A typical Bernese is never mean, but, like a playful bear, might not know his own strength. Friedrich Volmar describes him quite well in his classic book on bears: “A bear that was disturbed in its winter hibernation went up to the house and gave the oaf a couple of ear cuffs. Unfortunately, the well-punished fellow never got up again” (Volmar 1940, 243). A Bernese, by nature reserved and easygoing, is not easily provoked. But when he has had enough, the apparently sluggish, grumbly bear becomes wild and fearless. He is tough and will not give up.
It may be the case that in Celtic-Roman times in the Berne area the motherly, caring, and nourishing aspect of the bear was in the foreground—as the bronze figure of a bear goddess (Dea Artio, first mentioned in Chapter 9) found in Muri, near Berne, seems to indicate—but the brown bear portrayed on the coat of arms after the founding of the city was the Alemannic warrior bear, the fighting alpha bear that had struck fear into the founders and always guaranteed the city its independence.
The French king, the emperor, and the pope were glad to enlist fearless Bernese warriors into their service as mercenaries. Thus, it may be concluded that the Bernese Alpine bears have not died out but have only changed their appearance by taking on human form. In today’s times, in which there is no more wildernesses in Central Europe, the bear spirit has found its only way to incarnate. It would seem the true Bernese are the bears.
Even their favorite dogs, the Saint Bernard and the Bernese mountain dogs, look like bears and are often named Baeri, Bari, Baerli (variations on “bear”). The huge Saint Bernards, with their bear-like snouts, long fur, stout legs, and massive bodies, have been kept by the Swiss for some two thousand years. The Bernese in particular do not seek typical dog-like characteristics, yappers with a crooked back, gabbers, opportunists, and similar common mutts. This is the only way for them to have dogs because, after all, why would a bear want a dog anyway?
Duke Berchtold and Noble Lady Mechthildis
Duke Berchtold V. of Zaehringen founded the city of Berne. Etymologists would be quick to recognize that the name Berchtold, which comes from Berthold—in which both the words “bear” and “ruler” are combined—means “bear ruler.” In some areas in Swabia and Switzerland, a legendary figure, a wild hunter called “Berchtold” or “Bertholt,” haunts the land during the winter solstice. He takes Odin’s (Wotan’s) place as the leader of the wild horde (Woutisheeres) that sweeps over the countryside in late fall and winter.
Berchtold’s Day, on the second of January, is celebrated here and there in southern Baden (Germany) and in northern Switzerland. It is celebrated with loud parades and much feasting and dancing. For the farmers and peasants, Berchtold’s Day marks the start of regular rigorous farm work once the festivities of Christmas and New Year’s have been thoroughly celebrated.
Even though Duke Berchtold is best known as the historical figure who built the city in 1191 as a bulwark against the expansion of Burgundy, we find his warrior bears, the bearskins associatively, in the legendary world of the wild hunter Wotan. The Duke decided that the tongue of land completely covered with a thick oak forest and surrounded on three sides by a river was an ideal site to build a fortified city. He named the town after the first animal he saw in the forest in accordance with ancient custom that says such an animal appearing at the beginning of an important undertaking is a sign pregnant with meaning. Surely a good omen, a bear came ambling along! The ancient totem animal of the Alemannic warriors would surely overcome the Burgundians and other enemies!
The Duke stalked the bear and slayed it, and a bear meat feast was held in the castle, Nydegg. Now the city had its name and its heraldic animal. The spirit of the slain animal went into the citizens and continues to live on in them—a genuine totemic legend of origin that can hold up to any anthropological comparison. But not only the bear hunting hero and founder is mentioned in this legend—the bear goddess is also included. She appears in the form of Noble Lady Mechtildis.3
Not far from the place where the Duke had slain the bear, a young noblewoman with her baby daughter in her arms was trying to find her way through the undergrowth in the forest. A harsh stroke of fate had rendered her homeless. Suddenly, she heard loud crashing in the undergrowth. She was frightened to the core as she saw a huge female bear ambling her way—but the animal passed by the two of them grumbling in a friendly manner.
They had just barely recovered from the shock when a snarling wolf appeared right in front of them. There was no doubt the wolf would devour them. When they screamed in terror, the bear appeared again. Who knows, maybe the wolf had once struck one of her cubs—in any case, the bear attacked the wolf. But the wolf bit the bear, leaving dangerous wounds. Finally, the bear broke the wolf’s neck with one of her paw swipes and it fell down dead. The screaming, growling, and bellowing attracted the hunters from Castle Nydegg. When they saw the bear was still alive, one of the hunters nocked an arrow and prepared to shoot, but Mechtildis jumped in between the two. “Spare the bear that has saved me!” she called out.
The bear dragged itself off, bleeding from many wounds. But it stopped several times and looked at Mechtildis and grumbled. Finally, the noble woman understood. The bear wanted her to follow. Soon after, they came to a bear’s den. Two cubs that had been waiting for their mother to return came running to meet her. She was just able to lick the cubs’ little faces and look once more into Mechtildis’ eyes and then she died. The surprised hunters captured the two cubs and took them along with the woman and her small daughter back to the castle. When Duke Berchtold heard what had happened, he was deeply moved. He had his horse saddled immediately and rode to the den. When he saw the courageous bear lying there in a pool of blood, he was silent for a moment. Then he pledged: “You died here because you defended innocents with your own life. I wish to be your successor. I will build a city here where the hard-pressed may find refuge. It shall be called Berne and a brown bear shall be on the city crest.”
The building of the city with a bear on its crest went quickly. A city council was built above the bear’s den. The den itself was made into the treasury. The two cubs were kept in the castle and always treated well. The city bakery was commissioned to bake tasty bread for them. Young warriors enjoyed wrestling with them to test their courage and strength.
When Christmas came around, noble Mechtildis baked the first Bernese gingerbread. An image of the bear and her cubs decorated the gingerbread.
Anthropology of comparative religions shows us that the baker symbolizes the corn (grain) goddess and that gingerbread is a typical sacred bread, often formed into an icon, which is eaten at sacred times such as the winter solstice (Christmas) or Easter. It is eaten as a substitute sacrifice—in this case, a bear—and is believed to bless and strengthen those who eat it. Bread symbolizes focused life strength, and, combined with the bear, it is especially potent. Even today, many Bernese believe that their gingerbread is especially healthy.
Long before they converted to Christianity, the heathen Alemannic tribes had many such iconic breads that were consecrated to the thunder bear/god Thor. There were also breads shaped like boars, consecrated to the vegetation god, Freyr; breads shaped like horses, consecrated to Wotan; and other animal-shaped yuletide baked goods. Such breads are also substitutes for archaic animal sacrifices4 (Baechtold-Staeubli and Hoffmann-Krayer 1987, 3:373). Special Christmas breads that we still enjoy go far back to such sacral traditions.
The Patron Saint
Each occidental Christian city was assigned a patron saint, and the protection of the city of Berne fell to Saint Christopher. This fearless giant with the strength of a bear who had once carried the Christ child across a raging river, fit well to a city built on a ford in the Aare River.
In 1498, shortly before the Reformation, a ten-meter-high (approximately thirty-three feet) “Christoffel” (Saint Christopher) was erected on the upper city gate. With long hair, a beard, and piercing eyes, he looked down upon the city. The Christ child that sat on his shoulders wa
s soon removed, and a sword and halberd were put into his hands. From that point on, Christopher was only a giant, a guardian of the threshold. When, in the middle of the nineteenth century, the railway was built near the upper city gate, the “idol” became nothing but a hindrance and was torn down in the name of progress. All that was left was his stern face—which one can see in the underground passage in the Berne railway station—and a few fragments, such as, for example, his thumbs. The latter can be seen exhibited as souvenirs with bear decoration in the museum.
The Bernese were never really enthused about a Christian patron saint. The real patron had always been—since having saved Mechtildis—a bear. The city symbol, the bear, has been kept and honored for at least five hundred years in the bear pit. Around the time that the railway came and giant Christopher had to resign, a completely new and bigger—the fourth official—bear pit was built on the other side of the Nydegg Bridge not far from the place Duke Berchtold is said to have slain the first bear. Thus, in May 1857, accompanied by uniformed cadets, a brass band, two cannons, and horsemen in black-and-red uniforms, the cult animals were moved from their old enclosure in cages and on a wagon decorated with flower garlands. With fanfares, drum rolls, cannon balls, and jubilation from the onlookers, the true regents of the city rumbled on to their new residence. There, a large tree, decorated with delicious fruit and baked goods, like a Christmas tree, was waiting for them.
A similar procession took place many years later on the city’s seven-hundredth anniversary. On this occasion, the patricians, honored citizens, and honored guests ate one of the bears ceremoniously, symbolically consuming the bear that the Duke had slain. An Ainu or Gilyak would surely have nodded approvingly in the face of such a feast.
Just as with the Ainu, it has always been important for the Bernese that the bears fare well. If the bears are doing well, things are well for the city; if they are not well, it is a bad omen. And woe to any scoundrel who harms the bears! It has been said that enemies have tried to bribe the bear custodians to poison the bears in an effort to demoralize the Bernese.
In 1575, two white bear cubs were born, and the population was convinced that their birth was a sign that much would change for the better in the world. (In eastern Asia, a white bear is also seen as an omen for enduring good luck over generations.) However, it was a source of great concern when in 1712 almost all the bears died. Further, the worst event for the Bernese was in 1798 when the French kidnapped the alpha bear and his mate and brought them to Paris where they died soon afterward. In addition, the French had left a dead cub in the bear pit. What an evil omen! Twelve dark years passed before a new bear couple could be greeted with music, flower garlands, and waving flags.
Hunting down a bear in the Canton of Waadt (woodcut, early nineteenth century)
On this note, one might think that the Bernese met wild bears in the forest with similar sympathy and respect. But that was unfortunately not the case. In the city, the bear was held in high honor as a symbol of power and fearlessness; however, wherever it was found in the surrounding countryside, it was pursued mercilessly. The wild bear was feared as if it were spawn of the devil. Bears tore up cattle and goats and scared the daylights out of many a wayfarer.5 Like today in Alaska or Canada, many hair-raising stories regarding meeting up with bears made the rounds. A recurring theme was the duel: a lumberjack or cow herder in the high Alps is attacked by a bear and a wrestling match ensues. The human tries in vain to drive a knife into the beast. Then the bear trips and falls backward over a cliff with the human on top of him. The animal breaks its back when it lands; the human gets away unscathed.
The last wild bear in Switzerland, slain in 1904 in Val S-charl
Regular hunts with hundreds of people, swarming dogs, screeching women, drums, and trumpets were organized by the authorities for the amusement of the population, and monetary rewards were promised for shooting or capturing a bear. The hunter was a hero, and the dead bear was paraded through the town or village in a triumphant march with drums and ceremony. The killing of the beast was always an occasion for festivity, for a noisy feast with plenty of alcohol and singing. The bear was stuffed with straw, or only the head was taken with glass eyes in the eye cavities and a long red tongue made of cloth in the mouth; then, it was nailed onto a nobleman’s house or the town hall. The last living bear in the Bernese surroundings, together with a wolf, was slain in the beginning of the nineteenth century after which it was stuffed and mounted on the gable of an inn. The last wild bear in Switzerland—a small six-year-old female weighing only 116 kilograms (approximately 255 pounds)—was shot in Lower Engadine, east of Davos, in 1904.6 The two hunters were rewarded with a bounty, and the meat was served to the spa guests of the largest hotel (Volmar 1940, 64).
The last word has not been spoken, however. Who knows, maybe bears will return to the Helvetian mountains. Now and then a wolf crosses the high mountain passes from Italy into Valise, where it is usually shot. There are habitats suitable for bears in the southern Alpine valleys, in Ticino and in the Jura Mountains. In Trentino, not very far from the Swiss border, there are still a handful of wild bears. Maybe Bruin will be able to transcend the human-devised border. Until then, the Bernese bear will remain the lineage holders of the Swiss totem animal and held in high honors: A new ten-thousand-square-meter (approximately 32,800 feet) outdoor enclosure extends to the Aare River so that the bears may not only climb trees but also splash around in fresh, flowing water.
One bear that has returned is the “Fasnacht” (carnival) bear. After one hundred years of being banned by Christianity, the Bernese Fasnacht was resurrected in 1982. In February, the time when bears wake up from their winter hibernation and smell the air, the “bear from the bear forest” is let out of his cage and announces the time of tomfoolery (in other areas known as carnival). Along with the traditional bearskin wearer—in whom the Bernese bear spirit is incorporated—many of the long-forgotten mythological bear forms have come back to life: the wild man who wears a bearskin (Mieschmaa); the fool and harlequin (Hurispiegel); the forest devil; the donkey-doctor (crazy doctor); the devil’s grandmother (Hutte Frau); the blackened man; the child eater; Queen Bertha, who represents a Burgundian duchess but, in reality, is ancient Celtic Brigit, or Bertha, who is “full of light,” the god-like female companion of the bear; Noble Wilhelm Tell and his son; the evil reeve, Gessler; whole troops of warriors; artisans; and many, many fools.
Bernese Fasnacht figures, from left to right: bearskin, Mieschmaa in bearskin, and Hurispiegel in pompous women’s clothes and with a bear face
In the olden times during the time of Fasnacht, wooden tables were set up in the old city center under the eaves and ham and bread were served so that bearskins and their comrades could eat their fill. “We took enough forest away from the bears in order to build our solid city. It is only right that, in the beginning of the year, we give the bears enough to eat until they and their friends can eat no more” (Sergius Golowin 1986, 13). And, as is fitting for the bear as the incarnation of virile life energy, he also chases the girls, grumbles at them, whirls them for a few rounds of dancing, and would most likely mate with them if he were not constantly distracted by honey cakes and cool drinks.
Chapter 20
Teddy Bear and Winnie-the-Pooh
The many roles of the bear—father figure; protective mother; ancestor; hairy, grumbly relative; seducer; courageous warrior, simultaneously animal and human—are combined in the cherished teddy bear.
Clemens Zerling and Wolfgang Bauer, Lexikon der Tiersymbolik
Although we modern humans eliminated this animal with precision from our forests, we left it in the children’s rooms of our descendants. It seems that we somehow did not want to break off completely from our roots.
Regula Mayer, Tierisch gut
Hardly any other animal has left such a strong and lasting impression on the people of the northern half of the globe as the bear has. Its archetypal image has engraved itself deeply into th
eir souls. Contrary to many wild animals that populate the world of fairy tales and fables, furry Bruin—with a few exceptions—appears as a good-natured, snuggly, and contented being. From a safe distance, he is seen more as a friend than a threat. One likes him and would like to be close to him. How else can one explain the behavior of visitors in national parks who sometimes even try to put one of their children on his back, or the Bernese who sometimes spend hours near their beloved bears as if they have a healing aura? One tends to forget that bears can hardly be tamed and can be very dangerous. Legends told to youths are full of forest rangers, Native American youths, young girls, and young boys who have befriended bears. Novels by Jean M. Auel tell about a Stone Age girl named Ayla who belongs to the bear clan and later, as a shaman, calls upon the spirit of the cave bear. Other stories tell of bears, similar to those of dolphins saving humans from drowning, who save human lives. For example, a grizzly bear protects a Native American child from the wolves that have surrounded it, or a Japanese farmer falls into a canyon in the middle of the winter and is saved by a bear that fed him a paste made of ants and kept him warm enough until someone found and saved him.
Friendly, clumsy bears romp through comics, children’s television programs, and books, and they can also be seen on various cereal boxes. Baloo, the bear from Kipling’s The Jungle Book, is as loving and kind as children wish all adults were. In comic books in Germany, the bear Petzi (Barnaby, in English) invites children to join him in many adventures, and Paddington Bear parodies the British way of life. In Germany, Gummibaerchen (gummy bears—jelly bears originally made of boiled-down fruit juice) are practically a currency for children and can be traded for toys or given as a token of friendship. Teddy bears reign sovereignly over most other toys or other stuffed animals. And bear hugs are the best hugs.
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