The Project Gutenberg eBook ofBambiThis ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.Title: BambiA life in the woodsAuthor: Felix SaltenAuthor of introduction, etc.: John GalsworthyIllustrator: Kurt WieseTranslator: Whittaker ChambersRelease date: January 1, 2024 [eBook #72577]Most recently updated: June 6, 2024Language: EnglishOriginal publication: New York, NY: Simon and Schuster, 1928Credits: Credits: Delphine Lettau, Greg Weeks, Cindy Beyer, Mary Meehan & the online Distributed Proofreaders Canada team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BAMBI ***
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.
Title: BambiA life in the woodsAuthor: Felix SaltenAuthor of introduction, etc.: John GalsworthyIllustrator: Kurt WieseTranslator: Whittaker ChambersRelease date: January 1, 2024 [eBook #72577]Most recently updated: June 6, 2024Language: EnglishOriginal publication: New York, NY: Simon and Schuster, 1928Credits: Credits: Delphine Lettau, Greg Weeks, Cindy Beyer, Mary Meehan & the online Distributed Proofreaders Canada team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net
Title: Bambi
A life in the woods
Author: Felix SaltenAuthor of introduction, etc.: John GalsworthyIllustrator: Kurt WieseTranslator: Whittaker Chambers
Author: Felix Salten
Author of introduction, etc.: John Galsworthy
Illustrator: Kurt Wiese
Translator: Whittaker Chambers
Release date: January 1, 2024 [eBook #72577]Most recently updated: June 6, 2024
Language: English
Original publication: New York, NY: Simon and Schuster, 1928
Credits: Credits: Delphine Lettau, Greg Weeks, Cindy Beyer, Mary Meehan & the online Distributed Proofreaders Canada team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BAMBI ***
BAMBIA Life in the WoodsBy FELIX SALTENFOREWORD BYJOHN GALSWORTHYSIMON AND SCHUSTERNEW YORK 1928COPYRIGHT, 1928, BYSIMON AND SCHUSTER, INC.37 WEST 57 ST., NEW YORKall rights reservedFirst Printing in America, July 1928PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA BYABBOTT PRESS & MORTIMER-WALLING, INC., NEW YORK, N.Y.TRANSLATED BYWHITTAKER CHAMBERSILLUSTRATIONS BYKURT WIESE
A Life in the Woods
By FELIX SALTEN
FOREWORD BYJOHN GALSWORTHY
SIMON AND SCHUSTERNEW YORK 1928
COPYRIGHT, 1928, BYSIMON AND SCHUSTER, INC.37 WEST 57 ST., NEW YORK
all rights reserved
First Printing in America, July 1928
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA BYABBOTT PRESS & MORTIMER-WALLING, INC., NEW YORK, N.Y.
TRANSLATED BYWHITTAKER CHAMBERS
ILLUSTRATIONS BYKURT WIESE
Bambi saw two fawns standing side by side.
Bambi saw two fawns standing side by side.
Bambi saw two fawns standing side by side.
BAMBIis a delicious book. For delicacy of perception and essential truth I hardly know any story of animals that can stand beside this life study of a forest deer. Felix Salten is a poet. He feels nature deeply, and he loves animals. I do not, as a rule, like the method which places human words in the mouths of dumb creatures, and it is the triumph of this book that, behind the conversation, one feels the real sensations of the creatures who speak. Clear and illuminating, and in places very moving, it is a little masterpiece.
I read it in galley proof on the way from Paris to Calais, before a channel crossing. As I finished each sheet I handed it to my wife, who read, and handed it to my nephew’s wife, who read, and handed it to my nephew. For three hours the four of us read thus in silent absorption. Those who know what it is to read books in galley proof, and have experienced channel crossings, will realize that few books will stand such a test. BAMBI is one of them. I particularly recommend it to sportsmen.
March 16th, 1928John Galsworthy
Hecame into the world in the middle of the thicket, in one of those little, hidden forest glades which seem to be entirely open, but are really screened in on all sides. There was very little room in it, scarcely enough for him and his mother.
He stood there, swaying unsteadily on his thin legs and staring vaguely in front of him with clouded eyes which saw nothing. He hung his head, trembled a great deal, and was still completely stunned.
He stood there, swaying unsteadily on his thin legs.
He stood there, swaying unsteadily on his thin legs.
He stood there, swaying unsteadily on his thin legs.
“What a beautiful child,” cried the magpie.
She had flown past, attracted by the deep groans the mother uttered in her labor. The magpie perched on a neighboring branch. “What a beautiful child,” she kept repeating. Receiving no answer, she went on talkatively, “How amazing to think that he should be able to get right up and walk! How interesting! I’ve never seen the like of it before in all my born days. Of course, I’m still young, only a year out of the nest, you might say. But I think it’s wonderful. A child like that, hardly a minute in this world, and beginning to walk already! I call that remarkable. Really, I find that everything you deer do is remarkable. Can he run, too?”
“Of course,” replied the mother softly. “But you must pardon me if I don’t talk with you now. I have so much to do, and I still feel a little faint.”
“Don’t put yourself out on my account,” said the magpie. “I have very little time myself. But you don’t see a sight like this every day. Think what a care and bother such things mean to us. The children can’t stir once they are out of the egg but lie helpless in the nest and require an attention, an attention, I repeat, of which you simply can’t have any comprehension. What a labor it is to feed them, what a trouble to watch them. Just think for a moment what a strain it is to hunt food for the children and to have to be eternally on guard lest something happen to them. They are helpless if you are not with them. Isn’t it the truth? And how long it is before they can move, how long it is before they get their feathers and look like anything at all.”
“Pardon,” replied the mother, “I wasn’t listening.”
The magpie flew off. “A stupid soul,” she thought to herself, “very nice, but stupid.”
The mother scarcely noticed that she was gone. She continued zealously washing her newly-born. She washed him with her tongue, fondling and caressing his body in a sort of warm massage.
The slight thing staggered a little. Under the strokes of her tongue, which softly touched him here and there, he drew himself together and stood still. His little red coat, that was still somewhat tousled, bore fine white spots, and on his vague baby face there was still a deep, sleepy expression.
Round about grew hazel bushes, dogwoods, black-thorns and young elders. Tall maples, beeches and oaks wove a green roof over the thicket and from the firm, dark-brown earth sprang fern fronds, wood-vetch and sage. Underneath, the leaves of the violets, which had already bloomed, and of the strawberries, which were just beginning, clung to the ground. Through the thick foliage, the early sunlight filtered in a golden web. The whole forest resounded with myriad voices, was penetrated by them in a joyous agitation. The wood-thrush rejoiced incessantly, the doves cooed without stopping, the blackbirds whistled, finches warbled, the tit-mice chirped. Through the midst of these songs the jay flew, uttering its quarrelsome cry, the magpie mocked them, and the pheasants cackled loud and high. At times the shrill exulting of a woodpecker rose above all the other voices. The call of the falcon shrilled, light and piercing, over the tree-tops, and the hoarse crow chorus was heard continuously.
The little fawn understood not one of the many songs and calls, not a word of the conversations. He did not even listen to them. Nor did he heed any of the odors which blew through the woods. He only heard the soft licking against his coat that washed him and warmed him and kissed him. And he smelled nothing but his mother’s body near him. She smelled good to him and, snuggling closer to her, he hunted eagerly around and found nourishment for his life.
While he suckled, the mother continued to caress her little one. “Bambi,” she whispered. Every little while she raised her head and, listening, snuffed the wind. Then she kissed her fawn again, reassured and happy.
“Bambi,” she repeated. “My little Bambi.”
Inearly 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!”
Overhead two jays were quarreling. “What vulgarity!” he chattered, “what vulgarity!”
Overhead two jays were quarreling. “What vulgarity!” he chattered, “what vulgarity!”
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.
Inthe heart of the forest was a little glade that belonged to Bambi’s mother. It lay only a few steps from the narrow trail where the deer went bounding through the woods. But no one could ever have found it who did not know the little passage leading to it through the thick bushes.
The glade was very narrow, so narrow that there was only room for Bambi and his mother, and so low that when Bambi’s mother stood up her head was hidden among the branches. Sprays of hazel, furze, and dogwood, woven about each other, intercepted the little bit of sunlight that came through the tree-tops, so that it never reached the ground. Bambi had come into the world in this glade. It was his mother’s and his.
His mother was lying asleep on the ground. Bambi had dozed a little, too. But suddenly he had become wide awake. He got up and looked around.
The shadows were so deep where he was that it was almost dark. From the woods came soft rustlings. Now and again the tit-mice chirped. Now and again came the clear hammering of the woodpecker or the joyless call of a crow. Everything else was still, far and wide. But the air was sizzling in the midday heat so that you could hear it if you listened closely. And it was stiflingly sweet.
Bambi looked down at his mother and said, “Are you asleep?”
No, his mother was not asleep. She had awakened the moment Bambi got up.
“What are we going to do now?” Bambi asked.
“Nothing,” his mother answered. “We’re going to stay right where we are. Lie down, like a good boy, and go to sleep.”
But Bambi had no desire to go to sleep. “Come on,” he begged, “let’s go to the meadow.”
His mother lifted her head. “Go to the meadow,” she said, “go to the meadow now?” Her voice was so full of astonishment and terror that Bambi became quite frightened.
“Can’t we go to the meadow?” he asked timidly.
“No,” his mother answered, and it sounded very final. “No, you can’t go now.”
“Why?” Bambi perceived that something mysterious was involved. He grew still more frightened, but at the same time he was terribly anxious to know everything. “Why can’t we go to the meadow?” he asked.
“You’ll find out all about it later when you’re bigger,” his mother replied.
“But,” Bambi insisted, “I’d rather know now.”
“Later,” his mother repeated, “you’re nothing but a baby yet,” she went on tenderly, “and we don’t talk about such things to children.” She had grown quite serious. “Fancy going to the meadow at this time of day. I don’t even like to think of it. Why, it’s broad daylight.”
“But it was broad daylight when we went to the meadow before,” Bambi objected.
“That’s different,” his mother explained, “it was early in the morning.”
“Can we only go there early in the morning?” Bambi was very curious.
His mother was patient. “Only in the early morning or late evening,” she said, “or at night.”
“And never in the daytime, never?”
His mother hesitated. “Well,” she said at last, “sometimes a few of us do go there in the daytime.... But those are special occasions.... I can’t just explain it to you, you are too young yet.... Some of us do go there.... But we are exposed to the greatest danger.”
“What kind of danger?” asked Bambi all attention.
But his mother did not want to go on with the conversation. “We’re in danger, and that’s enough for you, my son. You can’t understand such things yet.”
Bambi thought that he could understand everything except why his mother did not want to tell him the truth. But he kept silent.
“That’s what life means for us,” his mother went on, “though we all love the daylight, especially when we’re young, we have to lie quiet all day long. We can only roam around from evening till morning. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” said Bambi.
“So, my son, we’ll have to stay where we are. We’re safe here. Now lie down again and go to sleep.”
But Bambi didn’t want to lie down. “Why are we safe here?” he asked.
“Because all the bushes shield us,” his mother answered, “and the twigs snap on the shrubs and the dry twigs crackle and give us warning. And last year’s dead leaves lie on the ground and rustle to warn us, and the jays and magpies keep watch so we can tell from a distance if anybody is coming.”
“What are last year’s leaves?” Bambi asked.
“Come and sit beside me,” said his mother, “and I will tell you.” Bambi sat down contentedly, nestling close to his mother. And she told him how the trees are not always green, how the sunshine and the pleasant warmth disappear. Then it grows cold, the frost turns the leaves yellow, brown and red, and they fall slowly so that the trees and bushes stretch their bare branches to the sky and look perfectly naked. But the dry leaves lie on the ground, and when a foot stirs them they rustle. Then someone is coming. O, how kind last year’s dead leaves are! They do their duty so well and are so alert and watchful. Even in mid-summer there are a lot of them hidden beneath the undergrowth. And they give warning in advance of every danger.
The leaves fall slowly.
The leaves fall slowly.
The leaves fall slowly.
Bambi pressed close against his mother. It was so cozy to sit there and listen while his mother talked.
When she grew silent he began to think. He thought it was very kind of the good old leaves to keep watch, though they were all dead and frozen and had suffered so much. He wondered just what that danger could be that his mother was always talking about. But too much thought tired him. Round about him it was still. Only the air sizzling in the heat was audible. Then he fell asleep.
Oneevening Bambi was roaming about the meadow again with his mother. He thought that he knew everything there was to see or hear there. But in reality it appeared that he did not know as much as he thought.
This time was just like the first. Bambi played tag with his mother. He ran around in circles, and the open space, the deep sky, the fresh air intoxicated him so that he grew perfectly wild. After a while he noticed that his mother was standing still. He stopped short in the middle of a leap so suddenly that his four legs spread far apart. To get his balance he bounded high into the air and then stood erect. His mother seemed to be talking to someone he couldn’t make out through the tall grasses. Bambi toddled up inquisitively.
Two long ears were moving in the tangled grass stems close to his mother. They were grayish-brown and prettily marked with black stripes. Bambi stopped, but his mother said, “Come here. This is our friend, the Hare. Come here like a nice boy and let him see you.”
Bambi went over. There sat the Hare looking like a very honest creature. At times his long spoon-like ears stood bolt upright. At others they fell back limply as though they had suddenly grown weak. Bambi became somewhat critical as he looked at the whiskers that stood out so stiff and straight on both sides of the Hare’s mouth. But he noticed that the Hare had a very mild face and extremely good-natured features, and that he cast timid glances at the world from out of his big round eyes. The Hare really did look friendly. Bambi’s passing doubts vanished immediately. But oddly enough, he had lost all the respect he originally felt for the Hare.
There sat the Hare looking like a very honest creature.
There sat the Hare looking like a very honest creature.
There sat the Hare looking like a very honest creature.
“Good evening, young man,” the Hare greeted him, with studied politeness.
Bambi merely nodded good evening. He didn’t understand why, but he simply nodded. He was very friendly and civil, but a little condescending. He could not help it himself. Perhaps he was born that way.
“What a charming young prince,” said the Hare to Bambi’s mother. He looked at Bambi attentively, raising first one spoon-like ear, then the other, and then both of them, and letting them fall again, suddenly and limply, which didn’t please Bambi. The motion of the Hare’s ears seemed to say, “He isn’t worth bothering with.”
Meanwhile the Hare continued to study Bambi with his big round eyes. His nose and his mouth with the handsome whiskers moved incessantly in the same way a man who is trying not to sneeze twitches his nose and lips. Bambi had to laugh.
The Hare laughed quickly, too, but his eyes grew more thoughtful. “I congratulate you,” he said to Bambi’s mother. “I sincerely congratulate you on your son. Yes, indeed, he’ll make a splendid prince in time. Anyone can see that.”
To Bambi’s boundless surprise he suddenly sat straight on his hind legs. After he had spied all around with his ears stiffened and his nose constantly twitching, he sat down decently on all fours again. “Now if you good people will excuse me,” he said at last, “I have all kinds of things to do to-night. If you’ll be so good as to excuse me....” He turned away and hopped off with his ears back so that they touched his shoulders.
“Good evening,” Bambi called after him.
His mother smiled. “The good Hare,” she said; “he is so suave and prudent. He doesn’t have an easy time of it in this world.” There was sympathy in her voice.
Bambi strolled about a little and left his mother to her meal. He wanted to meet his friend again and he wanted to make new acquaintances, besides. For without being very clear himself what it was he wanted, he felt a certain expectancy. Suddenly, at a distance, he heard a soft rustling on the meadow, and felt a quick, gentle step tapping the ground. He peered ahead of him. Over on the edge of the woods something was gliding through the grasses. Was it alive? No, there were two things. Bambi cast a quick glance at his mother but she wasn’t paying attention to anything and had her head deep in the grass. But the game was going on on the other side of the meadow in a shifting circle exactly as Bambi himself had raced around before. Bambi was so excited that he sprang back as if he wanted to run away. Then his mother noticed him and raised her head.
“What’s the matter?” she called.
But Bambi was speechless. He could not find his tongue and only stammered, “Look over there.”
His mother looked over. “I see,” she said, “that’s my sister, and sure enough she has a baby too, now. No, she has two of them.” His mother spoke at first out of pure happiness, but she had grown serious. “To think that Ena has two babies,” she said, “two of them.”
Bambi stood gazing across the meadow. He saw a creature that looked just like his mother. He hadn’t even noticed her before. He saw that the grasses were being shaken in a double circle, but only a pair of reddish backs were visible like thin red streaks.
“Come,” his mother said, “we’ll go over. They’ll be company for you.”
Bambi would have run, but as his mother walked slowly, peering to right and to left at every step, he held himself back. Still, he was bursting with excitement and very impatient.
“I thought we would meet Ena sometime,” his mother went on to say. “Where can she have been keeping herself? I thought I knew she had one child, that wasn’t hard to guess. But two of them!...”
At last the others saw them and came to meet them. Bambi had to greet his aunt, but his mind was entirely on the children.
His aunt was very friendly. “Well,” she said to him, “this is Gobo and that is Faline. Now you run along and play together.”
The children stood stock-still and stared at each other, Gobo close beside Faline and Bambi in front of him. None of them stirred. They stood and gaped.
“Run along,” said Bambi’s mother, “you’ll soon be friends.”
“What a lovely child,” Aunt Ena replied. “He is really lovely. So strong, and he stands so well.”
“O well,” said his mother modestly, “we have to be content. But to have two of them, Ena!...”
“O yes, that’s all very well,” Ena declared; “you know, dear, I’ve had children before.”
“Bambi is my first,” his mother said.
“We’ll see,” Ena comforted her, “perhaps it will be different with you next time, too.”
The children were still standing and staring at each other. No one said a word. Suddenly Faline gave a leap and rushed away. It had become too much for her.
In a moment Bambi darted after her. Gobo followed him. They flew around in a semi-circle, they turned tail and fell over each other. Then they chased each other up and down. It was glorious. When they stopped, all topsy-turvy and somewhat breathless, they were already good friends. They began to chatter.
Bambi told them how he talked to the nice grasshopper and the butterfly.
“Did you ever talk to the gold bug?” asked Faline.
No, Bambi had never talked to the gold bug. He did not even know who he was.
“I’ve talked to him often,” Faline declared, a little pertly.
“The jay insulted me,” said Bambi.
“Really,” said Gobo astonished, “did the jay treat you like that?” Gobo was very easily astonished and was extremely timid.
“Well,” he observed, “the hedgehog stuck me in the nose.” But he only mentioned it in passing.
“Who is the hedgehog?” Bambi asked eagerly. It seemed wonderful to him to be there with friends, listening to so many exciting things.
“The hedgehog is a terrible creature,” cried Faline, “full of long spines all over his body and very wicked!”
“Do you really think he’s wicked?” asked Gobo. “He never hurts anybody.”
“Is that so?” answered Faline quickly. “Didn’t he stick you?”
“O, that was only because I wanted to speak to him,” Gobo replied, “and only a little anyhow. It didn’t hurt me much.”
Bambi turned to Gobo. “Why didn’t he want you to talk to him?” he asked.
“He doesn’t talk to anybody,” Faline interrupted, “even if you just come where he is he rolls himself up so he’s nothing but prickles all over. Our mother says he’s one of those people who don’t want to have anything to do with the world.”
“Maybe he’s only afraid,” Gobo said.
But Faline knew better. “Mother says you shouldn’t meddle with such people,” she said.
Presently Bambi began to ask Gobo softly, “Do you know what ‘danger’ means?”
Then they both grew serious and all three heads drew together. Gobo thought a while. He made a special effort to remember for he saw how curious Bambi was for the answer. “Danger,” he whispered, “is something very bad.”
“Yes,” Bambi declared excitedly, “I know it’s something very bad, but what?” All three trembled with fear.
Suddenly Faline cried out loudly and joyfully, “I know what danger is—it’s what you run away from.” She sprang away. She couldn’t bear to stay there any longer and be frightened. In an instant, Bambi and Gobo had bounded after her. They began to play again. They tumbled in the rustling, silky green meadow grass, and in a twinkling had forgotten all about the absorbing question. After a while they stopped and stood chattering together as before. They looked towards their mothers. They were standing close together, eating a little and carrying on a quiet conversation.
Aunt Ena raised her head and called the children. “Come, Gobo. Come, Faline. We have to go now.”
And Bambi’s mother said to him, “Come, it’s time to go.”
“Wait just a little longer,” Faline pleaded eagerly, “just a little while.”
“Let’s stay a little longer, please,” Bambi pleaded, “it’s so nice.” And Gobo repeated timidly, “It’s so nice, just a little longer.” All three spoke at once.
Ena looked at Bambi’s mother. “What did I tell you,” she said, “they won’t want to separate now.”
Then something happened that was much more exciting than everything else that happened to Bambi that day. Out of the woods came the sound of hoofs beating the earth. Branches snapped, the boughs rustled, and before Bambi had time to listen, something burst out of the thicket. Someone came crashing and rustling with someone else rushing after him. They tore by like the wind, described a wide circle on the meadow and vanished into the woods again, where they could be heard galloping. Then they came bursting out of the thicket again and suddenly stood still, about twenty paces apart.
Bambi looked at them and did not stir. They looked like his mother and Aunt Ena. But their heads were crowned with gleaming antlers covered with brown beads and bright white prongs. Bambi was completely overcome. He looked from one to the other. One was smaller and his antlers narrower. But the other one was stately and beautiful. He carried his head up and his antlers rose high above it. They flashed from dark to light, adorned with the splendor of many black and brown prongs.
“O,” cried Faline in admiration. “O,” Gobo repeated softly. But Bambi said nothing. He was entranced and silent. Then they both moved and, turning away from each other, walked slowly back into the woods in opposite directions. The stately stag passed close to the children and Bambi’s mother and Aunt Ena. He passed by in silent splendor, holding his noble head royally high and honoring no one with so much as a glance.
The children did not dare to breathe till he had disappeared into the thicket. They turned to look after the other one, but at that very moment the green door of the forest closed on him.
Faline was the first to break the silence. “Who were they?” she cried. But her pert little voice trembled.
“Who were they?” Gobo repeated in a hardly audible voice. Bambi kept silent.
Aunt Ena said solemnly, “Those were your fathers.”
Nothing more was said, and they parted. Aunt Ena led her children into the nearest thicket. It was her trail. Bambi and his mother had to cross the whole meadow to the oak in order to reach their own path. He was silent for a long time before he finally asked, “Didn’t they see us?”
His mother understood what he meant and replied, “Of course, they saw all of us.”
Bambi was troubled. He felt shy about asking questions, but it was too much for him. “Then why ...” he began, and stopped.
His mother helped him along. “What is it you want to know, son?” she asked.
“Why didn’t they stay with us?”
“They don’t ever stay with us,” his mother answered, “only at times.”
Bambi continued, “But why didn’t they speak to us?”
His mother said, “They don’t speak to us now; only at times. We have to wait till they come to us. And we have to wait for them to speak to us. They do it whenever they like.”
With a troubled heart, Bambi asked, “Will my father speak to me?”
“Of course he will,” his mother promised. “When you’re grown up he’ll speak to you, and you’ll have to stay with him sometimes.”
Bambi walked silently beside his mother, his whole mind filled with his father’s appearance. “How handsome he is!” he thought over and over again. “How handsome he is!”
As though his mother could read his thoughts, she said, “If you live, my son, if you are cunning and don’t run into danger, you’ll be as strong and handsome as your father is sometime, and you’ll have antlers like his, too.”
Bambi breathed deeply. His heart swelled with joy and expectancy.
Timepassed, and Bambi had many adventures and went through many experiences. Every day brought something new. Sometimes he felt quite giddy. He had so incredibly much to learn.
He could listen now, not merely hear, when things happened so close that they struck the ear of their own accord. No, there was really no art in that. He could really listen intelligently now to everything that stirred, no matter how softly. He heard even the tiniest whisper that the wind brought by. For instance, he knew that a pheasant was running through the next bushes. He recognized clearly the soft quick tread that was always stopping. He knew by ear the sound the field mice make when they run to and fro on their little paths. And the patter of the moles when they are in a good humor and chase one another around the elder bushes so that there is just the slightest rustling. He heard the shrill clear call of the falcon, and he knew from its altered, angry tones when a hawk or an eagle approached. The falcon was angry because she was afraid her field would be taken from her. He knew the beat of the wood-doves’ wings, the beautiful, distant, soaring cries of ducks, and many other things besides.
He knew how to snuff the air now, too. Soon he would do it as well as his mother. He could breathe in the air and at the same time analyze it with his senses. “That’s clover and meadow grass,” he would think when the wind blew off the fields. “And Friend Hare is out there, too. I can smell him plainly.”
Again he would notice through the smell of leaves and earth, wild leek and wood mustard, that the ferret was passing by. He could tell by putting his nose to the ground and snuffing deeply that the fox was afoot. Or he would know that one of his family was somewhere nearby. It might be Aunt Ena and the children.
By now he was good friends with the night and no longer wanted to run about so much in broad daylight. He was quite willing to lie all day long in the shade of the leafy glade with his mother. He would listen to the air sizzling in the heat and then fall asleep.
From time to time, he would wake up, listen and snuff the air to find out how things stood. Everything was as it should be. Only the tit-mice were chattering a little to each other, the midges who were hardly ever still, hummed, while the wood-doves never ceased declaiming their ecstatic tenderness. What concern was it of his? He would drop off to sleep again.
He liked the night very much now. Everything was alive, everything was in motion. Of course, he had to be cautious at night too, but still he could be less careful. And he could go wherever he wanted to. And everywhere he went he met acquaintances. They too were always less nervous than in the daytime.
At night the woods were solemn and still. There were only a few voices. They sounded loud in the stillness, and they had a different ring from daytime voices, and left a deeper impression.
Bambi liked to see the owl. She had such a wonderful flight, perfectly light and perfectly noiseless. She made as little sound as a butterfly, and yet she was so dreadfully big. She had such striking features, too, so pronounced and so deeply thoughtful. And such wonderful eyes! Bambi admired her firm, quietly courageous glance. He liked to listen when she talked to his mother or to anybody else. He would stand a little to one side, for he was somewhat afraid of the masterful glance that he admired so much. He did not understand most of the clever things she said, but he knew they were clever, and they pleased him and filled him with respect for the owl.
Then the owl would begin to hoot. “Hoaah!—Ha!—Ha!—Haa!—ah!” she would cry. It sounded different from the thrushes’ song, or the yellow-birds’, different from the friendly notes of the cuckoo, but Bambi loved the owl’s cry, for he felt its mysterious earnestness, its unutterable wisdom and strange melancholy.
Then there was the screech-owl, a charming little fellow, lively and gay with no end to his inquisitiveness. He was bent on attracting attention. “Oi, yeek! Oi, yeek!” he would call in a terrible, high-pitched, piercing voice. It sounded as if he were on the point of death. But he was really in a beaming good humor and was hilariously happy whenever he frightened anybody. “Oi, yeek!” he would cry so dreadfully loud that the forests heard it for a mile around. But afterwards he would laugh with a soft chuckle, though you could only hear it if you stood close by.
Bambi discovered that the screech-owl was delighted whenever he frightened anyone, or when anybody thought that something dreadful had happened to him. After that, whenever Bambi met him, he never failed to rush up and ask, “What has happened to you?” or to say with a sigh, “O, how you frightened me just now!” Then the owl would be delighted.
“O, yes,” he would say, laughing, “it sounds pretty gruesome.” He would puff up his feathers into a grayish-white ball and look extremely handsome.
There were storms, too, once or twice, both in the daytime and at night. The first was in the daytime and Bambi felt himself grow terrified as it became darker and darker in his glade. It seemed to him as if night had covered the sky at mid-day. When the raging storm broke through the woods so that the trees began to groan aloud, Bambi trembled with terror. And when the lightning flashed and the thunder growled, Bambi was numb with fear and thought the end of the world had come. He ran behind his mother, who had sprung up somewhat disturbed and was walking back and forth in the thicket. He could not think about nor understand anything. The rain fell in raging torrents. Everyone had run to shelter. The woods were empty. But there was no escaping the rain. The pouring water penetrated even the thickest parts of the bushes. Presently the lightning stopped, and the fiery rays ceased to flicker through the tree-tops. The thunder rolled away. Bambi could hear it in the distance, and soon it stopped altogether. The rain beat more gently. It pattered evenly and steadily around him for another hour. The forest stood breathing deeply in the calm and let the water drain off. No one was afraid to come out any more. That feeling had passed. The rain had washed it away.
Never before had Bambi and his mother gone to the meadow as early as on that evening. It was not even dusk yet. The sun was still high in the sky, the air was extremely fresh, and smelt sweeter than usual, and the woods rang with a thousand voices, for everyone had crept out of his shelter and was running excitedly, telling what had just happened.
Before they went on to the meadow, they passed the great oak that stood near the forest’s edge, close to their trail. They always had to pass that beautiful big tree when they went to the meadow.
This time the squirrel was sitting on a branch and greeted them. Bambi was good friends with the squirrel. The first time he met him he took him for a very small deer because of the squirrel’s red coat and stared at him in surprise. But Bambi had been very childish at that time and had known nothing at all.
The squirrel pleased him greatly from the first. He was so thoroughly civil, and talkative. And Bambi loved to see how wonderfully he could turn, and climb, and leap, and balance himself. In the middle of a conversation the squirrel would run up and down the smooth tree trunk as though there was nothing to it. Or he would sit upright on a swaying branch, balance himself comfortably with his bushy tail, that stuck up so gracefully behind him, display his white chest, hold his little forepaws elegantly in front of him, nod his head this way and that, laugh with his jolly eyes, and, in a twinkling, say a lot of comical and interesting things. Then he would come down again, so swiftly and with such leaps, that you expected him to tumble on his head.
He twitched his long tail violently and called to them from overhead, “Good day! Good day! It’s so nice of you to come over.” Bambi and his mother stopped.
The squirrel ran down the smooth trunk. “Well,” he chattered, “did you get through it all right? Of course, I see that everything is first rate. That’s the main thing.”
He ran up the trunk again like lightning and said, “It’s too wet for me down there. Wait, I’m going to look for a better place. I hope you don’t mind. Thanks, I knew you wouldn’t. And we can talk just as well from here.”
He ran back and forth along a straight limb. “It was a bad business,” he said, “a monstrous uproar! You wouldn’t believe how scared I was. I hunched myself up as still as a mouse in the corner and hardly dared move. That’s the worst of it, having to sit there and not move. And all the time you’re hoping nothing will happen. But my tree is wonderful in such cases. There’s no denying it, my tree is wonderful! I’ll say that for it. I’m satisfied with it. As long as I’ve had it, I’ve never wanted any other. But when it cuts loose the way it did to-day you’re sure to get frightened no matter where you are.”
The squirrel sat up, balancing himself with his handsome upright tail. He displayed his white chest and pressed both forepaws protestingly against his heart. You believed without his adding anything that he had been excited.