It happened that the cat met the fox in a forest, and as she thought to herself: —
‘He is clever and full of experience, and much esteemed in the world, ’ she spoke to him in a friendly way. —
‘Good day, dear Mr Fox, how are you? —
How is all with you? How are you getting on in these hard times? —
’ The fox, full of all kinds of arrogance, looked at the cat from head to foot, and for a long time did not know whether he would give any answer or not. —
At last he said: ‘Oh, you wretched beard-cleaner, you piebald fool, you hungry mouse-hunter, what can you be thinking of? —
Have you the cheek to ask how I am getting on? —
What have you learnt? —
How many arts do you understand? —
’ ‘I understand but one,’ replied the cat, modestly. ‘What art is that? —
’ asked the fox. —
‘When the hounds are following me, I can spring into a tree and save myself. —
’ ‘Is that all?’ said the fox. —
‘I am master of a hundred arts, and have into the bargain a sackful of cunning. —
You make me sorry for you; —
come with me, I will teach you how people get away from the hounds. —
’ Just then came a hunter with four dogs. —
The cat sprang nimbly up a tree, and sat down at the top of it, where the branches and foliage quite concealed her. —
‘Open your sack, Mr Fox, open your sack, ’ cried the cat to him, but the dogs had already seized him, and were holding him fast. —
‘Ah, Mr Fox,’ cried the cat. —
‘You with your hundred arts are left in the lurch! —
Had you been able to climb like me, you would not have lost your life.’