ing scene to be a microcosm of Germany itself plagued by
petty rivalries and self-interest. Each humble parish or great es-
tate seemed to have its own hunting laws and taxes. Wildlife
could be hunted down at will. Conservation and breeding of the
dwindling species were impossible. In Germany, the eagle, bear,
bison, and wild horse were almost extinct.
Göring had directed Scherping to set up a uniform na-
tionwide hunting association (Deutsche Jägerschaft) to regulate
the sport, restock the lakes, tend the forests, and protect the
dying species. The association would levy taxes on huntsmen to
pay for the upkeep of the forests and game parks. “I want a new
hunting law for Prussia,” he had briefed Scherping on that day,
May , , “one that can later serve for the entire Reich.”
With one stroke of the pen he made it a criminal offense to
kill an eagle, or hunt with poisons, artificial light, or the steel
trap (“that medieval instrument of torture”). When the profes-
sional bodies bleated protests, Göring waved them augustly
aside. His Prussian Game Law, passed on January , , was
envied far beyond Germany’s frontiers. He insisted that the new
game officials must be animal lovers, dedicated National Social-
ists, and unafraid of speaking their minds. In practice these de-
siderata proved unworkable. The best foresters were not always
Nazis, and when it came to the test he did not encourage inde-
pendent minds. In May Professor Burckhardt, sitting in
that cavernous office in Berlin, witnessed him take a phone call
from a forester asking for permission for local farmers to take
their own action against a plague of wild boars. “One more
word,” bellowed Göring, after listening with mounting anger,
“and I’ll blast a shotgun up your snout!” Turning to the Swiss
diplomat he apologized. “That’s how revolutions begin,” he said,
“letting people take the law into their own hands!”
Keen to pioneer new techniques, he established nature re-