The Hare and the Hedgehog

This story sounds like a fib when you tell it, boys, but it’s true all the same. My grandfather, who told it to me, always said with a contented smile, “It must be true, my son, or nobody could tell it.” And this is how it happened.

It was a Sunday morning at harvest time, just when the buckwheat was in bloom. The sun had risen bright in the sky, a warm breeze was blowing over the stubble, and the larks were singing high in the air. The bees were buzzing in the buckwheat, and people were walking to church in their Sunday best. Every creature was happy, and so was the hedgehog.

The hedgehog stood in front of his door with his arms folded, enjoying the morning breeze and humming a little song to himself, as well or as badly as a hedgehog usually sings on a fine Sunday morning. While he was still humming under his breath, it suddenly occurred to him that he might take a little walk in the field while his wife washed and dressed the children, and see how his turnips were coming along.

The turnips grew right next to his house, and he and his family often ate them, so he thought of them as his own. He didn’t waste a moment. He shut the front door behind him and set off toward the field.

He hadn’t gone far, and was just turning past the blackthorn bush at the edge of the field to go up to the turnip patch, when he met the hare, who had come out on much the same business: to look at his cabbages. The hedgehog wished him a friendly “Good morning.”

The hare, who thought himself a fine gentleman in his own way and was terribly proud besides, didn’t return the greeting. Instead he put on a very scornful face and said, “How is it that you’re running around the field so early in the morning?”

“I’m taking a walk,” said the hedgehog.

“A walk?” The hare laughed. “It seems to me you could use those legs of yours for something better.”

That answer stung the hedgehog to the quick. He could put up with anything, but not a word against his legs, because they were crooked by nature.

“You seem to think,” said the hedgehog, “that you can do more with your legs than I can.”

“I do,” said the hare.

“That remains to be seen,” said the hedgehog. “I bet that if we run a race, I’ll leave you behind.”

“That’s a laugh, you with your crooked legs!” said the hare. “But all right, if you’re so set on it. What’s the bet?”

“A gold louis d’or and a bottle of brandy,” said the hedgehog.

“Done,” said the hare. “Shake on it, and we can start right away.”

“No, there’s no great hurry,” said the hedgehog. “I haven’t eaten a thing yet. First I’ll go home and have a little breakfast. I’ll be back here in half an hour.”

The hare agreed, and off went the hedgehog. On the way he thought to himself, “The hare is counting on his long legs, but I’ll get the better of him. He may be a fine gentleman, but he’s a stupid fellow all the same, and he’s going to pay.”

When the hedgehog got home, he said to his wife, “Wife, get dressed quickly. You have to come out to the field with me.”

“What’s going on?” asked his wife.

“I’ve made a bet with the hare for a gold louis d’or and a bottle of brandy. I’m going to race him, and I need you there.”

“Oh, good heavens, husband!” cried the hedgehog’s wife. “Are you out of your senses? Have you lost your mind completely? How can you even think of racing the hare?”

“Hush, wife,” said the hedgehog. “That’s my business. Don’t meddle in men’s affairs. Now go and get dressed, and come along.”

What could the hedgehog’s wife do? She had to go with him, whether she liked it or not.

As they walked along together, the hedgehog said to her, “Now listen carefully. You see that long field over there? That’s where we’ll run our race. The hare will run in one furrow and I’ll run in the other, and we’ll start from the top. All you have to do is crouch down here at the bottom, in my furrow, and when the hare comes running up on his side, you call out to him, ‘I’m here already!’”

By then they had reached the field. The hedgehog showed his wife where to wait and walked up to the top of the field. When he got there, the hare was already waiting.

“Shall we start?” asked the hare.

“Yes, indeed,” said the hedgehog.

Each of them took his place in his own furrow. The hare counted, “One, two, three!” and off he shot down the field like a whirlwind. The hedgehog ran about three steps, then ducked down in his furrow and sat there quietly.

When the hare came racing to the bottom of the field at full speed, the hedgehog’s wife called out to him, “I’m here already!”

The hare stopped short and was more than a little amazed. He was sure it was the hedgehog himself calling to him, for, as everyone knows, a hedgehog’s wife looks exactly like her husband.

“Something’s not right here,” thought the hare, and he shouted, “Once more, back again!” Away he went like a whirlwind, so fast that his ears streamed out behind his head.

Down at the bottom, the hedgehog’s wife stayed quietly where she was.

When the hare reached the top, the hedgehog called out to him, “I’m here already!”

The hare was beside himself with rage. “Once more, back again!” he shouted.

“Suits me,” answered the hedgehog. “As many times as you like.”

So the hare ran seventy-three times in all, and the hedgehog was a match for him every time. Whenever the hare reached the bottom or the top, the hedgehog or his wife called out, “I’m here already!”

But the seventy-fourth time, the hare never reached the end. In the middle of the field he fell to the ground, and he died right there.

The hedgehog took the gold louis d’or and the bottle of brandy he had won and called his wife out of her furrow. The two of them walked home together, very pleased with themselves. And if they haven’t died, they’re still alive today.

So it was that on the Buxtehude heath the hedgehog ran the hare to death, and since that day no hare has ever again thought of racing a Buxtehude hedgehog.

The lesson of this story is, first, that nobody, however grand he thinks he is, should ever make fun of someone humble, even if it’s only a hedgehog. And second, that when a man marries, it’s wise to choose a wife of his own kind, one who looks just like him. So whoever is a hedgehog had better make sure his wife is a hedgehog too, and so on.