In early summer the trees stood still under the blue sky, held their
limbs outstretched and received the direct rays of the sun. On the
shrubs and bushes in the undergrowth, the flowers unfolded their red,
white and yellow stars. On some the seed pods had begun to appear again.
They perched innumerable on the fine tips of the branches, tender and
firm and resolute, and seemed like small, clenched fists. Out of the
earth came whole troops of flowers, like motley stars, so that the soil
of the twilit forest floor shone with a silent, ardent, colorful
gladness. Everything smelled of fresh leaves, of blossoms, of moist
clods and green wood. When morning broke, or when the sun went down, the
whole woods resounded with a thousand voices, and from morning till
night, the bees hummed, the wasps droned, and filled the fragrant
stillness with their murmur.
These were the earliest days of Bambi’s life. He walked behind his
mother on a narrow track that ran through the midst of the bushes. How
pleasant it was to walk there. The thick foliage stroked his flanks
softly and bent supplely aside. The track appeared to be barred and
obstructed in a dozen places and yet they advanced with the greatest
ease. There were tracks like this everywhere, running criss-cross
through the whole woods. His mother knew them all, and if Bambi
sometimes stopped before a bush as if it were an impenetrable green
wall, she always found where the path went through, without hesitation
or searching.
Bambi questioned her. He loved to ask his mother questions. It was the
pleasantest thing for him to ask a question and then to hear what answer
his mother would give. Bambi was never surprised that question after
question should come into his mind continually and without effort. He
found it perfectly natural, and it delighted him very much. It was very
delightful, too, to wait expectantly till the answer came. If it turned
out the way he wanted, he was satisfied. Sometimes of course, he did not
understand, but that was pleasant also because he was kept busy
picturing what he had not understood, in his own way. Sometimes he felt
very sure that his mother was not giving him a complete answer, was
intentionally not telling him all she knew. And, at first, that was very
pleasant, too. For then there would remain in him such a lively
curiosity, such suspicion, mysteriously and joyously flashing through
him, such anticipation, that he would become anxious and happy at the
same time, and grow silent.
Once he asked, “Whom does this trail belong to, Mother?”
His mother answered, “To us.”
Bambi asked again, “To you and me?”
“Yes.”
“To us two?”
“Yes.”
“Only to us two?”
“No,” said his mother, “to us deer.”
“What are deer?” Bambi asked, and laughed.
His mother looked at him from head to foot and laughed too. “You are a
deer and I am a deer. We’re both deer,” she said. “Do you understand?”
Bambi sprang into the air for joy. “Yes, I understand,” he said. “I’m a
little deer and you’re a big deer, aren’t you?”
His mother nodded and said, “Now you see.”
But Bambi grew serious again. “Are there other deer besides you and me?”
he asked.
“Certainly,” his mother said. “Many of them.”
“Where are they?” cried Bambi.
“Here, everywhere.”
“But I don’t see them.”
“You will soon,” she said.
“When?” Bambi stood still, wild with curiosity.
“Soon.” The mother walked on quietly. Bambi followed her. He kept silent
for he was wondering what “soon” might mean. He came to the conclusion
that “soon” was certainly not “now.” But he wasn’t sure at what time
“soon” stopped being “soon” and began to be a “long while.” Suddenly he
asked, “Who made this trail?”
“We,” his mother answered.
Bambi was astonished. “We? You and I?”
The mother said, “We, we ... we deer.”
Bambi asked, “Which deer?”
“All of us,” his mother said sharply.
They walked on. Bambi was in high spirits and felt like leaping off the
path, but he stayed close to his mother. Something rustled in front of
them, close to the ground. The fern fronds and wood-lettuce concealed
something that advanced in violent motion. A threadlike, little cry
shrilled out piteously; then all was still. Only the leaves and the
blades of grass shivered back into place. A ferret had caught a mouse.
He came slinking by, slid sideways, and prepared to enjoy his meal.
“What was that?” asked Bambi excitedly.
“Nothing,” his mother soothed him.
“But,” Bambi trembled, “but I saw it.”
“Yes, yes,” said his mother. “Don’t be frightened. The ferret has killed
a mouse.” But Bambi was dreadfully frightened. A vast, unknown horror
clutched at his heart. It was long before he could speak again. Then he
asked, “Why did he kill the mouse?”
“Because,” his mother hesitated. “Let us walk faster,” she said as
though something had just occurred to her and as though she had
forgotten the question. She began to hurry. Bambi sprang after her.
A long pause ensued. They walked on quietly again. Finally Bambi asked
anxiously, “Shall we kill a mouse, too, sometime?”
“No,” replied his mother.
“Never?” asked Bambi.
“Never,” came the answer.
“Why not?” asked Bambi, relieved.
“Because we never kill anything,” said his mother simply.
Bambi grew happy again.
Loud cries were coming from a young ash tree which stood near their
path. The mother went along without noticing them, but Bambi stopped
inquisitively. Overhead two jays were quarreling about a nest they had
plundered.
“Get away, you murderer!” cried one.
“Keep cool, you fool,” the other answered, “I’m not afraid of you.”
“Look for your own nests,” the first one shouted, “or I’ll break your
head for you.” He was beside himself with rage. “What vulgarity!” he
chattered, “what vulgarity!”
[Illustration: _Overhead two jays were quarreling. “What vulgarity!” he
chattered, “what vulgarity!”_]
The other jay had spied Bambi and fluttered down a few branches to shout
at him. “What are you gawking at, you freak?” he screamed.
Bambi sprang away terrified. He reached his mother and walked behind her
again, frightened and obedient, thinking she had not noticed his
absence.
After a pause he asked, “Mother, what is vulgarity?”
“I don’t know,” said his mother.
Bambi thought a while; then he began again. “Why were they both so angry
with each other, Mother?” he asked.
“They were fighting over food,” his mother answered.
“Will we fight over food, too, sometime?” Bambi asked.
“No,” said his mother.
Bambi asked, “Why not?”
“Because there is enough for all of us,” his mother replied.
Bambi wanted to know something else. “Mother,” he began.
“What is it?”
“Will we be angry with each other sometime?” he asked.
“No, child,” said his mother, “we don’t do such things.”
They walked along again. Presently it grew light ahead of them. It grew
very bright. The trail ended with the tangle of vines and bushes. A few
steps more and they would be in the bright open space that spread out
before them. Bambi wanted to bound forward, but his mother had stopped.
“What is it?” he asked impatiently, already delighted.
“It’s the meadow,” his mother answered.
“What is a meadow?” asked Bambi insistently.
His mother cut him short. “You’ll soon find out for yourself,” she said.
She had become very serious and watchful. She stood motionless, holding
her head high and listening intently. She sucked in deep breathfuls of
air and looked very severe.
“It’s all right,” she said at last, “we can go out.”
Bambi leaped forward, but his mother barred the way.
“Wait till I call you,” she said. Bambi obeyed at once and stood still.
“That’s right,” said his mother, to encourage him, “and now listen to
what I am saying to you.” Bambi heard how seriously his mother spoke and
felt terribly excited.
“Walking on the meadow is not so simple,” his mother went on. “It’s a
difficult and dangerous business. Don’t ask me why. You’ll find that out
later on. Now do exactly as I tell you to. Will you?”
“Yes,” Bambi promised.
“Good,” said his mother, “I’m going out alone first. Stay here and wait.
And don’t take your eyes off me for a minute. If you see me run back
here, then turn round and run as fast as you can. I’ll catch up with you
soon.” She grew silent and seemed to be thinking. Then she went on
earnestly, “Run anyway as fast as your legs will carry you. Run even if
something should happen ... even if you should see me fall to the
ground.... Don’t think of me, do you understand? No matter what you
see or hear, start running right away and just as fast as you possibly
can. Do you promise me to do that?”
“Yes,” said Bambi softly. His mother spoke so seriously.
She went on speaking. “Out there if I should call you,” she said, “there
must be no looking around and no questions, but you must get behind me
instantly. Understand that. Run without pausing or stopping to think. If
I begin to run, that means for you to run too, and no stopping until we
are back here again. You won’t forget, will you?”
“No,” said Bambi in a troubled voice.
“Now I’m going ahead,” said his mother, and seemed to become calmer.
She walked out. Bambi, who never took his eyes off her, saw how she
moved forward with slow, cautious steps. He stood there full of
expectancy, full of fear and curiosity. He saw how his mother listened
in all directions, saw her shrink together, and shrank together himself,
ready to leap back into the thickets. Then his mother grew calm again.
She stretched herself. Then she looked around satisfied and called,
“Come!”
Bambi bounded out. Joy seized him with such tremendous force that he
forgot his worries in a flash. Through the thicket he could see only the
green tree-tops overhead. Once in a while he caught a glimpse of the
blue sky.
Now he saw the whole heaven stretching far and wide and he rejoiced
without knowing why. In the forest he had seen only a stray sunbeam now
and then, or the tender, dappled light that played through the branches.
Suddenly he was standing in the blinding hot sunlight whose boundless
power was beaming upon him. He stood in the splendid warmth that made
him shut his eyes but which opened his heart.
Bambi was as though bewitched. He was completely beside himself with
pleasure. He was simply wild. He leaped into the air three, four, five
times. He had to do it. He felt a terrible desire to leap and jump. He
stretched his young limbs joyfully. His breath came deeply and easily.
He drank in the air. The sweet smell of the meadow made him so wildly
happy that he had to leap into the air.
Bambi was a child. If he had been a human child he would have shouted.
But he was a young deer, and deer cannot shout, at least not the way
human children do. So he rejoiced with his legs and with his whole body
as he flung himself into the air. His mother stood by and was glad. She
saw that Bambi was wild. She watched how he bounded into the air and
fell again awkwardly, in one spot. She saw how he stared around him,
dazed and bewildered, only to leap up over and over again. She
understood that Bambi knew only the narrow deer tracks in the forest and
how his brief life was used to the limits of the thicket. He did not
move from one place because he did not understand how to run freely
around the open meadow.
So she stretched out her forefeet and bent laughingly towards Bambi for
a moment. Then she was off with one bound, racing around in a circle so
that the tall grass stems swished.
Bambi was frightened and stood motionless. Was that a sign for him to
run back to the thicket? His mother had said to him, “Don’t worry about
me no matter what you see or hear. Just run as fast as you can.” He was
going to turn around and run as she had commanded him to, but his mother
came galloping up suddenly. She came up with a wonderful swishing sound
and stopped two steps from him. She bent towards him, laughing as she
had at first and cried, “Catch me.” And in a flash she was gone.
Bambi was puzzled. What did she mean? Then she came back again running
so fast that it made him giddy. She pushed his flank with her nose and
said quickly, “Try to catch me,” and fled away.
Bambi started after her. He took a few steps. Then his steps became
short bounds. He felt as if he were flying without any effort on his
part. There was a space under his hoofs, space under his bounding feet,
space and still more space. Bambi was beside himself with joy.
The swishing grass sounded wonderful to his ears. It was marvelously
soft and as fine as silk where it brushed against him. He ran round in a
circle. He turned and flew off in a new circle, turned around again and
kept running.
His mother was standing still, getting her breath again. She kept
following Bambi with her eyes. He was wild.
Suddenly the race was over. He stopped and came up to his mother,
lifting his hoofs elegantly. He looked joyfully at her. Then they
strolled contentedly side by side.
Since he had been in the open, Bambi had felt the sky and the sun and
the green meadow with his whole body. He took one blinding, giddy glance
at the sun, and he felt its rays as they lay warmly on his back.
Presently he began to enjoy the meadow with his eyes also. Its wonders
amazed him at every step he took. You could not see the tiniest speck of
earth the way you could in the forest. Blade after blade of grass
covered every inch of the ground. It tossed and waved luxuriantly. It
bent softly aside under every footstep, only to rise up unharmed again.
The broad green meadow was starred with white daisies, with the thick,
round red and purple clover blossoms and bright, golden dandelion heads.
“Look, look, Mother!” Bambi exclaimed. “There’s a flower flying.”
“That’s not a flower,” said his mother, “that’s a butterfly.”
Bambi stared at the butterfly, entranced. It had darted lightly from a
blade of grass and was fluttering about in its giddy way. Then Bambi saw
that there were many butterflies flying in the air above the meadow.
They seemed to be in a hurry and yet moved slowly, fluttering up and
down in a sort of game that delighted him. They really did look like gay
flying flowers that would not stay on their stems but had unfastened
themselves in order to dance a little. They looked, too, like flowers
that come to rest at sundown but have no fixed places and have to hunt
for them, dropping down and vanishing as if they really had settled
somewhere, yet always flying up again, a little way at first, then
higher and higher, and always searching farther and farther because all
the good places have already been taken.
Bambi gazed at them all. He would have loved to see one close by. He
wanted to see one face to face but he was not able to. They sailed in
and out continually. The air was aflutter with them.
When he looked down at the ground again he was delighted with the
thousands of living things he saw stirring under his hoofs. They ran and
jumped in all directions. He would see a wild swarm of them, and the
next moment they had disappeared in the grass again.
“Who are they, Mother?” he asked.
“Those are ants,” his mother answered.
“Look,” cried Bambi, “see that piece of grass jumping. Look how high it
can jump!”
“That’s not grass,” his mother explained, “that’s a nice grasshopper.”
“Why does he jump that way?” asked Bambi.
“Because we’re walking here,” his mother answered, “he’s afraid we’ll
step on him.”
“O,” said Bambi, turning to the grasshopper who was sitting on a daisy;
“O,” he said again politely, “you don’t have to be afraid; we won’t hurt
you.”
“I’m not afraid,” the grasshopper replied in a quavering voice; “I was
only frightened for a moment when I was talking to my wife.”
“Excuse us for disturbing you,” said Bambi shyly.
“Not at all,” the grasshopper quavered. “Since it’s you, it’s perfectly
all right. But you never know who’s coming and you have to be careful.”
“This is the first time in my life that I’ve ever been on the meadow,”
Bambi explained; “my mother brought me....”
The grasshopper was sitting with his head lowered as though he were
going to butt. He put on a serious face and murmured, “That doesn’t
interest me at all. I haven’t time to stand here gossiping with you. I
have to be looking for my wife. Hopp!” And he gave a jump.
“Hopp!” said Bambi in surprise at the high jump with which the
grasshopper vanished.
Bambi ran to his mother. “Mother, I spoke to him,” he cried.
“To whom?” his mother asked.
“To the grasshopper,” Bambi said, “I spoke to him. He was very nice to
me. And I like him so much. He’s so wonderful and green and you can see
through his sides. They look like leaves, but you can’t see through a
leaf.”
“Those are his wings,” said his mother.
“O,” Bambi went on, “and his face is so serious and wise. But he was
very nice to me anyhow. And how he can jump! ‘Hopp!’ he said, and he
jumped so high I couldn’t see him any more.”
They walked on. The conversation with the grasshopper had excited Bambi
and tired him a little, for it was the first time he had ever spoken to
a stranger. He felt hungry and pressed close to his mother to be nursed.
Then he stood quietly and gazed dreamily into space for a little while
with a sort of joyous ecstasy that came over him every time he was
nursed by his mother. He noticed a bright flower moving in the tangled
grasses. Bambi looked more closely at it. No, it wasn’t a flower, but a
butterfly. Bambi crept closer.
The butterfly hung heavily to a grass stem and fanned its wings slowly.
“Please sit still,” Bambi said.
“Why should I sit still? I’m a butterfly,” the insect answered in
astonishment.
“O, please sit still, just for a minute,” Bambi pleaded, “I’ve wanted so
much to see you close to. Please.”
“Well,” said the butterfly, “for your sake I will, but not for long.”
Bambi stood in front of him. “How beautiful you are!” he cried
fascinated; “how wonderfully beautiful, like a flower!”
“What?” cried the butterfly, fanning his wings, “did you say like a
flower? In my circle it’s generally supposed that we’re handsomer than
flowers.”
Bambi was embarrassed. “O, yes,” he stammered, “much handsomer, excuse
me, I only meant ...”
“Whatever you meant is all one to me,” the butterfly replied. He arched
his thin body affectedly and played with his delicate feelers.
Bambi looked at him enchanted. “How elegant you are!” he said. “How
elegant and fine! And how splendid and white your wings are!”
The butterfly spread his wings wide apart, then raised them till they
folded together like an upright sail.
“O,” cried Bambi, “I know that you are handsomer than the flowers.
Besides, you can fly and the flowers can’t because they grow on stems,
that’s why.”
The butterfly spread his wings. “It’s enough,” he said, “that I can
fly.” He soared so lightly that Bambi could hardly see him or follow his
flight. His wings moved gently and gracefully. Then he fluttered into
the sunny air.
“I only sat still that long on your account,” he said balancing in the
air in front of Bambi. “Now I’m going.”
That was how Bambi found the meadow.