But the bear was the king of only the four-footed animals. The birds had their own king—it was not the eagle as one would think but the plain and simple wren.6 The amphibians, saurians, and other reptiles also had their own king: the white serpent that lived under the ancient elderberry bush of the homestead. The Grimm brothers recorded a tale that tells about a war between the king of the animals and the king of the birds:
Once when a bear and a wolf were meandering through the forest, they heard a bird chirping a lovely melody. The bear wanted to know what kind of a feathered creature it was that sang so beautifully. The wolf told him it was the wren, the king of the sky, and that one had to show him due respect.
The bear and the wren children
The bear definitely wanted to see the palace of the other sovereign and took a peek through the branches. When he saw the tiny nest, he could only laugh contemptuously. The skinny, naked royal children seemed pitiful to him. He did not even acknowledge them with a bow. “This is not a palace and you are not royal children, you are unworthy children!” he commented and left. The children were so upset that they did not even eat the worms that their parents brought in their beaks for them later.
The wren and his wife flew right away to the bear’s den and called out to him, “Hey, grouchy old bear, why did you chide our children? You will pay for that! We will fight it out in a bloody war.” The angry bird king called on all the animals that fly—birds, bees, mosquitoes, hornets, gadflies, and bugs. They formed a mighty summing, screeching army.
The bear also called upon all of his vassals and allies, the elk, wild boars, and others that walk on four legs. Because he was so clever, the fox was made a general. The general decided he should first go spy on the enemy and size up the situation. He was supposed to signal to the others with his red tail: If he put his tail up high, the order was “Attack!” But if he lowered his tail, danger was lurking and they should retreat.
However, their clever plan did not remain a secret. A tiny mosquito had hidden under a leaf at headquarters and heard everything. When the fox went off to scout out the situation, the wren sent out a platoon of hornets. They stung the fox so aggressively in the hindquarters that he had to tuck his tail and clear out. This signal started a panic with the animals. They thought all was lost, and they all ran in various directions as far away as possible.
The wren had won the war and the haughty bear had to eat humble pie. After he had apologized to the wren children, they began to eat again and were in good spirits.
The bear retreats in defeat.
The Chieftain of the Animals
For the North American forest peoples, the bear is the chief of all the animals. It is the strongest and quietest animal. It can even easily take already slain prey away from pumas and wolves. For the bear, this procedure is easier than the actual hunting—though for any other animal, it is an impossible endeavor.
Sioux medicine man Lame Deer highlights the bear’s status with a story from his childhood: His father, who had just gotten a handful of “green frog skins” (dollar bills) went into a saloon to try his luck at poker. The white owner of the joint had a pitiful bear cub chained onto the bar. The cowboys and gamblers were having a great time teasing the bear so that it would stand up on its back legs. A big, cigar-smoking white man came into the bar with a Great Dane. “Nice pet,” he said to the barkeeper, “but be careful that my dog doesn’t make him into mincemeat.”
“The bear can manage the dog,” said the barkeeper.
“I’ll bet fifty dollars that my dog will tear up your pet,” the man bragged. “Let’s have them fight!”
The white bear (drawing by Theodor Kittelsen)
By now everyone in the bar, whites and Native Americans, was interested in the bet. The whites all dug into their pockets and bet that the clumsy, slobbering Great Dane would win. The Native Americans, including Lame Deer’s father, bet on the bear because he is the chief of the animals. They made a ring of chairs and blankets outside and put the two animals in the middle. The little bear just sat there like an infant and paid no attention to the snarling, growling dog. It clawed some soil and rubbed it onto its head. The dog seemed to be smarter than its owner because, though it growled and barked like crazy, it did not dare attack the young bear. Only when its owner cussed and kicked him into getting serious did it lunge at the bear. With one blow of his paw that came as fast as lightning, the bear ripped the dog’s throat so that it fell down dead on the spot. “The bear made a sound, just a ‘hrmmpf’ like a Sioux does when he is angry,” Lame Deer commented (Lame Deer and Erdoes 1972, 116).
When the forest animals have a council meeting, a powwow, the bear takes the seat of honor at the west end of the teepee, or wigwam, so that the rising sun shines on its face. The chief of the bears is an albino bear because white is considered a sacred color.7
As already discussed, the Cherokee see bears as transformed humans. The chief of the bears lives in a “mulberry grove” on a high mountain peak in the Smokey Mountains. A magical lake is there, where wounded bears go to heal. In this wild, mountainous region, the bears gather in the fall and dance before they go into winter hibernation (Mooney 2011, 47). The following story is told in many variations in both the entire forested area and the bordering prairie. The story, “About the Origin of Disease,” tells of a white bear that leads the meetings of all the animal nations. This is the Cherokee version:
In earlier, long-forgotten times, human folk lived peacefully and harmoniously with all of the animal folk. But at some point, the humans invented bows and arrows and spears and knives. They began to slaughter animals, took their flesh and skin without thanking them, took the feathers from the birds, and stepped on and squashed small living beings, bugs, and worms out of pure carelessness. As it became ever more unbearable, the animal folk complained to the chief of the animals, the old white bear.
White Bear called all of the bears together in the mulberry grove. After they had heard enough about the outrageous doings of the humans, they decided to go on the warpath. Because they knew how effective the human weapons were, they decided to also fight with bows and arrows.
“What are bows and arrows made of?” asked the chief. One of the bears that had observed the humans very intently answered, “The bow is made from the young branches of the Osage orange tree and the bowstring is made of our intestines!”
So the bears gathered the wood and one of the bears offered himself so that bowstrings could be made of his intestines. It was very difficult for them to make the bows because the Osage orange tree is very thorny, but they finally succeeded. When they wanted to practice shooting, some problems came up. When they tried to shoot the arrows, their long claws got caught in the bowstrings.
“We should cut off our claws!” one of the bears suggested. But White Bear objected, “One of us has already died for the bowstring. If we cut our claws, we will all die. How will we be able to climb trees in danger, how will we dig up roots and larvae? These human weapons are unnatural and not for us to use!”
None of the other bears could think of anything else so the old chief ended the meeting. The bears meandered off into various directions and forgot the matter. Eating sweet forest fruits, licking wild honey, and cozily meandering through the woods was much more to their liking, anyway, than political business.
The story continues but now without bears:
The elk chief, Little Elk, took the bear’s place and led the council meeting of the forest dwellers. He was also angry, “Deer, elk, and other wild animals give their flesh and skins to the humans,” he explained, “but one never hears words of thanks, words asking for pardon! They murder us, but they neither cover up our bones, as would be proper, nor do they leave gifts and tobacco for the ones who remain. As long as I hear no words of thanks, I will punish the humans. I will send them rheumatism and pain in their limbs so that they will become helpless cripples.”
The snake spoke for the reptiles, the amphibians, and the saurians: “Th
e humans disregard us, too, and treat us badly. We will appear to them in nightmares and wind around their bodies until they can’t breathe. We will breathe poisonous breath upon them and will paralyze them with our piercing look so that they lose their appetite, waste away, and die of starvation.”
The insects, worms, and other tiny beings were even angrier. “These cruel humans step on us and crush us. We wish they were all dead,” said their speaker. Thereupon they invented all of the horrible diseases and plagues that even still afflict humans today—and if they had had their way, humanity would surely have completely died out and become extinct.
Only the chipmunk that humans left in peace for the most part, tried to put in a good word for the two-legged creatures. But the other animals were so furious that they attacked the chipmunk and clawed him down the back, which is the reason that these tree rodents still have a stripe down their back.
The dog that liked to roam around the locations of the humans and enjoy leftovers, bones, and excrement found there was the only animal that liked humans. It was sad and stealthily left the council, going to the human settlement where it has remained to this day. The rest of the animals declared the dog crazy and excluded it from their community.
The trees, bushes, and wild plants, which were silently present during the council, had heard everything. They did not agree; they had compassion for the humans. Besides, they had not always had good experiences with the animals—too many of them had gnawed on their sprouting parts, clawed their bark, destroyed seeds, or destroyed young trees by rubbing their horns on them. So they held their own powwow and decided to help the humans. For each disease the animals sent, one of them would provide a healing medicine. One plant after another told what disease it could heal. They sent a dream to a medicine man in which they declared, “We, the green folk, will help you with any disease. But we are shy, you have to come to us and ask us for help when you are sick. You can also ask the bear because he best knows our qualities.”
Chapter 14
Bear Saints and Devils
From there Elisha went up to Bethel. As he was walking along the road, some boys came out of the town and jeered at him. “Get out of here, baldy!” they said. “Get out of here, baldy!” He turned around, looked at them and called down a curse on them in the name of the Lord. Then two bears came out of the woods and mauled forty-two of the boys.
2 Kings 2:23–24
Around CE 590, Saint Columba took twelve companions and left Ireland and Wales for continental Europe (it is rumored he had to leave because he found the Irish women too beautiful, making it hard for him to keep his vows). In the name of Christ, these descendants of Celtic magicians walked through the realm of the Franks (more or less today’s France) with the front of their heads shaved in the Druid fashion and wearing white gowns; they were burdened with books and had bone relics of holy martyrs in bundles tied to their walking sticks. Steeled by severe asceticism, they advocated morals and good manners in the princely courts—so much so that these courts usually very much encouraged them to move on soon after the customary obligatory rights toward guests had been observed. As they roamed the countryside in southerly direction, they came to the Alemannic lands. Only the unswerving belief in their God and mission kept them from being afraid of the wilderness, wild animals, and evil pagans. The Alemannic tribes had berserkers into the seventh century.
When the holy men, fasting and praying, were walking along the banks of Lake Constance, they happened upon a loud, boisterous blót ritual, a festival in honor of Wotan and other pagan gods where beer flowed like water. The pious men were appalled at this devilish carrying on. Especially young Gailleach—known as Saint Gall—the son of an Irish king, was outraged. He turned over the beer vat, smashed the idols against a cliff, and threw the pieces into the lake. The fearlessness of the monks puzzled and impressed some of the pagans so that they let themselves be converted. Most of them reacted with hostility, however, and battered some of the monks to death.
The Messenger of the Age of Pisces
Saint Columba felt compelled to move on across the Alps, but Gailleach preferred Lake Constance—he loved to fish. Shamelessly naked Alemannic girls who occasionally happily splashed and bathed in the lake disturbed him; but he was able to drive them off with prayer and a ban.
As Columba was preparing to travel on, a temporary fever befell his friend Gailleach, who then stayed on the lakeside with his friend, Hiltibold. They were not afraid of the wolves, wild boars, and bears that populated the subalpine territory; after all, they were men of God and nothing had happened to the prophet Daniel in the lion’s den. They strayed through the wilderness for weeks until, weak from fasting, Gailleach fell near a waterfall on the Steinach River. When the bundle of sacred relics tied to the knob of his walking stick touched the earth, the monks saw this as a sign to stay at that place and build a monastery.
Gailleach went fishing to regain some strength by eating and got enough fish for the two of them. After they had eaten, a bear came roaming through and ate the leftovers. Gailleach crossed himself, talked to the bear in a brotherly way, and then commanded the bear to bring wood for the fire and logs to build the cloister. In the name of Christ, he asked the thick-skulled bear to drive the other wild animals off and then retreat into the mountain. As a token of thanks, he gave the vanquished bear consecrated bread and pulled a thorn out of its paw.
The bear that Saint Gall (Gailleach) subjugated also stands symbolically for the ancestral soul of the Alemannic peoples. The bear was the totem animal of the Alemannic warriors and was connected to the two main gods of the tribes, along with Woutis (Odin) and Donar (Thor). When the bear accepted the consecrated bread, it accepted communion with the spirit of the new Piscean Age that was coming into its time. Simultaneously, the bear gives the new spirit warmth, protection, and shelter by bringing wood for fire and building. In old representations, the bear comes from the left side, from the heart side. This indicates that the Alemannic soul had accepted the Christian message (Burri 1982, 86).
The Abbey of Saint Gall (Switzerland) developed out of the hermitage that was founded in this way—an incubator cell for the new Christian culture. The conversion of the wild Alemannic tribes pushed forward from here. An iconic design portrays this meeting, which depicts how Gailleach blesses a bear and gives it consecrated bread while the bear walks upright and gives him a log.
Saint Gall subjugates a bear (left: seal of the monastery library in St. Gallen, Switzerland).
Between the bear and Saint Gall in the illustration, a cross signifies their meeting and conciliation. The bears that help and protect him are not necessarily wild forest bears, however. It is more likely that they are genuine bearskins, dressed in bear furs and acting on the orders of their chieftain, Duke Kunzo, who told them to be hospitable to the stranger. Earlier, pagan chieftain Kunzo had called the monk, this unusual magician, to his daughter’s sickbed. Saint Gall was able to heal her with holy water and prayer, and from then on he stood under the Duke’s protection, of which he was much in need—he still had to fear the pagans’ revenge for insulting them and smashing their idols.
The festival of Saint Gall is held on October 16th, the time of year when the bears get tired and start to long for the quiet feeling of security in their earthen dens. By sending the bear away, Saint Gall also dismisses the old heathen heritage out of the realm of consciousness. It dwindles away from everyday consciousness and sinks into the cave of the unconscious. Some day—in the twilight time of a new age—this bear will emerge from the dark depths again. Maybe now, the beginning of the Age of Aquarius, the time has come?
The Bear as a Porter and Plowman
Not only Saint Gall but also other holy men and missionaries had to deal with the Germanic totem animal. Saint Mang, who legend says founded three cloisters in Allgaeu (in southern Germany) with Gailleach and Columba, also had to come to terms with bears. When he caught one nibbling on apples in the cloister garden, he successfully commanded it to
stop and forced it to shake the tree so that the monks could gather up the fallen apples. Another bear scratched around on the root of an ancient pine tree and revealed a vein of iron ore. The discovery of the iron ore brought a financial boon to the cloister near Fuessen (where King Ludwig’s famous castle Neuschwanstein is) as well as to the surrounding area. Saint Mang rewarded the bear with consecrated bread and the promise that no harm would come to it. On another occasion, the holy man tamed a whole pack of bears and trained them to fight against the demon of Lechtal. He drove them like a pack of docile dogs to attack a lindworm that was terrorizing the area of Ronsberg (Germany). The united bears destroyed the dragon that had eaten many cattle and humans (Endroes and Weitnauer 1990, 526).
Other holy men were not impressed with the bear’s wildness either—for example, Saint Corbinian, missionary of Bavaria. When the devil appeared to him in the shape of a bear and slashed his packhorse, the man of God commanded the evildoer to carry the baggage in the horse’s place. And Saint Maximin was on a pilgrimage to Rome when a hungry bear also attacked his pack animal and devoured it. This bear also had to obey the holy man in the same manner. Not until it had carried his baggage to Rome and back to the German countries was it relieved of its compulsory labor.
Under the circumstances of the times, the “pilgrimage to the Holy See” seems to be a euphemism for a dangerous undertaking, and the inhabitants of the canton Valais in Switzerland tell a similar story to those of Saints Corbinian and Maximin: In the vicinity of the San Bernardino Pass, Saint Martin was attacked by a wild bear that clawed his pack mule. This bear, too, then bowed down to the spiritual superiority and carried the holy man’s baggage to Rome and back. The site of this event was named after the bear, Urseris (from Latin ursus = bear), and is today known as Osières. In another place, the tale is told of a severe bishop who made a bear plow for him after it had tore into his ox. And yet another similar tale tells of Saint Lucius who made a bear help him plow and carry firewood for a poor widow.
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