Prevod

Once upon a time there was a fisherman and his wife who lived together in a little fishing hut close by the sea. Every day the fisherman went down to fish, and he fished and fished and fished.

One day he was sitting there with his line, gazing into the clear water, and there he sat and sat. Then his line sank deep down to the bottom, and when he drew it up, he pulled out a great flounder. The flounder said to him, “Listen, fisherman, I beg you, let me live. I am no ordinary flounder; I am an enchanted prince. What good would it do you to kill me? I would not taste very nice. Put me back in the water and let me swim away.” “Well,” said the man, “there is no need for so many words. A flounder that can speak is certainly welcome to swim away.” With that he put him back into the clear water. The flounder sank to the bottom, leaving a long streak of blood behind him. Then the fisherman got up and went home to his wife in the little hut.

“Husband,” said his wife, “have you caught nothing today?” “No,” said the man. “I caught a flounder who said he was an enchanted prince, so I let him swim away again.” “And did you not wish for anything?” said his wife. “No,” said the man. “What should I wish for?” “Oh,” said his wife, “it is dreadful, always living here in this hut. It stinks and is so filthy. You might at least have wished for a little cottage for us. Go back and call him. Tell him we want a little cottage. He is sure to grant it.” “Oh,” said the man, “why should I go back there?” “Well,” said his wife, “you did catch him, and you let him swim away again. He is sure to do it. Go at once!” The man was not at all willing, but neither did he want to go against his wife, so he went down to the sea.

When he got there, the sea was all green and yellow, and no longer nearly so clear. He stood there and said, “Little man, little man, Timpe Te, Flounder, flounder in the sea, My wife, whose name is Ilsebill, Will not have it as I will.”

The flounder came swimming up and said, “Well, what does she want?” “Oh,” said the man, “I caught you, you know, and now my wife says I ought to have wished for something. She no longer wants to live in the hut; she would like a little cottage.” “Go home,” said the flounder. “She has it already.”

So the man went home, and his wife was no longer sitting in the little hut, for in its place stood a cottage, and his wife was sitting on a bench outside the door. She took him by the hand and said, “Come inside. Look, this is much better, is it not?” They went in, and the cottage had a little entrance hall, a small, clean sitting room, a bedroom with a bed for each of them, a kitchen, and a pantry, all furnished with the finest utensils and arranged most prettily, with pewter and brass and everything else a home should have. Behind it was a little yard with chickens and ducks, and a little garden with vegetables and fruit. “Look,” said his wife, “is this not pleasant?” “Yes,” said the man. “Let it stay this way. Now we shall live very happily.” “We shall see about that,” said his wife. Then they had something to eat and went to bed.

Things went on like this for a week or a fortnight, and then his wife said, “Listen, husband, this cottage is much too cramped, and the yard and garden are so small. The flounder might just as well have given us a bigger house. I should like to live in a great stone castle. Go to the flounder and tell him to give us a castle.” “Oh, wife,” said the man, “the cottage is quite good enough. Why should we want to live in a castle?” “Nonsense,” said his wife. “Just go. The flounder can do it easily enough.” “No, wife,” said the man. “The flounder has only just given us the cottage. I do not like to go back so soon. It might annoy him.” “Go on,” said his wife. “He can do it perfectly well, and he will be glad to. Just go.” The man’s heart was heavy, and he did not want to go. “This is not right,” he said to himself. But he went all the same.

When he reached the sea, the water was all violet and dark blue and grey and murky, no longer green and yellow, though it was still calm. He stood there and said:

“Little man, little man, Timpe Te, Flounder, flounder in the sea, My wife, whose name is Ilsebill, Will not have it as I will.” “Well, what does she want?” said the flounder. “Oh,” said the man, rather sorrowfully, “she wants to live in a great stone castle.” “Go home. She is standing at the door,” said the flounder.

So the man set off, thinking he was going home, but when he arrived, a great stone palace stood there, and his wife was at the top of the steps, just about to go inside. She took him by the hand and said, “Come in.” He went inside with her, and in the castle was a great hall with a marble floor, and there were so many servants who flung open the great doors. The walls all gleamed and were hung with beautiful tapestries, and the rooms were full of golden chairs and tables, with crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceilings. All the rooms and bedchambers had carpets. The tables were so laden with food and the very finest wine that they almost broke beneath the weight. Behind the house was a great courtyard with stables, a cowshed, and carriages, all of the very best. There was also a magnificent great garden with the loveliest flowers and fine fruit trees, and a splendid park, a good half-mile long, with red deer and roe deer and everything anyone could wish for. “Well,” said his wife, “is this not beautiful?” “Oh yes,” said the man. “And let it stay this way. Now we shall live in this beautiful castle and be content.” “We shall see about that,” said his wife, “and sleep on it.” Then they went to bed.

The next morning his wife was the first to wake. Day had just broken, and from her bed she could see the magnificent countryside spread out before her. The man was still stretching when she nudged him in the side with her elbow and said, “Husband, get up and look out of the window. Look, could we not be king over all this land? Go to the flounder. We want to be king.” “Oh, wife,” said the man, “why should we want to be king?” “Well,” said his wife, “if you do not want to be king, then I do. Go to the flounder. I want to be king.” “Oh, wife,” said the man, “why do you want to be king? I do not like to ask him that.” “Why not?” said his wife. “Go this instant. I must be king.” So the man went, deeply troubled that his wife wanted to become king. This is wrong, quite wrong, he thought. He did not want to go, but in the end he went all the same.

When he reached the sea, it was all blackish-grey, and the water heaved up from below and stank of rot. He stood there and said:

“Little man, little man, Timpe Te, Flounder, flounder in the sea, My wife, whose name is Ilsebill, Will not have it as I will.” “Well, what does she want?” said the flounder. “Oh,” 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 reached the palace, the castle had grown much larger, with a great tower and magnificent ornamentation. A sentry stood before the gate, and there were crowds of soldiers, kettledrums, and trumpets. When he entered the house, everything was pure marble and gold, with velvet hangings and great golden tassels. Then the doors opened into the hall where the whole court was assembled, and his wife sat on a lofty throne of gold and diamonds, with a great golden crown on her head and a sceptre of pure gold and precious stones in her hand. On either side of her stood a row of six maidens, each a head shorter than the next. He stood before her and said, “Oh, wife, are you king now?” “Yes,” said his wife, “now I am king.” He stood gazing at her, and after he had looked at her for a while, he said, “Oh, wife, how splendid it is that you are king! Now we shall wish for nothing more.” “No, husband,” said his wife, quite restless. “Already the hours drag by. I cannot bear it any longer. Go to the flounder. I am king; now I must become emperor too.” “Oh, wife,” said the man, “why do you want to become emperor?” “Husband,” she said, “go to the flounder. I want to be emperor!” “Oh, wife,” said the man, “he cannot make you emperor. I do not like to ask the flounder that. There is only one emperor in the realm. The flounder cannot make an emperor.” “What?” said his wife. “I am king, and you are my husband. Will you go at once? Go this instant! If he can make kings, he can make emperors too. I will be emperor, I will! Go at once!” So he had to go. But as the man went, he was full of dread, and he thought to himself, This will never end well, never. To ask to be emperor is too brazen. In the end the flounder will grow tired of it. Meanwhile he reached the sea. It was still quite black and murky, and it began to foam up from below until bubbles rose on its surface. A whirlwind swept across the sea, churning it round and round. Horror seized the man. He stood there and said:

“Little man, little man, Timpe Te, Flounder, flounder in the sea, My wife, whose name is Ilsebill, Will not have it as I will.” “Well, what does she want?” said the flounder. “Oh, flounder,” he said, “my wife wants to become emperor.” “Go home,” said the flounder. “She is emperor already.”

So the man went home, and when he arrived, the whole castle was made of polished marble, with alabaster figures and golden ornaments. Soldiers marched before the door, blowing trumpets and beating kettledrums and drums, while inside the house barons and counts and dukes went about as though they were servants. They opened the doors for him, and the doors were solid gold. When he entered, there sat his wife on a throne made from a single piece of gold, a good two miles high. She wore a great golden crown three ells high, studded with diamonds and carbuncles. In one hand she held the sceptre and in the other the imperial orb. On either side of her stood her guards in two rows, each smaller than the next, from the very tallest giant, who was two miles high, down to the tiniest dwarf, who was no bigger than my little finger. Before her stood many princes and dukes. The man stepped among them and said, “Wife, are you emperor now?” “Yes,” she said, “I am emperor.” He stood there and looked at her closely, and after gazing at her for a while, he said, “Oh, wife, how well it suits you to be emperor.” “Husband,” she said, “why are you standing there? Now I am emperor, and now I want to become pope too. Go to the flounder.” “Oh, wife,” said the man, “is there nothing you will not ask for? You cannot become pope. There is only one in all Christendom. Surely he cannot do that!” “Husband,” she said, “I want to become pope. Go at once. I must be pope this very day.” “No, wife,” said the man. “I do not like to ask him that. It is not right. It is asking too much. The flounder cannot make you pope.” “Husband, stop talking nonsense!” said his wife. “If he can make an emperor, he can make a pope too. Go this instant. I am emperor, and you are my husband. Will you go?” Then he was filled with dread, and he went, but he felt weak and sick. He shook and trembled, and his knees and calves quaked beneath him. A wind swept across the land, the clouds raced through the sky, and it grew as dark as evening. Leaves were blown from the trees, and the water rose and roared as though it were boiling, crashing against the shore. In the distance he saw ships firing distress signals, pitching and tossing on the waves. There was still a little blue in the middle of the sky, but at the edges an angry redness was gathering, as before a violent thunderstorm. Utterly disheartened, he went and stood there in his fear and said:

“Little man, little man, Timpe Te, Flounder, flounder in the sea, My wife, whose name is Ilsebill, Will not have it as I will.” “Well, what does she want?” said the flounder. “Oh,” said the man, “she wants to become pope.” “Go home. She is pope already,” said the flounder.

So he went home, and when he arrived, there stood a great church surrounded by palaces. He pushed his way through the crowd. Inside, everything was lit by thousands upon thousands of lights, and his wife was dressed all in gold and sat upon a far higher throne still, wearing three great golden crowns. Around her was a great gathering of clergy in all their splendour, and on either side of her stood two rows of candles, from the largest, as tall and thick as the mightiest tower, down to the smallest kitchen candle. All the emperors and kings knelt before her and kissed her slipper. “Wife,” said the man, looking closely at her, “are you pope now?” “Yes,” she said, “I am pope.” He went nearer and gazed at her, and it seemed to him as though he were looking into the bright sun. After he had looked at her for a while, he said, “Oh, wife, how well it suits you to be pope!” But she sat as stiff as a tree, neither stirring nor moving. Then he said, “Wife, now be content that you are pope, for there is nothing more you can become.” “I shall think about that,” said his wife. Then they both went to bed. But she was not content, and her greed would not let her sleep. She kept thinking what else she might become.

The man slept soundly and well, for he had done a great deal of walking that day. His wife, however, could not fall asleep at all, and tossed from side to side all night, forever wondering what else she might become, yet unable to think of anything more. Meanwhile the sun was about to rise, and when she saw the red dawn, she sat upright in bed and gazed at it. As she watched the sun coming up through the window, she thought, Ha! Could I not make the sun and moon rise myself? “Husband,” she said, jabbing him in the ribs with her elbow, “wake up. Go to the flounder. I want to become like the good Lord.” The man was still half asleep, but he was so startled that he fell out of bed. Thinking he must have misheard her, he rubbed his eyes and said, “Oh, wife, what are you saying?” “Husband,” she said, “if I cannot make the sun and moon rise, I cannot bear it. I shall never have a moment’s peace unless I can make them rise myself.” She glared at him so fiercely that a shudder ran through him. “Go at once. I want to become like the good Lord.” “Oh, wife,” said the man, falling to his knees before her, “the flounder cannot do that. He can make emperors and popes, but I beg you, come to your senses and remain pope.” Then she flew into a rage, her hair flying wildly about her head, and screamed, “I cannot bear it! I cannot bear it any longer! Will you go?” He pulled on his trousers and ran off like a madman.

Outside, the storm was raging and roaring so fiercely that he could scarcely keep his feet. Houses and trees were blown over, the mountains shook, and great chunks of rock rolled into the sea. The sky was pitch-black, with thunder and lightning, and the sea rose in black waves as high as church towers and mountains, each crowned with white foam. He shouted, yet could not hear his own words:

“Little man, little man, Timpe Te, Flounder, flounder in the sea, My wife, whose name is Ilsebill, Will not have it as I will.” “Well, what does she want?” said the flounder. “Oh,” he said, “she wants to become like the good Lord.” “Go home. She is sitting in the fishing hut again.”

And there they sit to this very day.