On the surface, Bambi has little to do with the Jewish plight. The book’s most obvious message, as in the film, is an anti-hunting one – “I particularly recommend it to sportsmen”, John Galsworthy wrote mordantly in his preface to the English translation. In fact, Salten was very keen on hunting as long as the quarry was to be eaten, and bought his own preserve; his daughter insisted that “only very rarely did he fire a shot – and then only when the principles of gamekeeping demanded it”.)

There is more to Salten’s Bambi than a realistic depiction of the damage wrought by humans, however. The forest in which Bambi is born is, initially, too good to be true, with the anthropomorphised animals living peaceably together. But the advent of a harsh winter forces them to turn against one another as they compete for food: “The terrible hardship,” writes Salten, “destroyed all their memories of the past, undermined their conscience, ruined all their good customs and manners, and demolished their faith in one another.” It is a chilling depiction of how easily the veneer of civilisation can be chipped away in adverse circumstances.

Some scholars have linked the book more specifically to the Jewish experience, seeing in the tale a dramatisation of the doubts about the possibility of Jewish integration that Salten would address more explicitly in his non-fiction work. North American academic Iris Bruce identifies as evidence a scene in which the young fawn Marena predicts that Man will one day live in harmony with the forest animals.

The wise old doe Nettla responds hotly: “He’s murdered us ever since we can remember… And now we’re going to make friends with him! What stupidity!” Later on, Bambi’s cousin Gobo, who is nursed back to health by a kindly human after being shot, sings humanity’s praises and thinks that he is safe to wander about in the open with impunity – with fatal consequences, graphically described.