The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn

Huckleberry Finns Abenteuer

Übersetzt von Lore Krüger, Lizenz der Aufbau Verlagsgruppe
Synchronisation und Ergänzungen © Doppeltext 2012


Civilizing Huck — Moses and the ‘Bulrushers’ — Miss Watson — Tom Sawyer Waits

The Boys Escape Jim — Jim! — Tom Sawyer’s Gang — Deep-Laid Plans

A Good Going-Over — Grace Triumphant — Playing Robbers — The Genies — ‘One of Tom Sawyer’s Lies’

‘Slow But Sure’ — Huck and the Judge — Superstition

Huck’s Father — The Fond Parent — Reform

He Went for Judge Thatcher — Huck Decides to Leave — Thinking it Over — Political Economy — Thrashing Around

Laying for Him — Locked in the Cabin — Preparing To Start — Sinking the Body — Projecting A Plan — Resting

Sleeping in the Woods — Raising the Dead — On the Watch! — Exploring the Island — A Profitless Sleep — Finding Jim — Jim’s Escape — Signs — ‘Dat One-Laigged Nigger’ — Balum

The Cave — The Floating House — A Good Haul

The Find — Old Hank Bunker — In Disguise

Huck and the Woman — The Search — Prevarication — Going to Goshen — ‘They’re After Us!’

Slow Navigation — Borrowing Things — Boarding the Wreck — The Plotters — ‘It Ain’t Good Morals’ — Hunting for the Boat

Escaping from the Wreck — The Watchman — Sinking — A Dead Sleep

A General Good Time — The Harem — French

Huck Loses the Raft — In the Fog — Asleep On the Raft — Huck Finds the Raft — Trash

Expectation — ‘Good Ole Cairo’ — A White Lie — Floating Currency — Running by Cairo — Swimming Ashore

An Evening Call — The Farm in Arkansaw — Interior Decorations — Stephen Dowling Bots — Poetical Effusions — A Tin Pan Piano

Col. Grangerford — Aristocracy — Feuds — The Testament — ‘Water-Moccassins!’ — Recovering the Raft — The Wood Pile — Pork and Cabbage — ‘Is Dat You, Honey?’

Tying Up Day-Times — An Astronomical Theory — ‘Dog’s A-Coming’ — Running a Temperance Revival — The Duke of Bridgewater — The Troubles of Royalty

Huck Explains — Laying Out a Campaign — Working the Camp Meeting — Sly Courting — A Pirate at the Camp-Meeting — The Duke as a Printer — Jim Wanted

Sword Exercise — Hamlet’s Soliloquy — They Loafed Around Town — A Lazy Town — Old Boggs — Death of Boggs

Sherburn — Attending the Circus — Intoxication in the Ring — The Thrilling Tragedy

Sold — Royal Comparisons — Jim Gets Homesick

Jim in Royal Robes — They Take a Passenger — Getting Information — Family Grief

Is it Them? — Singing the ‘Doxolojer’ — We Can Spare It — Awful Square — Funeral Orgies — A Bad Investment

A Pious King — The King’s Clergy — She Asked His Pardon — Hiding in the Room — Huck Takes the Money

The Funeral — The Undertaker — Satisfying Curiosity — Suspicious of Huck — Quick Sales and Small Profits

The Trip to England — ‘The Brute!’ — Royal Nonesuch — Mary Jane Decides to Leave — Huck Parting with Mary Jane — Mumps — The Opposition Line

Contested Relationship — The King Explains the Loss — A Question of Handwriting — Tattooing — Digging up the Corpse — Huck Escapes

The King Went for Him — A Royal Row — Powerful Mellow

Ominous Plans — Jim Gone! — News from Jim — Old Recollections — A Sheep Story — Valuable Information — The Back Country

Still and Sunday-like — Mistaken Identity — Up a Stump — In a Dilemma

A Nigger Stealer — Southern Hospitality — ‘You Impudent Young Rascal’ — A Pretty Long Blessing — Tar and Feathers

The Hut by the Ash-Hopper — Outrageous — A Simple Job — Climbing the Lightning-Rod — Troubled with Witches

Escaping Properly — Dark Schemes — Discrimination in Stealing — A Deep Hole

The Lightning-Rod — His Level Best — A Bequest to Posterity — Stealing Spoons — Amongst The Dogs — A High Figure

The Last Shirt — Mooning Around — ‘In A Tearing Way’ — Sailing Orders — The Witch Pie

The Coat of Arms — A Skilled Superintendent — Unpleasant Glory — A Tearful Subject

Rats — Lively Bedfellows — The Straw Dummy

Fishing — The Vigilance Committee — A Lively Run — Jim Advises a Doctor

The Doctor — Uncle Silas — Sister Hotchkiss — Aunt Sally in Trouble

Tom Sawyer Wounded — The Doctor’s Story — Doing Jim A Good Turn — Tom Confesses — Aunt Polly Arrives — ‘Hand Out Them Letters’

Out of Bondage — Paying the Captive — Yours Truly, Huck Finn


Per­sons at­tempt­ing to find a motive in this nar­rat­ive will be pro­sec­uted;
per­sons at­tempt­ing to find a mor­al in it will be ban­ished; per­sons at­tempt­ing to find a plot in it will be shot.
Per G.G., Chief of Ord­nance.
In this book a num­ber of dia­lects are used, to wit: the Mis­souri negro dia­lect;
the ex­tremest form of the back­woods South­west­ern dia­lect; the or­din­ary “Pike County” dia­lect; and four mod­i­fied vari­et­ies of this last.
The shad­ings have not been done in a haphaz­ard fash­ion, or by guess­work; but painstak­ingly,
and with the trust­worthy guid­ance and sup­port of per­son­al fa­mili­ar­ity with these sev­er­al forms of speech.
I make this ex­plan­a­tion for the reas­on that without it many read­ers would sup­pose
that all these char­ac­ters were try­ing to talk alike and not suc­ceed­ing.

Civilizing Huck — Moses and the ‘Bulrushers’ — Miss Watson — Tom Sawyer Waits

You don’t know about me without you have read a book by the name of The Ad­ven­tures of Tom Saw­yer; but that ain’t no mat­ter.
That book was made by Mr. Mark Twain, and he told the truth, mainly.
There was things which he stretched, but mainly he told the truth. That is noth­ing.
I nev­er seen any­body but lied one time or an­oth­er, without it was Aunt Polly, or the wid­ow, or maybe Mary.
Aunt Polly — Tom’s Aunt Polly, she is — and Mary, and the Wid­ow Douglas is all told about in that book,
which is mostly a true book, with some stretch­ers, as I said be­fore.
Now the way that the book winds up is this: Tom and me found the money that the rob­bers hid in the cave, and it made us rich.
We got six thou­sand dol­lars apiece — all gold. It was an aw­ful sight of money when it was piled up.
Well, Judge Thatch­er he took it and put it out at in­terest,
and it fetched us a dol­lar a day apiece all the year round — more than a body could tell what to do with.
The Wid­ow Douglas she took me for her son, and al­lowed she would siv­il­ize me;
but it was rough liv­ing in the house all the time, con­sid­er­ing how dis­mal reg­u­lar and de­cent the wid­ow was in all her ways;
and so when I couldn’t stand it no longer I lit out.
I got into my old rags and my sug­ar-hogshead again, and was free and sat­is­fied.
But Tom Saw­yer he hunted me up and said he was go­ing to start a band of rob­bers,
and I might join if I would go back to the wid­ow and be re­spect­able. So I went back.
The wid­ow she cried over me, and called me a poor lost lamb, and she called me a lot of oth­er names, too, but she nev­er meant no harm by it.
She put me in them new clothes again, and I couldn’t do noth­ing but sweat and sweat, and feel all cramped up.
Well, then, the old thing com­menced again. The wid­ow rung a bell for sup­per, and you had to come to time.
When you got to the table you couldn’t go right to eat­ing, but you had to wait
for the wid­ow to tuck down her head and grumble a little over the victu­als, though there warn’t really any­thing the mat­ter with them
— that is, noth­ing only everything was cooked by it­self.
In a bar­rel of odds and ends it is dif­fer­ent; things get mixed up, and the juice kind of swaps around, and the things go bet­ter.
After sup­per she got out her book and learned me about Moses and the Bul­rush­ers,
and I was in a sweat to find out all about him; but by and by she let it out that Moses had been dead a con­sid­er­able long time;
so then I didn’t care no more about him, be­cause I don’t take no stock in dead people.
Pretty soon I wanted to smoke, and asked the wid­ow to let me. But she wouldn’t.
She said it was a mean prac­tice and wasn’t clean, and I must try to not do it any more.
That is just the way with some people. They get down on a thing when they don’t know noth­ing about it.
Here she was a-both­er­ing about Moses, which was no kin to her, and no use to any­body, be­ing gone, you see,
yet find­ing a power of fault with me for do­ing a thing that had some good in it.
And she took snuff, too; of course that was all right, be­cause she done it her­self.
Her sis­ter, Miss Wat­son, a tol­er­able slim old maid, with goggles on, had just come to live with her, and took a set at me now with a spelling-book.
She worked me mid­dling hard for about an hour, and then the wid­ow made her ease up.
I couldn’t stood it much longer. Then for an hour it was deadly dull, and I was fid­gety.
Miss Wat­son would say, “Don’t put your feet up there, Huckle­berry”;
and “Don’t scrunch up like that, Huckle­berry — set up straight”;
and pretty soon she would say, “Don’t gap and stretch like that, Huckle­berry — why don’t you try to be­have?”
Then she told me all about the bad place, and I said I wished I was there.
She got mad then, but I didn’t mean no harm. All I wanted was to go some­wheres; all I wanted was a change, I warn’t par­tic­u­lar.
She said it was wicked to say what I said; said she wouldn’t say it for the whole world;
she was go­ing to live so as to go to the good place.
Well, I couldn’t see no ad­vant­age in go­ing where she was go­ing, so I made up my mind I wouldn’t try for it.
But I nev­er said so, be­cause it would only make trouble, and wouldn’t do no good.
Now she had got a start, and she went on and told me all about the good place.
She said all a body would have to do there was to go around all day long with a harp and sing, forever and ever.
So I didn’t think much of it. But I nev­er said so.
I asked her if she reckoned Tom Saw­yer would go there, and she said not by a con­sid­er­able sight.
I was glad about that, be­cause I wanted him and me to be to­geth­er.
Miss Wat­son she kept peck­ing at me, and it got tire­some and lone­some.
By and by they fetched the nig­gers in and had pray­ers, and then every­body was off to bed.
I went up to my room with a piece of candle, and put it on the table.
Then I set down in a chair by the win­dow and tried to think of something cheer­ful, but it warn’t no use.
I felt so lone­some I most wished I was dead. The stars were shin­ing, and the leaves rustled in the woods ever so mourn­ful;
and I heard an owl, away off, who-whoo­ing about some­body that was dead, and a whip­pow­ill and a dog cry­ing about some­body that was go­ing to die;
and the wind was try­ing to whis­per something to me, and I couldn’t make out what it was, and so it made the cold shivers run over me.
Then away out in the woods I heard that kind of a sound that a ghost makes
when it wants to tell about something that’s on its mind and can’t make it­self un­der­stood,
and so can’t rest easy in its grave, and has to go about that way every night griev­ing.
I got so down­hearted and scared I did wish I had some com­pany.
Pretty soon a spider went crawl­ing up my shoulder, and I flipped it off and it lit in the candle; and be­fore I could budge it was all shriveled up.
I didn’t need any­body to tell me that that was an aw­ful bad sign
and would fetch me some bad luck, so I was scared and most shook the clothes off of me.
I got up and turned around in my tracks three times and crossed my breast every time;
and then I tied up a little lock of my hair with a thread to keep witches away. But I hadn’t no con­fid­ence.
You do that when you’ve lost a horse­shoe that you’ve found, in­stead of nail­ing it up over the door,
but I hadn’t ever heard any­body say it was any way to keep off bad luck when you’d killed a spider.
I set down again, a-shak­ing all over, and got out my pipe for a smoke;
for the house was all as still as death now, and so the wid­ow wouldn’t know.
Well, after a long time I heard the clock away off in the town go boom — boom — boom — twelve licks; and all still again — stil­ler than ever.
Pretty soon I heard a twig snap down in the dark amongst the trees — something was a-stir­ring.
I set still and listened. Dir­ectly I could just barely hear a “me-yow! me-yow!” down there.
That was good! Says I, “me-yow! me-yow!” as soft as I could, and then I put out the light and scrambled out of the win­dow on to the shed.
Then I slipped down to the ground and crawled in among the trees, and, sure enough, there was Tom Saw­yer wait­ing for me.

Mark Twain
The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn / Huckleberry Finns Abenteuer
Zweisprachige Ausgabe
Übersetzt von Lore Krüger

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Der Originaltext ist gemeinfrei. Die Rechte für die synchronisierte zweisprachige Ausgabe und für die von uns in der Übersetzung ergänzten Textpassagen liegen bei Doppeltext.

Die Übersetzung erschien erstmals 1963 als Band 8 in Mark Twain: Ausgewählte Werke in zwölf Bänden im Aufbau Verlag Berlin und Weimar.
© Aufbau Verlag GmbH & Co. KG, Berlin 1963, 2008

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