Spring had come, and its influence had aroused the sexual passions of a hare, who, though not very brave, was a bit of a rascal. He wandered through the woods, and decideded to pay a visit to a certain vixen. When he got to the fox’s den, she was lying on the stove, and the cubs were all looking out of the window. When she saw the hare, she said, ‘Listen to me, my children. If that scoundrel comes here, say I am not at home. It must be the devil sends him here. I have long owed the villain a grudge; perhaps this time I shall catch him one way or another.’ Thereupon the vixen hid herself. The hare came and knocked at the door. ‘Who is there?’ asked the cubs. ‘It is I, said the visitor. ‘How do you do, my dears? Is your mother at home?’ ‘No, she is not.’—‘That’s a pity, for I came on purpose to ride her—and now she is not at home,’ said the hare; and with that he scuttled off through the wood.
The vixen had heard all that passed. ‘Oh, you son of a bitch,’ she cried. ‘Wait a bit you impudent rascal, and I will make you pay dearly for your impudence.’
She jumped off the stove, and hid herself behind the door, expecting that the hare would come again. Very soon he did come back. ‘Good day, my dears; is your mother at home?’ he asked the cubs. ‘She is not.’ ‘So much the worse,’ replied the hare, ‘I would have given her her fill of pleasure.’ With that the vixen popped out and said, ‘Good day, my friend.’ The hare scuttled away as fast as he could, and ran till he was out of breath, dropping his dirt with fright on the road. The vixen pursued him. ‘You shall not escape this time, you ugly scoundrel,’ she cried. She was close upon him. The hare made a bound, and jumped between two birch trees, which grew close together. The vixen tried to do the same, but she was caught between the two trees, and could not, do all she would, go forwards or backwards, though she used all her efforts to regain her liberty. The rascally hare looked behind him, and seeing how luck had favoured him, he went back and satisfied his desire on the vixen. ‘That is the way we do it,’ he said. When he had well trussed her, he ran away as fast as he could.
Not far from there was a cinder pit, where a peasant had been making a fire. The hare ran and wallowed in the black dust till he looked like a real monk. Then he went back to the road and walked quietly along with his ears down. Very soon up came the vixen, who had at last got free, and was looking for the hare; when she saw him she took him for a monk. ‘Good day, holy father,’ she said, ‘have you seen an ugly squinting hare pass this way?’
‘What hare? The one who gave you such a doing just now?’ The vixen blushed with shame and returned home as fast as she could. ‘Oh, the rascal,’ she said, ‘he has already told the story in all the monasteries.’ Cunning as the vixen was, the hare could give her points.