It was in a space in a thicket that he came into the world, in one of
those little, hidden places in the wood which seem to be open on every
side but which in fact are completely surrounded by foliage. That is
why there was so little room there, but just enough for him and his
mother.
He stood up, he staggered on his thin legs as he wondered what was
happening, looked out with eyes which were dull, wondered what was
happening but saw nothing, dropped his head, shuddered severely, and
was quite numb.
“What a beautiful child!” declared the magpie.
She had rushed to the place, drawn by the breathy groans she heard
forced from Bambi’s mother by her pain. Now the magpie sat on a branch
nearby. “What a beautiful child!” she exclaimed again. No-one answered
her and she continued speaking excitedly. “And he can already stand up
and walk. That’s amazing! That’s so interesting! I’ve never seen
anything like it in me life. Well, I’m still young of course, it’s
only a year since I left the nest, but I expect you know that. But I
think it’s wonderful. A child like this ... he’s only been born a
second and he can already stand. I think it’s very noble of him. And
most of all, I find that everything done by you deer is very
noble. Can he already run too?”
“Of course,” answered Bambi’s mother gently. “But you’ll have to
excuse me, I’m not really in a good condition to chat with you.
There’s a lot that I’ve got to do ... and besides, I’m feeling quite
tired.”
“Oh, don’t let me disturb you,” said the magpie, “I’m in a bit of a
rush today, too! But it’s not every day that you see something like
this. I ask you, think of how awkward it is for us in these things,
and how much hard work! The children just can’t do anything when they
first hatch from the egg, they just lie there in the nest quite
helpless, and need to be looked after, they always need to be looked
after I tell you, I’m sure you’ve got no idea what it’s like. It’s so
much hard work just to keep ‘em fed, and they need to be protected,
it’s so worrying! I ask you, just think how strenuous all that is,
getting food for the children and having to watch over them at the
same time so that nothing happens to ‘em; if you’re not there they can
do nothing for themselves. Am I not right? And you have to wait so
long before they start to move, so long before they get their first
feathers and start to look a bit decent!”
“Please forgive me,” Bambi’s mother said, “I wasn’t really listening.”
The magpie flew away. “Stupid person,” she thought to herself, “noble,
but stupid!”
Bambi’s mother barely noticed, and continued vigorously washing her
newborn. She washed it with her tongue and so performed several tasks
at once, care for his body, a warming massage and a display of her
affection.
The little one staggered a little under the weight of the stroking and
pushing that gently touched him all over but he remained still. His
red coat, which was still a little unkempt, had a sprinkling of white
on it, his face, that of a child, still looked uncomprehending, almost
as if he were in a deep sleep.
All around them grew hazel bushes, dogwoods, blackthorn bushes and
young elder trees. Lofty maples, beech trees and oaks created a green
roof over the thicket and from the firm, dark brown ground there
sprouted ferns and wild peas and sage. Down close to the ground were
the leaves, close together, of violets which were already in bloom and
the leaves of strawberries which were just beginning to bloom. The
light of the morning sun pierced its way through the thick foliage
like a web of gold. The whole forest was alive with the sounds of
countless voices which pierced through the trees with an air of gay
excitement. The golden oriole performed a ceaseless song of joy, the
doves never stopped cooing, the blackbirds whistled, the finches
flapped their wings, the tits chirruped. The quarrelsome screech of
the jay penetrated through all this, and the joking laughter of the
blue magpie, the bursting, metallic cook-cook of the pheasants. From
time to time the harsh short celebrations of a woodpecker would pierce
through all the other voices. The shrill, bright call of a falcon
would penetrate across the forest canopy and the choir of crows never
stopped ringing out their raucous call.
The little one understood not a one of these many songs and calls, not
a word of their conversations. He was still too young to listen to
them. He also paid no attention to any of the many smells that the
forest breathed. He heard only the gentle rustling that ran over his
coat as it was washed, warmed and kissed, and he smelt only the body
of his mother, close by. He nuzzled close to this body with the lovely
smell, and hungrily he searched around it and found the source of
life.
As he drank his mother continued to pet him. “Bambi,” she whispered.
Every few moments she would lift her head, listen, and draw the wind
in.
Then she kissed her child again, reassured and happy. “Bambi,” she
repeated, “my little Bambi.”