The Complete Satires & Essays of Mark Twain. Марк Твен
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Dan’l, flies!” and quicker’n you could wink he’d spring straight up and snake a fly off’n the counter there, and flop down on the floor ag’in as solid as a gob of mud, and fall to scratching the side of his head with his hind foot as indifferent as if he hadn’t no idea he’d been doin any more’n any frog might do. You never see a frog so modest and straightforward as he was, for all he was so gifted. And when it come to fair and square jumping on a dead level, he could get over more ground at one straddle than any animal of his breed you ever see. Jumping on a dead level was his strong suit, you understand; and when it came to that, Smiley would ante up money on him as long as he had a red. Smiley was monstrous proud of his frog, and well he might be, for fellers that had traveled and been everywheres all said he laid over any frog that ever they see.
Well, Smiley kep’ the beast in a little lattice box, and he used to fetch him downtown sometimes and lay for a bet. One day a feller — a stranger in the camp, he was — come acrost him with his box, and says:
“What might it be that you’ve got in the box?”“
And Smiley says, sorter indifferent-like, “It might be a parrot, or it might be a canary, maybe, but it ain’t — it’s only just a frog.”
And the feller took it, and looked at it careful, and turned it round this way and that, and says, “H’m — so ‘tis. Well, what’s he good for?”
“Well,” Smiley says, easy and careless, “he’s good enough for one thing, I should judge — he can out jump any frog in Calaveras County.”
The feller took the box again and took another long, particular look, and gave it back to Smiley, and says, very deliberate, “Well,” he says, “I don’t see no p’ints about that frog that’s any better’n any other frog.”
“Maybe you don’t,” Smiley says. “Maybe you understand frogs and maybe you don t understand em; maybe you’ve had experience, and maybe you ain’t only a amature, as it were. Anyways, I’ve got my opinion, and I’ll resk forty dollars that he can out jump any frog in Calaveras County.”
And the feller studies a minute, and then says, kinder sad-like, “Well, I’m only a stranger here, and I ain t got no frog, but if I had a frog I d bet you.”
And then Smiley says: “That s all right — that’s all right — if you’ll hold my box a minute, I’ll go and get you a frog.” And so the feller took the box and put up his forty dollars along with Smiley’s and set down to wait.
So he set there a good while thinking and thinking to hisself, and then he got the frog out and prized his mouth open and took a teaspoon and filled him full of quail-shot — filled him pretty near up to his chin — and set him on the floor. Smiley he went to the swamp and slopped around in the mud for a long time, and finally he ketched a frog and fetched him in and give him to this feller, and says:
“Now, if you’re ready, set him alongside of Dan’l, with his fore paws just even with Dan’l’s, and I’ll give the word.” Then he says, “One — two — three — git!” and him and the feller touched up the frogs from behind, and the new frog hopped off lively; but Dan’l give a heave, and hysted up his shoulders — so like a Frenchman, but it warn’t no use — he couldn’t budge; he was planted as solid as a church, and he couldn’t no more stir than if he was anchored out. Smiley was a good deal surprised, and he was disgusted, too, but he didn’t have no idea what the matter was, of course.
The feller took the money and started away; and when he was going out at the door he sorter jerked his thumb over his shoulder — so — at Dan’l, and says again, very deliberate: “Well,” he says, “I don’t see no p’ints about that frog that’s any better’n any other frog.”
Smiley he stood scratching his head and looking down at Dan’l a long time, and at last he says, “I do wonder what in the nation that frog throw’d off for — I wonder if there ain’t some thing the matter with him — he ‘pears to look mighty baggy, somehow.” And he ketched Dan’l by the nap of the neck, and hefted him, and says, “Why, blame my cats if he don’t weigh five pound!” and turned him upside down, and he belched out a double handful of shot. And then he see how it was, and he was the maddest man — he set the frog down and took out after that feller, but he never ketched him.
The resemblances are deliciously exact. There you have the wily Bœotian and the wily Jim Smiley waiting — two thousand years apart — and waiting, each equipped with his frog and “laying” for the stranger. A contest is proposed — for money. The Athenian would take a chance “if the other would fetch him a frog”; the Yankee says: “I’m only a stranger here, and I ain t got no frog; but if I had a frog I’d bet you.” The wily Bœotian and the wily Californian, with that vast gulf of two thousand years between, retire eagerly and go frogging in the marsh; the Athenian and the Yankee remain behind and work a base advantage, the one with pebbles, the other with shot. Presently the contest began. In the one case “they pinched the Bœotian frog”; in the other, “him and the feller touched up the frogs from behind.” The Boeotian frog “gathered himself for a leap” (you can just see him!), “but could not move his body in the least”; the Californian frog “give a heave, but it warn’t no use he couldn t budge.” In both the ancient and the modern cases the strangers departed with the money. The Boeotian and the Californian wonder what is the matter with their frogs; they lift them and examine; they turn them upside down and out spills the informing ballast.
Yes, the resemblances are curiously exact. I used to tell the story of the Jumping Frog in San Francisco, and presently Artemus Ward came along and wanted it to help fill out a little book which he was about to publish; so I wrote it out and sent it to his publisher, Carleton; but Carleton thought the book had enough matter in it, so he gave the story to Henry Clapp as a present, and Clapp put it in his Saturday Press, and it killed that paper with a suddenness that was beyond praise. At least the paper died with that issue, and none but envious people have ever tried to rob me of the honor and credit of killing it. The “Jumping Frog” was the first piece of writing of mine that spread itself through the newspapers and brought me into public notice. Consequently, the Saturday Press was a cocoon and I the worm in it; also, I was the gay-colored literary moth which its death set free. This simile has been used before.
Early in 66 the “Jumping Frog” was issued in book form, with other sketches of mine. A year or two later Madame Blanc translated it into French and published it in the Revue des Deux Mondes, but the result was not what should have been expected, for the Revue struggled along and pulled through, and is alive yet. I think the fault must have been in the translation. I ought to have translated it myself. I think so because I examined into the matter and finally retranslated the sketch from the French back into English, to see what the trouble was; that is, to see just what sort of a focus the French people got upon it. Then the mystery was explained. In French the story is too confused, and chaotic, and unreposeful, and ungrammatical, and insane; consequently it could only cause grief and sickness — it could not kill. A glance at my retranslation will show the reader that this must be true.
My Retranslation
THE FROG JUMPING OF THE COUNTY OF CALAVERAS
Eh bien! this Smiley nourished some terriers à rats, and some cocks of combat, and some cats, and all sort of things; and with his rage of betting one no had more of repose. He trapped one day a frog and him imported with him (et l’emporta chez lui) saying that he pretended to make his education. You me believe if you will, but during three months he not has nothing done but to him apprehend to jump (apprendre à sauter) in a court retired of her mansion (de sa maison). And I you respond that he have succeeded. He him gives a small blow by behind, and the instant after you shall see the frog turn in the air like a grease-biscuit, make one summersault, sometimes two, when she was well started, and re-fall upon his feet like a cat. He him had accomplished in the art of to gobble the flies (gober des mouches), and him there exercised continually — so well that a fly at the most far that she appeared was a fly lost. Smiley had custom to say that all which lacked to a frog it was the education, but with the education she could do nearly all — and I him believe. Tenez,