“Husband,” she said, “what art thou standing there for? Now I am emperor, I mean to be pope! Go back to the flounder.”
“Alas, wife,” said the man, “what wilt thou not want? Pope thou canst not be. There is only one pope in Christendom. That’s more than the flounder can do.”
“Husband,” she said, “pope I will be; so go at once. I must be pope this very day.”
“No, wife,” he said, “I dare not tell him. It’s no good; it’s too monstrous altogether. The flounder cannot make thee pope.”
“Husband,” said the woman, “don’t talk nonsense. If he can make an emperor, he can make a pope. Go immediately. I am emperor, and thou art but my husband, and thou must obey.”
So he was frightened, and went; but he was quite dazed. He shivered and shook, and his knees trembled.
A great wind arose over the land, the clouds flew across the sky, and it grew as dark as night; the leaves fell from the trees, and the water foamed and dashed upon the shore. In the distance the ships were being tossed to and fro on the waves, and he heard them firing signals of distress. There was still a little patch of blue in the sky among the dark clouds, but toward the south they were red and heavy, as in a bad storm. In despair, he stood and said:
“Flounder, flounder in the sea,
Prythee, hearken unto me:
My wife, Ilsebil, will have her own way