1
The Frog in the Shallow Well
（井底之蛙）
Have you heard of the frog that lived in a shallow well? It said to a turtle that lived in the East Sea,
"I am so happy! When I go out, I jump about on the railing beside the mouth of the well. When I
come home, I rest in the holes on the broken wall of the well. If I jump into the water,it comes up
to my armpits and holds up my cheeks. If I walk in the mud, it covers up my feet. I look around at
the wriggly worms, crabs and tadpoles, and none of them can compare with me. I am lord of this
trough of water and I stand up tall in this shallow well. I’m happy. My dear sir, why don"t you
come over and look around my place?"
Before the turtle from the East Sea could get its left foot in the well, its right knee got stuck. It
hesitated and retreated. The turtle told the frog about the East Sea.
"Even a distance of a thousand li cannot give you an idea of the sea"s width; even a height of a
thousand ren cannot give you an idea of its depth. In the time of King Yu of the Xia dynasty, there
were floods nine years out of ten, but the waters in the sea did not increase. In the time of King
Tang of the Shang dynasty there were droughts seven years out of eight, but the waters in the sea
did not decrease. The sea does not change with the passage of time and its level does not rise or
fall according to the amount of rain that falls. The greatest happiness is to live in the East Sea."
After listening to these words, the frog of the shallow well was shocked into realization of his own
insignificance and became very ill at ease.
2he Incident That Changed a Man’s Life
On all the roads about Goderville, the peasants were coming toward the town, for it was market day.
Some led a cow or a calf, and some carried on their arms great baskets, from which heads of chickens or of ducks were thrust forth.
Master Hauchecorne, from Breaute, was walking toward the central square when he observed a remnant of string lying on the ground.
Economical, like every true Norman, he thought that it was well to pick up everything that may be of use, and he stooped painfully, for he suffered with rheumatism.
He was just about to roll it up carefully when he noticed, standing in the doorway watching him, Monsieur Malandain, the harness maker, with whom he had formerly had a dispute over a harness.
Hauchecorne felt a sort of shame at being seen thus by his enemy, fumbling in the mud for a bit of string.
He hurriedly concealed his treasure; then he pretended to look on the ground for something else, which he didn’t find; and finally he went on toward the market, his head thrust forward, bent double by his pains.
He lost himself at once in the slowmoving, shouting crowd, kept in a state of continuous excitement by the interminable bargaining.
The peasants felt of the cows, went away, returned, sorely perplexed, always afraid of being cheated.
The women listened to offers for their fowls, adhered to their prices, short of speech and impassive of face; or else, suddenly deciding to accept the lower price offered, would call out to the customer as he walked slowly away: “all right ,Mast’Anthime. You can have it.”
Then, little by little, at the approach of midday, the square became empty as the peasants and the customers betook themselves to the various inns for their meal.
At Jourdain’s the common room was full of customers feasting on chickens, pigeons, and legs of mutton.
Suddenly a drum rolled in the yard, and in an instant everybody was on his feet, save a few indifferent ones; and they all ran to the door and windows.
Having finished his long tattoo, the public crier shouted in a jerky voice,making his pauses in the wrong places:
“The people of Godervile, and all those present at the market are informed that between nine and ten o’clock this morning on the Beuzeville―road, a black leather wallet was lost, containing five hundred Francs, and business papers. The finder is requested to carry it to the major’s office at once, or to Master Fortune Houlbreque of Manneville. A reward of twenty francs will be paid.”
Then he went away, leaving the dinners to discuss the incident, reckoning Master Houlbreque’s chance of recovering his wallet.
They were finishing their coffee when the corporal of gendarmes appeared in the doorway and inquired for Master Hauchecorne of Breaute, instructing him to appear at the mayor’s office.
The pesant, surprised and disturbed, drank his petit verre at one swallow, rose, and started off, repeating: “Here I am, here I am.”
The major was waiting for them seated in an armchair, pompous, stout, and solemn-faced.
“Master Hauchecorne,” he said, “you were seen this morning, on the Beuzewille road, picking up the wallet lost by Master Houlbreque of Manneville.”
The rustic, dumbfounded, stared at the mayor, already alarmed by this suspicion which had fallen upon him, although he failed to understand it.
He denied the accusation, upon which the mayor informed Monsieur Malandain, the harness marker.
Then the old man remembered and understood; and flushing with anger, he cried: “Ah! He saw me, did he, that sneak? He saw me pick up this string, look m’sieu’ mayor.”
And fumbling in the depths of his pocket, he produced the little piece of cord.
But he mayor was incredulous and shook his head. “You won’t make me believe, Madter Hauchecorne, that Monsieur Malandain, who is a man deserving of credit, mistook this string for a wallet.”
“It’s God’s own truth, the sacred truth, all the same, m’sieu’ mayor. I say it again, by my soul and my salvation.”
“After picking it up,” rejoined the mayor,” you hunted a long while in the mud, to see if some piece of money hadn’t fallen out.”
The good man was overcome by wrath and fear.
“If anyone can tell—if anyone can tell lies that, to ruin an honest man! If anyone can say –”
To no purpose did he protest; he was not believed, but confronted with Monsieur Malandain.
They insulted each other for a whole hour during which ,at his own request, Master Hauchecorne was searched.
They found nothing on him.
The mayor, perplexed, discharged him but warned that he proposed to inform the prosecuting attorney’s office and to ask for orders.
The news had spread. On leaving the mayor’s office, the old man was surrounded and questioned with serious or bantering curiosity.
When he began to tell the story of the string, they laughed at him.
He went his way, stopping his acquaintances, repeating again and again his story and his protestations, showing his pockets turned inside out, to prove that he had nothing.
They said to him: “You old rogue ,va !”
And he lashed himself into a rage, feverish with excitement, desperate because he was not believed, at a loss what to do, and still telling his story until night fell.
He was ill over it at night.
The next afternoon, about one o’clock, a farm hand employed by a farmer of Ymauville surrendered the wallet and its contents.
He claimed that he had found it on the road; but, being unable to read the name, he had carried it home and given it to his employer.
When the news reached Master Hauchecorne he started out triumphant to tell his story again.
He noticed,however, that people seemed to laugh while they listened to him –they did not seem convinced.
He felt as if remarks were made behind his back.
And then, on Tuesday of the next week, he went to market at Goderville, impelled solely by the longing to tell his story and have someone believe him.
He accosted a farmer from Criquetot, who did not let him finish, but poked him in the pit of his stomach, and shouted in his face: “Go on, you old fox !” Then he turned on his heel.
When he was seated at the table in Jourdain’s Inn, he was interrupted by a horse trader from Montvillivers: “Nonsense, nonsense, you old dodger! I know all about your string!”
“But they have found the wallet!” faltered Hauchecorne.
“None of that, old boy; there’s one who finds it, and there’s one who carries it back. I don’t know just how you did it, but I understand you.”
The peasant was fairly stunned. He understood at last.
He was accused of having sent the wallet back by a confederate, an accomplice.
He returned home, shamefaced and indignant, suffocated by wrath, by confusion, and all the more cast down because, with his Norman cunning, he was quite capable of doing the thing with which he was charged, and even of boasting of it as a shrewd trick.
His innocence was impossible to established, his craftiness being so well known.
And he was cut to the heart by the injustice of the suspicion.
He made the story longer, added new arguments, and made more solemn oaths, but the more complicated his defense the less he was believed.
He exhausted himself in vain efforts; he grew perceptibly thinner and in late December, took to his bed.
In January he died, in the delirium of his death agony still protesting his innocence, repeating, “A little piece of string –a little piece of string –see, here it is, m’sieu’ mayor .”
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