The bear is so little the enemy of man that
he has never lifted a hand against him, unless
in the exceptional cases of hunger and legitimate
defence. She-bears, indeed, have often
been seen to drive travellers violently away
from the neighbourhood of their little ones;
but who would dare to charge it as a crime
against the mother, if she does exaggerate
the perils which threaten her bearlings, and
trembles for their skin, when she remembers
the disastrous consumption of this article of
goods which is caused by the single institution
of Grenadiers? The bear is not less
impatient than every other person of good
taste, for the suppression of this ridiculous
and too long-honoured head-dress.

The extreme fondness of the she-bear for
her cubs is a text on which every writer has
made his comment ever since beasts have
been written about. The bearess has the
habit of carrying one of her little ones under
each arm, when it is required to clear any
dangerous passage, such as a steep ravine or
an impetuous torrent; and it is only in the
midst of these perils that she displays a
ferocious and unsociable character. Bear-hunters
have equally assured me that they have more
than once seen these creatures retiring peaceably
to their homes bearing away, without
the slightest difficulty, a sheep tucked under
each arm, exactly as a Roman augur carried
his breviary. "But of this story," says M.
Toussenel, "I only believe as much as pleases
me."

The true enemy of the bear—the emblem
of savage life and equality—is the horse—the
emblem of gentlemanhood, and aristocratic
disdain. There are not two known animals
which detest each other more cordially than
the horse and the bear. The hatred of the
latter for grenadiers springs from less deep
and more recent causes. The grey bear of
California, the most dangerous and the
strongest of all the bears in the world, has
sworn, it is said, war to the death against
the horse, and attacks him wherever he meets
him, whether at large or mounted. It is
stated that there are very few instances in
that country of a cavalier's having to
complain of the ingratitude or ill-behaviour of a
grey bear after having previously made the
sacrifice of his steed. Zoologists and hunters
have long inquired, without being able to put
their finger on the answer, the causes of the
implacable hatred which the bear has vowed
against the horse, and vice versa. Analogy
alone can claim the honour of guessing this
rebus, and of explaining the famous story
of the herd of furious bears, against whom
grapeshot and cauldrons took no effect, but
who were put to flight by a couple of rolls
proceeding from a drum made of horse's skin.
Analogy answers with the superiority of good
sense and simplicity which characterises it:—
"The animal which symbolises the love of
independence and equality, is the born enemy
of the animal which personifies the gentleman
—the gentleman, that is to say, the
oppressive and privileged class which makes
use of the vanquished, and compels them to
work." Then follows M. Toussenel's
magnificent peroration: "Thus true science tears
and makes to fall, one after the other, all the
veils of brass which Obscurantism interposes
between the vision of Man and Nature!"

What is the cause of the hatred of man for
Brother Bruin? This question our profound
zoologist answers thus:—The bear, which
incessantly retreats before the steps of man,
and chooses the most uninhabited places as
his dwelling, sufficiently testifies his pacific
intentions, and his desire to avoid a struggle
in which he is not sure of having the upper
hand. But man, who wants a pretext for
continuing his trade in fur caps and bear's
grease, cannot, of course, appear to believe
in the sincerity of these friendly wishes. He
audaciously denies them in the interest of his
business, and struggles hard to continue the
hostilities, which will finish by and bye, alas!
for want of combatants to carry them on.
A great proof of the moderation of the bear's
appetites, is to be found in the history of the
sports of the circus at Rome. The Romans,
who loved dramas well spiced with human
blood, scarcely ever exposed Christians to
the teeth of the bear, who was officially
suspected of indifference to the Pagan religion.
One of the favourite amusements of Heliogabalus
consisted, as is well known, in
intoxicating his guests of both sexes, and causing
them to be awoke by the hairy arms of a
bear; but history does not record that these
jokes were ever attended with such serious
consequences as those of the Emperor Nero,
who stifled his friends under heaps of roses.
They were, notwithstanding, great artists in
horror, those Ceasars of Rome, setting aside
the immoral and subversive portion of their
imaginations.

Another proof which, in case of need,
would testify to the gentleness of the bear's
character, and the amenity of his manners, is
his passion for music. You may read in the
accounts of Olaus Magnus, the Buffon of
Northern Europe, that when the shepherds of
his country (where the bear is very common)
find themselves hemmed in by a troop of
those quadrupeds, they make believe not to
be aware of the disagreeable visitors, and
continue to enliven the wilderness with the
sweet sound of their clarionettes. Then,
selecting the moment when their ursine
neighbours are completely under the influence
of the melody, they suddenly let fly at
their hearers so sudden, sharp, and harsh
a howl, that the unfortunate amateurs start
off at full gallop, never to come back again.

The bear does not like bloodshed; and
those who accuse him of clumsiness, have
never seen him at work. Nor is he, any
more, the enemy of gaiety. Some have been
known that were actually disagreeable through
the excess of their amiability. The bear is