the same. The water was purple now, and dark blue and gray and thick, though still quiet. He stood and called:

Flounder, flounder in the sea,come, I beg you, come to me;for my wife, good Ilsabil,wants her way against my will.

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

“Ah,” said the man, half ashamed, “she wants to live in a great stone castle.”

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

Where the cottage had stood there was a great stone palace, and his wife led him in by the hand. The hall was paved with marble, the chairs and tables were of pure gold, and behind the house lay stables, carriages and a park with deer in it.

“Isn’t that beautiful?” said his wife.

“Yes indeed. And so it shall stay,” said the man. “Now we will live here and be content.”

“We will think about that,” said his wife, “and sleep on it.”

Next morning she woke first and saw the fine country lying before her. She poked her husband with her elbow.

“Get up and look out of the window. Couldn’t we be king over all that land?”

“Why should we be king?” said the man. “I don’t want to be king, and I don’t like to tell the flounder that.”

“Go this minute,” she said. “I must be king.”

So the man went, miserable about it. It is not right, he thought, it is not right. The sea was dark gray, and the water heaved up from below and smelled foul. He stood and called:

Flounder, flounder in the sea,come, I beg you, come to me;for my wife, good Ilsabil,wants her way against my will.

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

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

“Go home. She is king already.”

The castle had grown far bigger, with a great tower and soldiers with drums and trumpets before the door. Inside sat his wife on a high golden throne, a crown on her head and a scepter in her hand, her ladies-in-waiting in a row beside her, each a head shorter than the last.

“Ah, wife,” he said, “so now you are king.”

“Yes,” said his wife. “Now I am king.”

He stood and looked at her a long while. “How fine it is that you are king. Now we will wish for nothing more.”

“No, husband,” she said, restless. “The time hangs heavy on me. Go to the flounder. I am king, and now I must be emperor too.”

“He cannot make you emperor,” said the man. “There is only one emperor in the land, and I don’t like to say such a thing to the fish.”

“I am king, and you are only my husband,” she said. “If he can make a king he can make an emperor. Go now.”

So he had to go, uneasy in his mind. This will not end well, he thought. The flounder will grow tired of us. The sea was black and thick, boiling up from below so that it threw up bubbles, and a bitter wind curdled it. He stood and called:

Flounder, flounder in the sea,come, I beg you, come to me;for my wife, good Ilsabil,wants her way against my will.

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

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

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

Now the whole palace was marble and gold, and barons and dukes went about inside as servants. His wife sat on a throne of solid gold, a crown of diamonds on her head, the scepter in one hand and the orb in the other, her guards in two rows, from the tallest giant down to the smallest dwarf.

“Wife,” said the man, “are you emperor now?”

“Yes,” she said. “I am emperor.”

He looked at her a good long while. “Ah, wife, be content now that you are emperor.”

“Why are you standing there?” she said. “I am emperor, but I will be pope as well. Go to the flounder.”

“What will you ask for next?” said the man. “There is only one pope in all Christendom. The flounder cannot make you pope.”

“If he can make an emperor he can make a pope,” she said. “Go this minute. I must be pope this very day.”

Then he was afraid and went, shivering, his knees trembling under him. A high wind swept the land, and toward evening it grew dark. The water roared as if it were boiling, and far out he saw ships firing their guns in distress. A patch of blue was left in the middle of the sky, and all around it burned red. He stood in dread and called:

Flounder, flounder in the sea,come, I beg you, come to me;for my wife, good Ilsabil,wants her way against my will.

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

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

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

Where the palace had stood there was a great church, and he pushed his way through the crowd. Inside, thousands upon thousands of candles were burning, and his wife sat dressed all in gold on a throne higher still, with three golden crowns on her head, and emperors and kings knelt before her.

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

“Yes,” she said. “I am pope.”

He stood and looked at her, and it was like looking into the bright sun. “Ah, wife, if you are pope, let it rest there.”

But she sat as stiff as a post and did not stir.

“Be satisfied now that you are pope,” he said. “There is nothing greater you can become.”

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

They went to bed, but she was not satisfied, and her greed would not let her sleep. The man slept soundly, but his wife turned from side to side the whole night through, thinking what more she might become. When at last she saw the red of dawn she sat up in bed. Could I not make the sun and the moon rise as well? she thought.

“Husband,” she said, poking him with her elbow, “wake up and go to the flounder. I want to be like God.”

The man was so horrified that he fell out of bed. He rubbed his eyes, sure he had misheard. “Oh, wife, what are you saying?”

“If I cannot make the sun and the moon rise, and must watch them rise without me, I cannot bear it,” she said. “Go at once. I want to be like God.”

She looked at him so terribly that a shudder ran through him.

“The flounder cannot do that,” said the man, falling on his knees. “He can make an emperor and a pope, and no more than that. I beg you, stay as you are.”

Then she flew into a rage, her hair wild about her head. “I will not bear it a moment longer,” she cried. “Will you go?”

So he pulled on his trousers and ran out like a madman. Outside a storm was raging, and he could barely keep his feet. Trees went over, rocks rolled into the sea, the sky was pitch black, and the waves came in as high as church towers, each with a white crown of foam. He shouted, and could not hear his own words:

Flounder, flounder in the sea,come, I beg you, come to me;for my wife, good Ilsabil,wants her way against my will.

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

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

“Go home,” said the flounder. “She is sitting in the old hut again.”

And there they are sitting to this very day.