The Fisherman and His Wife
“Oh,” said the man, taking a good look at her. “Wife, it’s good that you are emperor.”
“Husband,” she said. “Why are you standing there? I’m emperor now, and I want to become Pope as well.”
“Oh, wife!” said the man. “Why do you want to become Pope? There is only one Pope in all Christendom.”
“Husband,” she said, “I want to become Pope before the day is done.”
“No, wife,” he said, “the flounder cannot make you Pope. It’s not good.”
“Husband, what nonsense! If he can make me emperor, then he can make me Pope as well. Now go there immediately!”
Then the man went, and he felt sick all over, and his knees and legs were shaking, and the wind was blowing, and the water looked like it was boiling, and ships, tossing and turning on the waves, were firing their guns in distress.
There was a little blue in the middle of the sky, but on all sides it had turned red, as in a terrible lightning storm. Full of despair he stood there and said:
Mandje! Mandje! TimpeTe!
Flounder, flounder, in the sea!
My wife, my wife Ilsebill,
Wants not, wants not, what I will.
“What does she want then?” said the flounder.
“Oh,” said the man, “my wife wants to become Pope.”
“Go home,” said the flounder. “She’s already Pope.”