Fifteen Rabbits

by Felix Salten

  Hops felt himself pleasantly emboldened. “Remark­able!” he muttered.

  “Why remarkable?” Ivner rattled on. “Don’t be stupid, Hops. You always were a little stupid!”

  “Pardon . . .”

  “Oh, well, let’s forget it,” Ivner interrupted, “it’s all in good sport, anyhow. The main thing is to be frank, isn’t it? Melancholy and feeble-mindedness are too widespread among us rabbits, take it from me. Have you seen Murk? Yes? Well, there’s a first-class idiot!”

  “Poor fellow,” said Hops condolingly.

  “Well, that was a bit thick,” Ivner corrected himself. “But after all, what can really happen to any of us?”

  “Plenty,” said Hops with conviction.

  “Nothing at all,” Ivner decided simply. “If you’re clever . . . nothing at all! You can get to be seven or eight years old, and no one will do a thing to you.”

  “Well,” Hops felt inspirited by what he heard but remained thoughtful, “well, but most of us . . .”

  “Because they’re stupid,” Ivner interrupted quickly. “At least it’s true of the others. Few of them ever reach their natural age. But look at Fosco! Alert! Alive! Cheerful! And he’s in his seventh year! A shrewd old fellow!”

  They were silent for a while. Suddenly Ivner began, “Just think of it—our conscience is clear! We belong to those noble creatures who have a clear conscience. We’ve never harmed a living creature. Only the deer and the elk are like us . . .”

  Hops was skeptical. “What good does that do us?”

  Ivner drew his head into his neck, so that his spoonlike ears lay flat.

  “The lovableness of innocence,” he said proudly, “the power of swift flight, the unconquerable defense of cunning . . .”

  Hops reflected. After a pause, he asked timidly, “And . . . He?”

  Ivner blinked contemptuously. “Oh, He’s highly important, I’m sure! What does He have to do with us? He simply plays no role at all.”

  Hops objected. “No, no,” he said, “that’s going a little too far for me. That’s altogether too irresponsible!”

  “Irresponsible!” retorted Ivner quickly. “Who’s talking about irresponsibility? One can’t afford to be irresponsible for a single second. Just mark my word!”

  His head lowered and laid on his forepaws, Hops muttered, “That’s just what I’ve been saying.”

  “Well then?” Ivner went on. “Well then? Day and night, at every hour, there’s constant danger in the forest! But you know that! There’s a threat in every bush, in the open fields. There’s danger always and everywhere. Yet we go on living! What do you want of Him? When does He ever come into the forest? He? Nonsense! He doesn’t belong to the forest. You can hear His step no matter how softly he sneaks. He’s so clumsy. Then there’s His scent. We can avoid Him. He comes so seldom and acts so clumsily that He’s the least danger of all.”

  “In spite of that,” Hops was eager for reassurance, “in spite of that, everybody fears him . . .”

  “Sufficient!” Ivner took him up short. “It’s sufficient to fear Him, then you’re protected from Him.”

  He sat upright, his forepaws dangling, listening with his ears erect, examining the air with his nervously twitching nose and vibrating whiskers, then sat down again in his former position. He looked dashing, like an impudent tough.

  “Plana’s got to be charming,” he said suddenly and gazed over at her as she sat in conversation with Nella. “A delightful creature.”

  Hops nodded distrustfully. “I’m not giving her away,” he said. It sounded ominous.

  Ivner continued to stare at Plana. “She’s really quite uncommonly pretty.”

  “She’s with me, and she’s going to stay with me, understand?” Hops was irritated and ready to do battle.

  Without paying any attention to him, Ivner said, “She must be very soft, and very tender . . .”

  “That’s none of your concern!” Hops shouted testily.

  “No,” Ivner readily acceded, “no, it really isn’t any of my concern. You’re right, my dear Hops. I’m with Nella, and Nella is incomparable . . . I wouldn’t wish for anyone else.”

  Placated, Hops glanced at Nella. She was hideous, had unkempt fur, a sloppy appearance and vulgar manners, while quarrelsomeness and ill-temper were written all too visibly on her stupid face.

  Presently she hopped over with a heavy, shuffling gait.

  “Come, Ivner,” she commanded, “we’re going now. We’ve been here long enough,” she added discourteously.

  Ivner obeyed her without a murmur. But he wanted to take leave in a friendly way. “It’s nice to have had a chance to talk out our minds to each other.”

  Nella was already off, crying, “Leave off your yarning and come along!”

  Ivner bounded after her instantly.

  “I can’t understand what he sees in her,” Hops said to Plana.

  Plana smiled. “Yes, she has him completely in her power. She’s not the least bit attractive and doesn’t even pretend to be intelligent. But she rules him just as she pleases.”

  “Strange,” mused Hops, astonished, “such a clever, such a clear head, such really superior intelligence, and yet he’s in the clutches of that slattern. Strange.”

  “All such things are strange, my dearest,” Plana assured him. “No third person can ever know or tell anything about them.”

  There were a number of pools and ponds in the preserve where they now found themselves, so that the ground was damp, and the grasses in the meadow, the leaves on the bushes were still fresh and full of sap.

  One day they met Zebo and Astalba. The two of them were living in the deepest thicket, enjoying a serene and peaceful happiness.

  Zebo was joyful and could not conceal a certain pride. He burdened Astalba with his tenderness. He never left her side. He caressed her face and eyes with his tongue for hours on end. He guarded her sleep and rejoiced when she awoke.

  Astalba looked more graceful and matronly. She was tender, devoted, poised, and accepted Zebo’s love with a constant smile of blissful happiness.

  Both made so charming an appearance that Hops and Plana lingered near them.

  Since his conversation with Ivner, Hops had become more confident and freer than ever.

  One day they witnessed some unusual things.

  Suddenly Brabo stood before them, deep in the undergrowth. The wounds in his neck and shoulder and in his right flank had scarcely healed. He looked aged and emaciated.

  He appeared to have caught sight of Astalba and Zebo as they lay side by side on their bed. He stretched out his neck and longingly gazed at Astalba, whom he had once so passionately loved, and whom he loved still. A tremor passed over his sick and weakened body as he stood struggling with his impulse to charge and do battle for his loved one. His slender legs quivered with desire, yearning and jealousy. But the feeling that he had been beaten, which had humiliated and broken his spirit, held him back. Very softly he slunk away.

  He came again the next day, at the same hour, when Zebo and Astalba were resting. He came the same way for several days, and stood hidden in the thicket, his head stretched forward longingly, his fixed, adoring glance fastened on Astalba. Then he slunk off without making the faintest sound, shyly, secretly, with a gesture that seemed to say he despised Astalba and had never really wanted her anyway. But Hops and Plana saw the sorrow in his still handsome features, read the grief in his great, dark eyes.

  Chapter Fifteen

  THE LEAVES HAD ALL FALLEN from the trees. The branches were bare and stretched their naked twigs, as if in despera­tion, to the sky. The grass on the meadow was a sickly yellow hue and tasted vile. Even the pale meadow-saffrons had shed their flowers.

  Only, in the middle of the meadow, a plane-tree spread its branches which were still covered with leaves. To be sure, its leaves were of many colors, from faded green to copper-red, but they still hung from their stems, and the plane-tree was very proud of looking so splendid.

&
nbsp; In the morning, thick mists steamed up through the forest; the paths were gray with them. The sky seemed to be hung with heavy, wet, gray draperies, and the rays of sunlight that did manage to pierce through were very few, lasted but a short while and gave no warmth. Even the sunlight was pale and weakly.

  All the birds now sought the luxuriant plane-tree. Magpies gathered there with a subdued chatter. Hidden in its branches, the titmice whispered. The blackbirds, who no longer sang, uttered their twittering cry as they came flying to the plane-tree.

  Hops and Plana scoured the meadow for food. They found little and grew thoughtful. Hops’ mother was with them. Fosco, too, came often, and the two old folks talked of the hard times that were ahead.

  Hops and Plana did not understand them.

  “Harder still?” asked Plana, incredulous.

  “I should think this was plenty hard enough,” Hops said.

  “Oh, this is nothing yet,” Fosco informed him.

  Hops took him for a boaster and kept silent.

  But, as if she had read his thoughts, his mother said, “No, really—things are still bearable, but later . . . you can’t imagine what it’s like.”

  A flock of birds came flying through the misty-gray, smoky air. They were big birds with long, outstretched necks. The rabbits could hear their voices from far off, long before they were visible. Then, as they flew past, not far above the meadow, they saw the wonderful order of their flight. Against the cloudy sky it was like a triangle without a base, like a pair of calipers, whose legs are about half open. Their leader was at the apex, and close behind him followed their long, oblique lines, neck after neck, wing behind wing, breast behind breast.

  At the sound of their cries, at the sight of their orderly flight, Hops and Plana raised their ears erect, sat up on their hind legs, and asked, “Who are they?”

  “They are strangers,” Hops’ mother said.

  “They are the freest of all free creatures,” Fosco added.

  Meanwhile the kronking of the wild geese reechoed, thrilling, ravishing. A wild exultation shrilled through their cries, a deep unruliness, a triumphal pride, a never-sated wanderlust and passionate yearning for all distant lands.

  They passed above the bare forest, showering their clamor and adventure-lust upon the creatures who cling to the earth. Long afterward they could still be heard.

  The rabbits listened, silent, enraptured.

  “The fortunate creatures!” Hops said with a sigh.

  Fosco sighed too. “Now the frost will come.”

  Hops’ mother agreed. “Whenever those strangers fly out, they bring the hard times with them.”

  But Mamp capered and kicked up his legs. “What do we care about hard times?” he said.

  Mamp was a happy-go-lucky fellow, the liveliest of all the rabbits in the forest. No danger succeeded in dampening his cheerful spirits. He would escape from some terrible adventure, that might have cost him his life, with as much impudent gaiety as if it had been a joke. He was still playing as tirelessly as in the springtime. Companionable though he was he remained ever single.

  He had just nudged Hops’ flank with his nose and was racing in a circle over the meadow. “Come on, try to catch me,” he teased. He was like a child.

  Hops sat quietly; the old folks did not stir.

  Again he bounced up to Hops, nudged him, leaped over Plana and challenged, “Catch me! Run, you lazybones! That will warm you up!” He raced so wildly that he tumbled several times head over heels. It made no difference to him whether he stood on his head or displayed his white belly as he rolled in a ball. He was nimbler and fleeter than most of the other rabbits.

  No one was so alert, so clever, so cautious or so full of wiles as he when it came to fleeing or hiding himself, yet he didn’t put on airs, and hardly seemed to take it seriously.

  Hops rebuffed him with, “Hard times are coming . . . frost!”

  Mamp did not take that seriously either. “Frost?” he said. “What’s frost? I’ve never seen it.”

  “You’ll feel it though,” snapped Fosco.

  “Have you ever felt it?” Mamp came back at him.

  “Plenty of times, unfortunately!” Hops’ mother and Fosco answered together.

  “Is that so?” Mamp bounded high into the air. “And you’re still alive anyhow. Why should I be afraid?”

  Plana chimed in. “I tremble whenever I think of the hard times.”

  Mamp came racing by. “Come, Plana, run. Nice Plana, why are you trembling so soon? Wait till the hard times get here.”

  “It’s hard enough already,” said Plana, embarrassed.

  “What’s so hard?” Mamp mocked. “There’s not much to eat. Well! Later on there may be still less. That’s healthy, though. We won’t starve to death!”

  He left all the rabbits sitting close to the trunk of the plane-tree among the low bushes, and raced to the middle of the meadow.

  A hawk which happened to be flying by hovered for a moment in the air, then dropped down. It dropped like a shot, its sharp talons clutching at Mamp. But they only caught the dry grass. For Mamp had seen the hawk, had guessed the exact spot where it would strike the earth. He eluded it with marvelous skill. Now he was racing off. He ran like mad, but with what presence of mind! He seemed simply to be playing with the huge bird that pursued him close to the ground. The hawk’s wings whirred. As it flew so close to the earth, the hawk could get no impetus, but its talons kept clutching for the rabbit, who was always right beneath it and yet bounded away again and again. Mamp ran circle after circle; the hawk had to twist and turn and grew more and more furious. Blackbirds, magpies and jays came fluttering up and flew about, screaming.

  Then Mamp bounded into the thicket, in where the tight latticework of the bushes hampered and impeded the hawk. Both disappeared. All that could be heard was the angry scolding of the fluttering blackbirds, magpies and jays.

  “He’s lost!” said Hops.

  “Poor fellow,” whispered his mother.

  Fosco kept silent.

  “Nothing will happen to him,” cried Plana.

  Then the bird of prey mounted high above the thicket, its talons empty. The blackbirds, magpies and crows still screamed around it for a while, as if they were frightening it away. The hawk soared in a wide circle, almost without beating its wings, higher and higher, till it vanished among the clouds.

  On the edge of the bushes Mamp’s head appeared, his merry face poked out, his spoonlike ears wiggling gaily.

  “Nothing ever happens to him,” Plana rejoiced.

  •••

  The next morning there were no leaves left on the plane-tree. They lay in a thick circle on the ground, beneath it. They lay like a cast-off garment, strewn thickly around the trunk: the tree was bare. The plane-tree had not managed to retain one tiny little leaf. It seemed to be ashamed of its sudden nakedness, and to be cold.

  The meadow looked as if it were dusted with sugar. This time the hoarfrost did not disappear as usual with the advancing day. On the contrary, white stars and flakes began to dance slowly down through the cold, motionless air. So many of them, that it was difficult to see more than a few steps ahead.

  The young birds, who had been fledglings when the rabbits came into the world, were unfamiliar with this white fall of ice-cold stars. They were blinded by the flakes that settled on their eyes; they felt caught, as in an icy grip, by those that fell on their backs and wings.

  They soared up like arrows, trying to escape them. When they had convinced themselves how futile such efforts were, they strove to reach a branch, and huddled there silent and frightened.

  The young rabbits, too, had never been through such an experience, and were astonished. For a while they crouched without moving, rapt in contemplation. Then they observed that the whiteness, lying on the ground, piled up higher and higher all about them. They observed that their heads and backs were covered with it, and that a biting cold pierced them sharply from this whiteness.

  Th
ey grew uneasy and tried to run. But they felt how difficult it was for them to move through that cold, white mass.

  “What is it?” asked Hops alarmed.

  “It’s the hard times,” his mother answered.

  Chapter Sixteen

  AT FIRST IT WAS PERFECTLY still. Hardly a sound was to be heard. Only, at night the owl’s hoot sounded. It seemed like a lament. Actually, however, the owls were calling tender greetings to one another. Then there was the blood-curdling cry of the screech-owl that pierced every nerve. But the screech-owl meant no harm by it; frightening others was simply his little joke.

  A few mild days came. The south wind went roaring through the forest and swept the clouds from the sky, so that it was all blue again and the sun shone. Under the sun’s rays the snow melted very quickly and the wind soon dried the ground.

  It was glorious.

  “Are these your hard times?” laughed Mamp, more impudent than ever.

  “Just wait,” Fosco warned.

  “I’m waiting,” Mamp teased. “I sit around all day and wait for your terrors.”

  “Have you had enough to eat?” asked Hops’ mother.

  “Isn’t wood almost enough?” Mamp wiggled his ears good-naturedly. “I find it stays longer in the stomach . . .”

  “Look at the elk kings,” cried Hops, “even they are starving.”

  The elk and their princesses stood in the tall forest, nibbling the bark from the ash-trees.

  Mamp stared at them intently. “Starving?” he said. “I should say they’re feasting.”

  But the peace was shattered, for He came into the forest. He approached noisily in a band. Titmice, magpies and crows had given warning signals in advance.

  “Let’s move farther on,” Mamp said as the first thunder crashed rather far off.

  The news spread fast: He had aimed at pheasants this time, but He was not averse to rabbits, either.

  A herd of terrified elk charged into the thicket, halted and snuffed the air. They grew more and more nervous the nearer the thunder pealed.