“Don’t stop!” a voice beside him commanded. It was his mother who rushed past him at full gallop. “Run,” she cried. “Run as fast as you can!” She did not slow up, but raced ahead, and her command brought Bambi after her. He ran with all his might.
“What is it, Mother?” he asked. “What is it, Mother?”
His mother answered between gasps, “It—was—He!”
Bambi shuddered and they ran on. At last they stopped for lack of breath.
“What did you say? Tell me, what it was you said,” a soft voice called down from overhead. Bambi looked up. The squirrel came chattering through the branches.
“I ran the whole way with you,” he cried. “It was dreadful.”
“Were you there?” asked the mother.
“Of course I was there,” the squirrel replied. “I am still trembling in every limb.” He sat erect, balancing with his splendid tail, displaying his small white chest, and holding his forepaws protestingly against his body. “I’m beside myself with excitement,” he said.
“I’m quite weak from fright myself,” said the mother. “I don’t understand it. Not one of us saw a thing.”
“Is that so?” the squirrel said pettishly. “I saw Him long before.”
“So did I,” another voice cried. It was the magpie. She flew past and settled on a branch.
“So did I,” came a croak from above. It was the jay who was sitting on an ash.
A couple of crows in the treetops cawed harshly, “We saw Him, too.”
They all sat around talking importantly. They were unusually excited and seemed to be full of anger and fear.
“Whom?” Bambi thought. “Whom did they see?”
“I tried my best,” the squirrel was saying, pressing his forepaws protestingly against his heart. “I tried my best to warn the poor Prince.”
“And I,” the jay rasped. “How often did I scream? But he didn’t care to hear me.”
“He didn’t hear me either,” the magpie croaked. “I called him at least ten times. I wanted to fly right past him, for, thought I, he hasn’t heard me yet; I’ll fly to the hazel bush where he’s standing. He can’t help hearing me there. But at that minute it happened.”
“My voice is probably louder than yours, and I warned him as well as I could,” the crow said in an impudent tone. “But gentlemen of that stamp pay little attention to the likes of us.”
“Much too little, really,” the squirrel agreed.
“Well, we did what we could,” said the magpie. “We’re certainly not to blame when an accident happens.”
“Such a handsome Prince,” the squirrel lamented. “And in the very prime of life.”
“Akh!” croaked the jay. “It would have been better for him if he hadn’t been so proud and had paid more attention to us.”
“He certainly wasn’t proud.”
“No more so than the other Princes of his family,” the magpie put in.
“Just plain stupid,” sneered the jay.
“You’re stupid yourself,” the crow cried down from overhead. “Don’t you talk about stupidity. The whole forest knows how stupid you are.”
“I!” replied the jay, stiff with astonishment. “Nobody can accuse me of being stupid. I may be forgetful but I’m certainly not stupid.”
“O just as you please,” said the crow solemnly. “Forget what I said to you, but remember that the Prince did not die because he was proud or stupid, but because no one can escape Him.”
“Akh!” croaked the jay: “I don’t like that kind of talk.” He flew away.
The crow went on, “He has already outwitted many of my family. He kills what He wants. Nothing can help us.”
“You have to be on your guard against Him,” the magpie broke in.
“You certainly do,” said the crow sadly. “Goodbye.” He flew off, his family accompanying him.
Bambi looked around. His mother was no longer there.
“What are they talking about now?” thought Bambi. “I can’t understand what they are talking about. Who is this ‘He’ they talk about? That was He, too, that I saw in the bushes, but He didn’t kill me.”
Bambi thought of the Prince lying in front of him with his bloody, mangled shoulder. He was dead now. Bambi walked along. The forest sang again with a thousand voices, the sun pierced the treetops with its broad rays. There was light everywhere. The leaves began to smell. Far above the falcons called, close at hand a woodpecker hammered as if nothing had happened. Bambi was not happy. He felt himself threatened by something dark. He did not understand how the others could be so carefree and happy while life was so difficult and dangerous. Then the desire seized him to go deeper and deeper into the woods. They lured him into their depths. He wanted to find some hiding place where, shielded on all sides by impenetrable thickets, he could never be seen. He never wanted to go to the meadow again.
Something moved very softly in the bushes. Bambi drew back violently. The old stag was standing in front of him.
Bambi trembled. He wanted to run away, but he controlled himself and remained. The old stag looked at him with his great deep eyes and asked, “Were you out there before?”
“Yes,” Bambi said softly. His heart was pounding in his throat.
“Where is your mother?” asked the stag.
Bambi answered still very softly, “I don’t know.”
The old stag kept gazing at him. “And still you’re not calling for her?” he said.
Bambi looked into the noble, iron-gray face, looked at the stag’s antlers and suddenly felt full of courage. “I can stay by myself, too,” he said.
The old stag considered him for a while; then he asked gently, “Aren’t you the little one that was crying for his mother not long
