Harper's New Monthly Magazine, No. XXIV, May 1852, Vol. IV

by Various

The young man's heart beat violently. There, doubtless, lay his enemy, gorged with the abundant meal furnished by the cow. The hunter strode on. The hole was not more than two feet in diameter, and the bear might be distinctly perceived squatting in the niche at about five feet of depth. The noise of the hunter's approach disturbed the animal. He stirred, opened his heavy eyelids, and saw Daniel. He was about to rush out, but a blow with the butt-end of the musket drove him back to his hole with a large wound in his eye, that streamed with blood. Another bound, and the bear was free. He stood erect, face to face with the young hunter, looked upon him for a few seconds with the horrible smile peculiar to these animals when in anger, and precipitated himself upon his enemy. The dog did not allow his master to be attacked with impunity, and a mélée ensued that covered the snow with blood. Daniel, seized by the shoulders, and retained in the monster's clutches, had the presence of mind to throw away his musket and have recourse to his knife, with which he made three large wounds in his adversary's side. Then he seized him by the ears, and, ably seconded by his dog, forced him to let go his hold. The bear, enfeebled by loss of blood, yielded the victory, and flew with so much swiftness, that the dog, who immediately put himself upon his track, was obliged to renounce the hope of overtaking him. The faithful animal returned to his master, whom he found insensible, his face torn to ribbons, his breast lacerated, and his shoulders covered with large wounds. Some peasants happening to pass that way raised the unhappy young man in their arms, and brought him to St. John, where he long lay between life and death. He would rather have been left to die, for life was become insupportable. Bears could not be mentioned before him without his detecting lurking smiles in the faces of his associates. To crown all, the approaching marriage of Raghilda and Aulic-Finn was no longer a mystery. Daniel had partly lost the use of his right arm, and a bite inflicted by the bear upon his nose had ruined the noble and regular features of the poor youth, and given him a countenance nearly as frightful as that of his adversary. He fell into a profound melancholy, sold his two farms and all his land, quitted Wermeland, sojourned about two months at Carlstad, and finally disappeared altogether from Scandinavia.

During this period, some hunters who were exploring the banks of the Klar, found, near the parish of Tima, a one-eyed bear, pierced with three strokes of a poniard, and in a dying condition. They took him without resistance, dressed his wounds, and carried him to a neighboring village. There they hired a light cart, placed him upon it, and took him along with them.

The recovery of their patient was more rapid than they had dared to hope. When the convalescent animal began to gain his strength, he was inclosed in a large cage, conveniently furnished with iron bars. As he was of gigantic stature, and possessed a magnificent coat, he proved a very lucrative acquisition as a show to the gaping multitude, and soon made the fortune of the cornac who bought him.

It was thus that the wild inhabitant of the forests of Wermeland became a cosmopolitan, and traversed Norway, Sweden, Germany and Prussia. In course of time he arrived in France, where his enormous proportions, savage mien, and thick fur, procured him the honor of being bought, for 360 francs, by M. Frederic Cuvier. He was brought in his cage to the habitation prepared for him in the Jardin des Plantes. There he was released from his narrow prison, and respired once more the fresh breeze.

This first sensation exhausted, he slowly explored his new abode. It was a species of cellar open to the air, twenty-five feet by thirty, and twenty feet in depth. Its walls were of smooth stone, that left no hold for the claws of its Scandinavian tenant. At one end was a kind of den, furnished with iron bars, that vividly recalled his first cage, and at the other a supply of water that fell into a trough of blue stone. In the middle stood a tree despoiled of its leaves and bark, upon which the little boys that had crowded round were continually throwing morsels of bread and apple-cores tied to long strings, crying, at the same time, "Martin! Martin!"

The bear disdainfully eyed the bread and the apple-cores, uttered a furious bellow, and embracing the trunk of the tree endeavored to overthrow it; but it stood the shock well, and did not even stagger. The cries were repeated, accompanied by insolent roars of laughter.

For the first few days the new-comer remained disdainfully squatted in his den. They might throw him cakes as they pleased, he did not even look at them. If some blackguard occasionally resorted to stones, it merely excited a jerking movement of the animal's paws, and a display of his white teeth. But, at the end of a week, he began, not without some false shame, to glance out of the corner of his eye at the tempting morsels of cake or tartlets that lay around him.

At length he furtively laid his paw upon one of the nice-looking bits, drew it toward him, slily dispatched it, and acknowledged that the Parisian pastry-cooks understood their business. The next day the stoic became an epicure, and collected the morsels that were thrown to him. A little time afterward, he remarked a dog sitting upon his hind legs, and agitating his fore-paws, to the great delight of the children, who lavished cakes upon the clever beast. A venal thought entered the mind of the bear. He imitated the cur, and begged.

The degraded savage now hesitated at nothing. He climbed the tree as the last bear had done, danced, saluted, imitated death, and performed, for the least bribe of bread or fruit, the most ridiculous grimaces. The fame of his gentleness spread through all Paris. Nothing was talked of but Martin, his intelligence and docility. His reputation circulated through the departments, and foreign journals quoted anecdotes of his sagacity.

For about ten years Martin feasted in peace, and enjoyed all the advantages of his servile submission. One beautiful summer afternoon, he was lying in the shade, nonchalantly digesting his food, when he happened to glance at the crowd that surrounded the pit. Suddenly he rose with a terrible bound, and rushed toward a shabbily-dressed man, whose visage was horribly cicatrized, and who leaned upon a knotty stick as he gazed down at the bear. The animal growled, writhed, opened his muzzle, and exhibited the most frightful evidences of anger. The man was not more placable; he brandished his stick with curses and menaces.