AMID the sand-hills in Flanders not far from La Panne there lived a fisherman named Tintelentyn. He was very poor; he worked from morning till night and very often spent half the night wading in the water with his shrimping-net.

He had not been able to save enough money to build a little house. Meanwhile he and his idle wife, Susie Grill, lived in an old bathing-machine which they had received in exchange for some shrimps.

Fisherman Tintelentyn was a good man and never complained of his hard lot. His wife, on the contrary, who considered she had married beneath her, lay in the grass in front of the machine day after day bemoaning her fate and reproaching the Almighty for not giving her the riches enjoyed by her friends and acquaintances.

Poor Tintelentyn received the full brunt of her bad temper. In spite of his hard work she reproached him with being stupid and lazy.

Susie Grill being in a temper, the good man, despite an unfavourable tide, took up his nets and went to the sea. He cast his nets in despair. He was doomed to disappointment, for on drawing in his nets he only found some shells, seaweed, and starfish; not a single shrimp nor even a little crab.

He was very downhearted and perplexed, when suddenly he saw something red shining in one of his nets. On closer examination he saw that the red thing was alive; it was a fish, which seemed to be looking at him with its silvery eyes.

“Poor little fish,” the good man said in pitying tones, “I am sorry to have caught you. You are too pretty and too rare to fry. However, I dare not throw you back into the sea, for Susie Grill will be so angry if I return empty-handed.”

Imagine Tintelentyn’s amazement when the pretty fish, which he held in the hollow of his hand, stood up on its tail and began to speak in a piping voice:

Without hesitation and with never a thought of reward, the fisherman threw the strange fish into the waves. He was about to cast his nets for the second time when he saw his wife coming towards him with her arms akimbo. She immediately began to rail against him:

At first the poor man was too much astonished to answer. When he recovered, he tried to excuse himself, telling her that the fish he had caught was no ordinary fish, that he had looked at him so sadly and had implored him so gently and with promises of reward to give him his freedom. His wife became still more furious. “What!” she cried, “that fish would have made our fortune. You had only to make a wish and we should have been saved from this misery. You have thrown this wonderful fish back into the sea without even asking for a good catch of shrimps. You are an ass! Cast back your nets and wish for a large and beautiful house with turrets, such as the wealthy live in. It must have marble steps and be well furnished. If you do not catch the fish again, I shall run away and you will never see me again.”

When the good man drew in his nets again, he found the red fish. When he let it wriggle in the palm of his hand, it again looked at him with pleading eyes and spoke in a very piping voice:

The fisherman cast a frightened glance towards his wife, who was seated on the dry sand. Then with much hesitation he said:

The fish stood up on its tail and said:

The fisherman threw the fish back into the sea and turned homewards. Oh! how wonderful! There on the highest sand-hill, where the bathing-machine had stood, was a beautiful house. He could hardly wait to collect his nets, he was so anxious to know whether this time his wife would receive him more amiably.

Proud as a peacock she awaited him on the marble steps:

“Well, Grilly,” he asked, “are you pleased with me?”

“Listen,” she replied, “it is true I now live in a beautiful house with turrets, a marble staircase and rooms exquisitely furnished, but I have no money. Go back to the sea ... catch the fish again and ask him to give us as much money as the richest man on the coast between Ostend and Dunkirk. Woe betide you if you return without it!”

The good man again returned to the sea, and when he had caught the fish and the latter again asked for his freedom, the fisherman answered, much embarrassed at asking yet another favour:

Again the fish arose and replied:

When Tintelentyn returned, he found his wife in her bedroom seated before a large chest overflowing with gold. She counted it without ceasing, arranging it in piles of a hundred on the table. Before the chest was another brimful of silver. She told her husband that she was going to Bruges the next morning to buy a coach and four and to engage a staff of servants. Her chef was to be a master of his art, he must out-rival the Count of Flanders’ chef.

“Well, are you happy now, little wife?” Tintelentyn murmured.

“Well, to be truthful, no,” his wife replied. “I have mentioned the Count of Flanders’ chef. How foolish I am, as we can have anything we desire—why should I not wish to be the Countess of Flanders? Now I know for what purpose I was born. I shall sit on the throne. I shall be a queen. Go back as quickly as you can to the sea. Tell the fish what I wish, and do not forget to add that you will accept some high position at my court.”

When the fisherman cast his net, he noticed that the sky was overcast on the horizon. The waves became more angry than before and a strong breeze was blowing. However, he soon caught the fish and said to him:

Standing up on his tail the fish replied:

Tintelentyn could hardly believe his eyes, when instead of arriving at the house he lived in up to an hour ago he found himself in front of a palace, with pointed towers so high that they seemed to disappear into the clouds. He saw knights and ladies going in and coming out, and grooms in rich liveries. He dared not go in dressed in his ragged fisherman’s clothes. Suddenly his wife appeared at an open window with a crown on her head and a sceptre in her hand. She signed to him to approach:

“My man,” she said with great importance, “I am not dissatisfied with what you have done. I even feel disposed to reward you handsomely. I require a cup-bearer. Well, I will appoint you to this post on condition that you return

once again to the sea and obtain me yet another great honour.”

“Good gracious, wife,” exclaimed the good man, “are you not overwhelmed with honours? You are richer than the richest man between Ostend and Dunkirk, you hold the title of Countess of Flanders, you wear a crown and sceptre, what more can you possibly desire?”

“You are an innocent,” laughed Susie Grill. “Is there not a sky above my head, and is there not a God who reigns in the sky? Go quickly to the sea, catch the red fish. Ask him to make me as powerful as God. If you dare to return without obtaining my wish, you will be hanged.”

This time Tintelentyn did not hurry. He felt as though his legs were weighted with lead. He stumbled along as though he had been drinking. The sea was rougher than he had ever seen it. A storm was coming up from the west. The wind whistled among the sand-hills, driving the sand before it. Distant thunder rolled and lightning flashed. For the last time the red fish let himself be caught.

He spoke roughly, as though in warning.

But the poor fisherman, thinking of the rope which awaited him, said in a trembling voice:

He had hardly uttered the words when the fish leaped out of his hand and in his place appeared a mighty sea-king accompanied by mermaids and strange sea-monsters. These words came from the sea-king’s mouth like a curse:

When Tintelentyn reached the sand-hill, Susie Grill, dressed in her old skirt and ragged blouse, was seated in front of the bathing-machine. She was grumbling about the hard times and the small profits to be drawn from shrimps.