Bambi: Felix Salten Omnibus

  So she stretched out her forefeet and bent laughingly toward 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 toward 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 around 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 could not. They flew 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.”

  “Oh,” said Bambi, turning to the grasshopper, who was sitting on a daisy; “oh,” 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.

  “Oh,” 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 would I sit still? I’m a butterfly,” the insect answered in astonishment.

  “Oh, 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. “Oh, 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.

  “Oh,” 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.

  Chapter Three

  IN THE 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 treetops, 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 titmice 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 sleeping. 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. Oh, how kind last year’s dead leaves are! They do their duty so well and are so alert and watchful. Even in midsummer there are a lot of them hidden beneath the undergrowth. And they give warning in advance of every danger.

  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.

  Chapter Four

  ONE EVENING 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 spoonlike 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.

  “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 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 spoonlike 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 both
ering 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 tonight. 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.