Now, in the early summer, the trees stood still under the blue sky,
they held their arms out wide and received the power of the sun as it
streamed down on them. The bushes in the thicket were coming into
bloom with stars of white or red or yellow. On many of them the buds
of fruit were beginning to be seen again, countless many of them were
sitting on the fine tips of the branches, tender and firm and resolute
they looked like little clenched fists. The colourful stars of many
different flowers came up out of the ground so that the earth, in the
subdued light of the forest, was a spray of silent but vigorous and
gay colours. Everywhere there was the smell of the fresh foliage, of
flowers, of the soil and of green wood. When morning broke, and when
the sun went down, the whole wood was alive with a thousand voices,
and all day from morning to evening the bees sang, the wasps buzzed,
and the bumble-bees buzzed even louder through the fragrant stillness.
That is what the days were like when Bambi experienced his earliest
childhood.
He followed his mother onto a narrow strip that led between the
bushes. It was so pleasant to walk here! The dense foliage stroked his
sides gently, and bent slightly to the side. Everywhere you looked the
path seemed to be blocked and locked, but it was possible to go
forward in the greatest comfort. There were routes like this in the
woods, they formed a network going all through the forest. Bambi’s
mother knew them all, and whenever he stood in front of what seemed to
him like an impenetrable green wall she would immediately seek out the
place where the path began.
Bambi asked her questions. He was very fond of asking his mother
questions. For him, it was the nicest thing in the world to keep
asking her questions and to listen to whatever answer she gave. Bambi
was not at all surprised that he always thought of one question after
another to ask her. It seemed entirely natural to him; it was such a
delight for him. It was also a delight to wait, curious, until the
answer came, and whatever the answer was he was always satisfied with
it. There were times, of course, when he did not understand the answer
he was given but that was nice too because he could always ask more
questions whenever he wanted to. Sometimes he stopped asking questions
and that was nice too because then he was busy trying to understand
what he had been told and would work it out in his own way. He often
felt certain that his mother had not given him a complete answer, that
she deliberately avoided saying everything she knew. And that was very
nice, as it left behind a certain kind of curiosity still in him, a
feeling of something mysterious and pleasing that ran through him, an
expectation that made him uneasy but cheerful.
Now he asked, “Who owns this path, mother?”
His mother answered, “We do.”
Bambi continued asking. “You and me?”
“Yes.”
“Both of us?”
“Yes.”
“Just you and me?”
“No,” said his mother, “we deer own it ...”
“What’s a deer?” asked Bambi with a laugh.
His mother looked at him and laughed too. “You’re a deer, and I’m a
deer. That’s what deer are. Do you understand now?”
Bambi jumped into the air with laughter. “Yes, I understand. I’m a
little deer and you’re a big deer. That’s right, isn’t it.”
His mother nodded. “There, you see now.”
Bambi became serious again. “Are we the only ones, or are there other
deer?”
“Certainly,” said his mother. “There are lots of them.”
“Where are they?” Bambi exclaimed.
“They’re here, they’re all around us.”
“But ... I can’t see them.”
“You’ll see them soon enough.”
“When?” Bambi’s curiosity was so strong that he stopped walking.”
“Soon.” His mother walked calmly on.
Bambi followed her. He said nothing, for he was trying to work out
what she could have meant by “soon.” He reached the conclusion that
“soon” was certainly not the same as “very soon.” But he was not able
to decide when it was that this “soon” would stop being “soon” and
start to be “a long time yet.” Suddenly he asked, “Who was it who made
this path?”
“We did,” his mother replied.
Bambi was astonished. “We did? You and me?”
His mother said, “Well, yes, ... we deer made it.”
“What deer?” Bambi asked.
“All of us,” was his mother’s curt reply.
They walked on. Bambi had had enough of it and wanted to jump off away
from the path, but he was a good child and stayed with his
mother. Ahead of them there was a rustling noise, coming from
somewhere close to the ground. There was something moving vigorously,
something concealed under the ferns and wild lettuce. A little voice,
as thin as a thread, let out a pitiful whistle, and then it was
quiet. Only the leaves and the blades of grass quivered to show where
it was that something had happened. A polecat had caught a mouse. Then
he dashed past them, crouched down to one side and set to on his meal.
“What was that?” asked Bambi excitedly.
“Nothing,” his mother reassured him.
“But...” Bambi stuttered, “but ... I saw it.”
“Well, yes,” his mother said, “but don’t be frightened. A polecat
killed a mouse.”
But Bambi was terribly frightened. His heart was squeezed within a
great, but unfamiliar, horror. It was a long time before he could
speak again. Then he asked, “Why did he kill the mouse?”
“Because ...” His mother hesitated. Then she said, “Let’s go a bit
faster, shall we?” as if she had suddenly thought of something else
and forgotten about the question. She began to trot. Bambi hopped
along after her.
A long pause went by and they had stopped walking so fast. Finally
Bambi, feeling rather anxious, asked, “Will we ever kill a mouse?”
“No,” his mother answered.
“Never?” asked Bambi.
“No, never,” came her reply.
“Why not?” asked Bambi with some relief.
“Because we never kill anyone,” his mother told him simply.
Bambi became cheerful again.
There was a young ash tree next to their path from which a loud
screeching could be heard. His mother paid no attention to it and
carried on walking. But Bambi was curious and stopped. High in the
tree’s branches there were two jays squabbling over a nest they had
just plundered.
“You get out of it, you lout!”
“Don’t get excited, you fool,” the other answered. “I’m not afraid of
you.”
“Go and get your own nests, you thief!” yelled the first. “I’ll punch
your face in.” He was beside himself. “You’re just vile,” he
snapped. “Just vile!”
The other bird had noticed Bambi. He flapped a few twigs down and
snarled, “What are you looking at, brat? Get lost!”
Bambi felt intimidated and jumped away from them. Once he had reached
his mother he continued walking behind her along the path, obedient
and startled. He thought she had not noticed he had stayed behind.
After a while he asked her, “Mother, what does ‘vile’ mean?”
His mother said, “I don’t know.”
Bambi thought about it. And then he began again. “Mother, why were
those two being so nasty to each other?”
His mother answered, “They were quarrelling about getting the food.”
Bambi asked, “Will we ever quarrel about food like that?”
“No,” his mother said.
“Why not,” Bambi asked.
His mother replied, “There’s plenty of food for all of us.”
There was something else that Bambi wanted to know. “Mother ...?”
“What is it?”
“Will we ever be nasty to each other too?”
“No, my child,” said his mother. “We don’t do that sort of thing.”
They carried on walking. Suddenly they saw light ahead of them, very
bright light. The green confusion of bushes and shrubs came to an end,
their path was at its end. Just a few steps further and they came out
into the brightly lit free space that opened up ahead of them. Bambi
wanted to jump forward, but his mother just stood where she was.
“What’s that?” he exclaimed, impatient and quite enchanted.
“The meadow,” his mother answered.
“What’s that, the meadow?” Bambi insisted.
His mother gave him a curt reply. “You’ll see that for yourself soon
enough.” She had become serious and attentive. She stood there without
moving, her head held up high, listening tensely, testing the wind
with deep breaths, and she looked almost severe.
“Yes, everything’s alright,” she finally said, “we can go on out
there.” Bambi was about to jump ahead but she blocked his way. “No,
you wait until I call you.” Bambi did as he was told and immediately
stood still. “Well done, Bambi,” his mother praised him. “Now, listen
carefully to what I say.” Bambi listened carefully as his mother spoke
and saw how agitated she was, he became very tense himself. “Going out
onto the meadow is not as simple as it seems,” his mother continued,
“it’s difficult and it’s dangerous. Don’t ask me why. You’ll learn
that later on. For now, just do exactly what I tell you. Will you do
that?”
“Yes,” Bambi promised.
“Good. So I’ll go out there first by myself. You stay here and wait.
And don’t take your eyes off me. Keep me in sight and don’t look away,
not for a second. If you see me start to run back here, then turn
round and run away as fast as you can. I’ll soon catch up with you.”
She became silent and seemed to be thinking, then, with much emphasis,
she went on. “Whatever happens, run, run, run as fast as you can. Run
... even if something happens ... even if you see ... if you see me
fall to the ground ... don’t pay any attention to me, understand?
... Whatever you see or hear ... just keep going, without delay and as
fast as you can ...! Do you promise me that?”
“Yes,” said Bambi quietly.
“But if I call you,” his mother continued, “you can come. You come and
play on the meadow. It’s nice out there, you’ll like it. Only ...
this is something else you have to promise me ... if I call you, you
must be at my side straight away. Whatever the circumstances! Do you
hear?”
“Yes,” said Bambi, even quieter. His mother was being so serious.
She continued speaking. “Out there ... if I call you ... there’s to be
no running about and no questions, you’re to run behind me like the
wind! Don’t forget. No thinking about it, no hesitating ... if I start
to run it means you get up immediately and get out of there, and you
don’t stop till we’re back here in the woods. You won’t forget that,
will you!”
“No,” said Bambi, feeling rather anxious.
“Alright, now I’ll go,” his mother told him, and seemed somewhat
calmer.
She stepped out onto the meadow. Bambi, who did not take his eyes off
her, saw how she went forward with slow and high steps. He stood there
full of anticipation, full of fear and curiosity. He saw how his
mother listened on every side, he saw her when something startled her
and felt startled himself, ready to jump back into the thicket. Then
his mother became calm once more and after a minute had passed she
became cheerful. She lowered her neck, stretched it out far in front
of her, looked contentedly back at Bambi and called, “Come on then!”
Bambi jumped forward. He was gripped with an enormous joy that was so
magically strong that he forgot about the anxiety he had felt just
before. All he had been able to see while he was in the thicket was
the green treetops above him, and he saw the few scraps of blue above
them only in short, rare glimpses. Now he could see the whole of the
sky, high and wide and blue, and that made him glad, although he did
not know why. Among the trees, all he had seen of the sun had been
single, broad rays, or the gentle scattering of golden light that
played between the branches. Now he suddenly found himself standing in
a hot and dazzling power that forced itself on him, he stood within
this copious blessing of warmth that closed his eyes and opened his
heart. Bambi was exhilarated; he was completely beside himself, it was
simply wonderful. He spontaneously jumped into the air, three times,
four times, five times on the spot where stood. He could not help
himself; he had to do it. Something yanked him up and made him
jump. His young limbs had such powerful spring in them, the air went
so deep and easily into his lungs that he drank it in, drank in all
the fragrances of the meadow with so much overpowering cheer that he
simply had to jump. Bambi was a child. If he had been a human child he
would have shouted with joy. But he was a young deer, and deer cannot
shout, or at least not in the same way as human children do. So he
rejoiced in his own way. With his legs, with his whole body that threw
him into the air. His mother stood nearby and was glad to watch
him. She watched him going crazy. She saw him as he threw himself up
high, dropped clumsily back down on the same spot, stared ahead in
confusion and exhilaration, and then, in the next moment, threw
himself back into the air over and over again. She understood that
Bambi had only ever seen the narrow deer paths in the woods, in the
few days of his existence had only ever become used to the narrowness
of the thicket, and that he therefore did not move from the spot where
he stood because he still did not understand that he was free to run
around the whole of the meadow. She stretched out her forelegs and
lowered herself onto them, gave a little laugh to Bambi, and she was
suddenly away, rushing round in circles so that the tall grass swished
loudly. Bambi was startled and remained motionless. Was that meant to
mean he should go back into the woods? Don’t bother about me, his
mother had said, whatever you see, whatever you hear, just get away,
get away as fast as you can! He wanted to turn round and run away as
he had been told. Then his mother suddenly came galloping towards him
making a wonderful noise. She came to within two steps from him,
lowered her body as she had done the first time, laughed to him and
called, “Try and catch me!,” and rushed away from him. Bambi was
astonished. What was all this supposed to mean? What had come over his
mother all of a sudden? But then she was coming back again at such
enormous speed it enough to make you dizzy. She poked him in the side
with her nose and quickly said, “Try and catch me!,” and rushed
away. Bambi stumbled after her. A few steps. But those steps soon
became little jumps. They carried him, he thought he was flying; they
carried him by themselves. There was space under his steps, space
under his jumps, space, space. Bambi was beside himself. The grass
made a glorious sound in his ears. It was deliciously soft, as tender
as silk as he skimmed across it. His mother stood still for a while as
she caught her breath. She only moved in the direction of Bambi as he
rushed by. Bambi flew like the wind.
Suddenly it stopped. Bambi stopped running and went over to his mother
in an elegant, high stepping trot, where he looked happily into her
face. Then they walked along contentedly beside each other. Since he
had come out here into the open Bambi had seen the sky, the sun and
the wide stretch of green only with his body, only with a blinkered,
drunken glance at the sky, with the cosy feeling of the warmth on his
back and the invigorating feel of the sun that made him take ever
deeper breaths. Now, for the first time, he began to enjoy the glory
of the meadow with his eyes which surprised him with new wonders with
every step he took. There were no scraps of bare earth that could be
seen as there were among the trees. Here every spot was covered in
dense grass, every blade cuddling close with others which swelled up
in abundant glory, leant gently to one side under each step and
immediately sprang back upright with no sense of insult. The broad
green plain was starry with white daisies, with violets, with the
thick red heads of the clover as it began to blossom, and with the
shining majesty of the golden flowers held up high by the dandelions.
“Look, mother,” called Bambi, “there’s a flower flying away.”
“That’s not a flower,” his mother said. “That’s a butterfly.”
Bambi was delighted and watched the butterfly as it very gently freed
itself from a stalk of grass and, in tumbling flight, floated
away. Now Bambi saw that there were many such butterflies flying in
the air over the meadow, they seemed to be in a hurry but they were
slow, they tumbled up and down in a game that enchanted him. They
really did look like flowers moving about, gay flowers that did not
want to just keep still on their stalks and had got up to have a
little dance. Or like flowers that had come down with the sun, still
had not found a place for themselves and were carefully looking round
for one, they would sink down and disappear as if they had already
found a place but then they would fly straight up again, just a little
way at first, and then higher in order to carry on with their search,
always seeking because the best places were already occupied.
Bambi looked at all of them. He would have so liked to see one of them
close up, would have so liked to examine just one of them, but he was
not able to. They never stopped flitting about between each other. It
made him quite dizzy.
When he once again looked down at the ground everything he saw brought
him a thousand delights, nimble, living things that flew up when he
stepped near them. All around him there was something jumping and
sprinkling into the air, something that became visible in a tumultuous
swarm and, the next second sank back into the green ground it had come
from.
“What’s that, mother?” he asked.
“That’s the little ones,” she answered.
“Look,” called Bambi, “there’s a piece of grass that’s jumping up
... it’s jumping up so high!”
“That isn’t grass,” his mother explained, “that’s a nice grasshopper.”
“Why does it jump like that?” asked Bambi.
“Because we’re moving about,” his mother answered, “it’s frightened.”
“Oh!” Bambi went over to the grasshopper, which was sitting right in
the white dish of a daisy.
“Oh,” said Bambi politely, “you don’t need to be frightened, we
certainly won’t do anything to you.”
“I’m not frightened,” the grasshopper retorted in a rasping voice. “I
was just a bit startled at first, as I was speaking to my wife.”
“Please excuse us for disturbing you,” said Bambi modestly.
“That doesn’t matter,” the grasshopper rasped. “As it’s you it doesn’t
matter. But you never know who might be coming, and you have to watch
out for yourself.”
“I haven’t been out here on the meadow before,” Bambi told him. “My
mother ...”
The grasshopper stood there with his head lowered in a way that made
him look very cross, his face looked serious and he grumbled, “I’m not
interested in that. I haven’t got the time to be here chatting with
you, I’ve got to go and find my wife. Hop!” And he was gone.
“Hop,” said Bambi, rather puzzled and astonished at the height of the
leap the grasshopper had made as he disappeared.
Bambi ran to his mother. “Listen ... I’ve just been talking with him!”
“With who?” his mother asked.
“Well, with the grasshopper,” Bambi explained, “I was talking with
him. He was so friendly to me. And I liked him so much. He’s so green,
it’s wonderful, and on his back you can see right through him, there
aren’t any leaves like that, not even the finest leaf.”
“That was his wings.”
“Was it?” Bambi continued speaking. “And he’s got such a serious face,
as if he were thinking hard about something. But he was friendly to me
anyway. And he can jump so high! That must be awfully hard. “Hop!! he
said, and he jumped so high that I couldn’t see him any more.
They walked on. Bambi was very excited about his conversation with the
grasshopper, and he was a little tired as it was the first time he had
talked with a stranger. He was hungry, and pressed close to his mother
so that he could refresh himself.
Then, when he was once more standing there for a while, just staring
ahead of him in the sweet, little inebriation that always enveloped
him when he had drunk all he had wanted from his mother, he saw a
whitish flower down in the tangle of grass stems. It moved. Bambi
looked closer. No, that was not a flower, it was a butterfly. Bambi
crept closer.
The butterfly was hanging listlessly from a stem of grass, and gently
moved his wings about.
“Please, stay where you are,” Bambi called to him.
“Why should I stay where I am? I am a butterfly, after all,” he asked
in astonishment.
“Oh, please stay where you are, just for a little while,” Bambi begged
him, “I’ve been wanting to see you close up for so long now. Please be
so kind.”
“Alright then,” said the little white butterfly, “but not for too
long.”
Bambi stood in front of him. “You’re so beautiful,” he said in
enchantment, “so beautiful! Like a flower!”
“What?” The butterfly clapped his wings. “Like a flower? Well,
everyone I know agrees that we’re much more beautiful than flowers.”
Bambi was confused at that. “Y..yes, certainly,” he stuttered, “much
more beautiful ... please forgive me ... I just wanted to say ...”
“I don’t really care what you wanted to say,” the butterfly
retorted. He started to show off by curving his narrow body and
playing idly with his sensitive antennae.
Bambi was enthralled and continued to watch him. “You’re so elegant,”
he said, “so fine and so elegant! And those white wings of yours,
they’re so majestic!”
The butterfly lay his wings wide open, then he put them together above
him where they looked like the taut sail of a yacht.
“Oh,” Bambi exclaimed, “now I understand how you’re more beautiful
than the flowers. And you can fly as well, flowers can’t do that. They
have to stay where they’re growing, that’s how.”
The butterfly raised himself up. “That’s enough now,” he said. “I can
fly!” And he lifted himself into the air with such ease that it could
not be seen and it could not be understood. His white wings moved
gently and full of grace, and he was already drifting there in the air
and the sunshine. “It was only for your sake that I remained sitting
there for so long,” he said, and he jiggled up and down in front of
Bambi, “but now, I will fly away.”
That was the meadow.