History of rescue with dogs in the classic era |   Barry I, the "saint" of the Great Saint Bernard |  Other famous rescuers |   Barry II |  

"the good Samaritans of the mountains" (painting of the mid 18th century)

  "The path that grazes the mountain overhangs a precipice and it is unfortunate for he who needs to take it; avalanches detach from the side of the rock and swallow him. But he who manages to avoid the avalanches is still at risk of straying, searching for the right path to take, in the middle of the frightening solitude, when the shadows of the night start to fall with no shelter in sight. If he laid down and fell asleep he would be lost; his limbs frozen and buried in snow. Providence then intervenes under the semblance of a dog... At night, when the wind raveshes, and its algid blow whistles sinister through the bramble thickets, the kennel opens and its tenants rush out, anxious to search each recess of that gelid blank world, on which perils overhang like Damocles' sword.
  As wondering shadows of restless ghosts, they follow with marevellous certainty invisible traces, sniff mysterious scents... There they are busy digging in the snow with their robust nails. They found something, pause to notify, they break with their long and wailing howl, filled with plea and anguish that tears the silence of the mountain and alarms the monks. The wayfarer is saved!". This is how Carlo Alberto Girardon describes Saint Bernards' rescue activity in his 1930 book, The dog through the History and Civilization of the World (Il cane nella Storia e nella Civiltà del Mando) . What better praise could one expect than the one given in 1802 by Chateaubriand in The Genius of Christianity, to the merits of the Saint Bernard dog, marvelous instruments of charity of their religious patrons: "But the wayfarer through the Alps is only at the first half of his journey. Night approaches, it's snowing. All alone, shivering, lost, he takes a few steps and hopelessly strays. It is dark already. Standing on the verge of the precipice he does not know whether to go on or to go back. Soon frost penetrates to his bones, his limbs loose sensibility, a fatal sleep closes his eyes. His last thoughts go to his children and his wife. Isn't that the sound of a bell striking coming through the whish of the tempest or are those funeral bells his frightened imagination hears through the wind? No, the sound is real but in vain for the wayfarer's legs are unable to sustain him. Another sound is heard. A dog barking through the snow, comes closer and to him, he howls of joy: a lonely monk follows him. It was not enough to have offered one's life thousands and thousands of times to save other men, to have settled forever in the depth of the most frightening of solitudes. Even one's dogs needed to learn to become an instrument of these sublime deeds, to burn, so to speak, of the flame of charity they shared with their saint masters and that they howled from the top of the Alps through the echo of the rocks the miracles of our religion!".
  As the canonic Marquis states, in the mortuary, in the Hospice book containing the names of all people who died on the mountain, can be read of approximately twenty wayfarers who died in the snow in the early 17th century, for lack of prompt rescue.
  From 1650 cca, the hospitaliter, who is an attendant at the Hospice, also called marronier, begun to train dogs and to use those helpful companions in his tours . Thanks to this fact, "white deaths" decreased steadily in number.



  In 1786 the erudite De Saussure described rescue of wayfarers. "The marronier", he said, "is accompained by one or two huge dogs trained both to recognize a mountain path through fog, storm and snow and to trace stray wayfarers.". The French Revolution was nearing and with it great troup displacement. It shouldn't be a surprise that in a 1789 book appeared, Historical essays about the Mont-Saint-Bernard by Chrétien des Loges, with these assertions: "one of the main duties of the chaplain is to deal with the pack of dogs who search the snow for strays and bring them back on the right path, and to send the "marroniers" off daily to meet wayfarers during the winter". During that time dogs seemed to be so well trained that between 1790 and 1810 not even one soldier died on the mountain. Many of them, abandoned by their fellow soldiers were collected and taken care of. During that period only six soldiers passed away at the Hospice. Among the people of the shelter only a priest and his guide died in the snow, because they had left Bourg-Saint-Pierre too late. And yet approximately two hundred thousand soldiers crossed the mountain in that turbid period.
   There had not been any human casualties among the forty thousand man of the Napoleon army who crossed the Pass in May 1800.   
  that same year, the canonic Murith recorded his testimony: "Our mastiffs, so helpful to travellers, are of extraordinary size. They are kind to wayfarers, bark at them when far, friendly when close. We need them in particular to recognize, also through depth, traces of the old path which would be dangerous to abandon when covered in fresh snow, and to lead in this case and in case of fog, the uncertain footsteps of their companions who each day go to meet the wayfarer with bread, cheese and wine; to lead back to the right path strays lost in the fog and to mark the way in the snow, helping the "marronier" and the wayfarers through the mountain. Our dogs do not fear frost. Nature has them dressed well for the climate of their environment. Some of them proved so easy to teach they were soon trained to carry a small packsaddle with two jugs attached. With such an equipment they follow an attendant to our dairy, distant one league (La Pierre) and they carry back from it milk and butter. No-one like them can dig so well through the most compact snow to find buried persons".


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  The most famous Saint Bernard dog is Barry (rescuer of over 40 people), whose psychic characteristics are still exemplary for the breed. Son of Alpina and Pluto, he was born in 1800 as the last of three brothers, in the time Napoleon was crossing the Pass with his troops. From a puppy he displayed exceptional gifts, and little training was sufficient to make of him a perfect rescuer. He possessed extraordinary zeal and there was never a need to encourage him to work. If his sharp perception sensed somebody was in trouble, nobody could keep him in the Hospice: as if in a trance, lead by obscure forces, he would rush out in all weather to search for the stray wayfarer. He often worked alone, as is true for all rescue dogs, but if the task was above his capabilities, he would come back to the Hospice to alarm the monks.
  When he performed his most famous rescue, in 1805, he was aready a celebrity through Europe: Martino Vincenzi, an Italian worker, died of consumption in Lausanne, leaving his wife and small son without any money. The woman decided to go back to her family in Italy. At the beginning of May she crossed Martigny with the child hanging, as custom, from her shoulders, exhausted from the long journey, she reached Bourg-Saint-Pierre. She tried to find work there to spend a few months and regain strength. But locals were so poor nobody wanted to take over the burden of two hungry mouths. She was advised to go back to Martigny, but she refused and the following morning, altough weather was bad, she was seen taking the path towards the Pass.
  Up at the Hospice, Father Luigi, dog-guide and great friend of Barry's, who was leader of the pack, left for his usual daily patrol tour. Suddenly he saw Barry stop, and along with him all the other dogs. Then he heard, coming from the rocks of the Black Beak, a sinister crack that became in a crescendo a sound of thunder. In just a few seconds the monk and the dogs were snowed under a white cloud, and an avalanche dropped a hundred meters in front of them. When it was over Father Luigi saw Barry rush towards the avalanche disappearing from his sight. He tried to call him back, he repeatedly blew his whistle until, because of the threat of new avalanches and storms, he decided to go back to the Hospice without him
  When he told the Prelate what had happened he was surprised because Barry had never disobeyed before; perhaps he sensed a human in distress, but it was a feeble assumption for not many would adventure through the Pass in that season. But no hypothesis could calm the two monks. They went on walking up and down the atrium of the convent and kept opening the heavy gate to peer outside. At 3 in the afternoon their tension grew and they decided to send a few fellow monks, inspite of the incipient storm, to look for Barry. Two monks went to Cantine de Proz and discovered that a woman with a child, regardless of the warnings of those who tried to talk her out of it, took the path which, brushing the glacier of

Barry I, the "saint" of the Great Saint Bernard (from a 1834 painting property of Antonio Morsiani)

Balsore, leads to the pass. At that point they realized that the woman was probably near the spot where the avalanche hit and that Barry sensed her presence. But that happened ten hours earlier. While the storm was raging in all her might, in the middle of the night, they decided to return to the Hospice and ask for back up for a new search party.
  Meanwhile (it was about 11 p.m.) the convent was sleeping, but the Prelate could not rest thinking of what happened. Suddenly a lament broke through the storm and made him startle, he heard noise echo in the atrium. He rushed to the groundfloor, opened wide the gate and saw Barry covered in snow cowered under the guard wall. The dog gave a slight whimper but did not move. The Prior bent down to him and realized the dog carried, wrapped in a cloth and attached to him by the girth all Hospice dogs are equipped with, a child who had lost his senses. Immediately he took the child inside calling for help. Monks tried to bring him back by massaging his limbs and after moments of uncertainty finally the boy opened his eyes. At the same time the monks who went to Cantine de Proz came back. It was immediatly clear that Barry dug in the area hit by the avalanche and found the woman. She was too weak to follow him though, so in a last desperate effort to save her son she intrusted the infant to the dog and tied them together.
  During that night another patrol left lead by the tireless Barry. They found the mother where he had left her: she seemed peacefully asleep in her bed of snow...
  Another typical episode of Barry's psychology and shared in the end by all Saint Bernards, is the event that occured at the beginning of May 1809.
   Inspite of the very bad weather and polar temperatures, four Italian masons were on a journey to Switzerland. They were in a hurry to reach Lausanne, they were afraid of missing the best jobs. The fog wrapping the mountain didn't scare them, for they knew the mountain like the back of their hands.
  On the Great Saint Bernard, three monks with dogs were patroling for hours. Father Luigi was among them, he felt worn out and tired, the humid frost penetrated in his bones. When he was about to decide to go back to the Hospice with his pack he saw Barry suddenly stop, sniff the air and direct himself towards the Mont Mort, where the fog seemed an impenetrable pall. Aware of the infallible instinct of the glorious veteran, he let him go and invited his fellow monks to follow him with the rest of the dogs. He had no energy to take on another search so he would wait there for their return.
  Night was falling when the pack headed by Barry found the four Italians who, lost in the fog, after wandering for a long time on the mountain, worn out, grasping to eachother to defend themselves from the cold. While a monk was feeding them food and liquor dogs carried, another one rushed to the convent to ask for help. Soon another patrol equipped with stretchers left for the scene. Nobody worried about father Luigi, left waiting, because everybody was sure Barry would find him and show him the way back. And after a few hours, in fact, Barry found his master who fell, in the attempt to get back to the Hospice on his own, in an rocky gorge with a broken leg. Meanwhile it got really cold. Father Luigi got a grip on the dog's barrel but it was empty, he tried to reach for the food but didn't find any, his dog couldn't help him. Realizing that there was no help for him, he gave Barry the order to go back to the Hospice for help. When the discouraged dog returned to the Hospice, the monks found that Barry's supplies were used to help the stray Italians. In a hurry filled with anxiety, they followed the dog, but it was too late; when they got to Father Luigi, in the middle of the night, he was already dead.
  The animal laid next to him as if to protect him and there was no way of moving him. All through the dawn the mountain was shaken by his long sad howls.
   Barry never accepted another master, and would never be accompained by other dogs during his work. The various rescues he accomplished after 1809, including the one of another child, were not assisted by the monks. He wondered alone as a ghost even when the storm was raging. He knew every fold, each and every remote path of the mountain, the monks themselves did not dare give him orders: he was, already, a legend.
  One day he was found severely injured lying next to a soldier. The man was freezeng to death and delirious, he mistook the dog for a wolf and stabbed him repeatedly. As agile as Barry was, he could have avoided the stabs, but in the effort to help the unfortunate soldier he remained next to him, trying to help him and keep him warm. The monks transported both to the Hospice. The man healed and Barry was cared for with love but was never again able to go back on leading the old active life on the mountain. Reluctant, the Prelate sent him to his friends in Bern, where he lived for another couple of years as a stranger to men and animals. It was the 15th of December 1812.
  Everyone, aware of his fame, who went to the Swiss capital to see him, recalls an image of him as a massive immobile dog, contemptuous, with his head turned towards the mountains, constantly awaiting for death to come. He died at the end of 1814, almost 15 years of age and his body was donated to the Museum of Natural Science of Bern where he was embalmed. Today, after nearly two centuries, his remains still greet visitors who come from all over the world to see him.

Barry I°

  There is a fair literary production on Barry and in-depth studies have been conducted to explain his almost psychic faculties. A monument was dedicated to him in the dog cemetary of Asnières near Paris.
  But the best praise to him, beside the one Henry Bordeaux payed in his novel La Neige, is the one by the writer and scientist Peter Scheitlin (1779-1848) in his work Complete study on animal instinct: "The best dog is not the one who waked over Corinth's defenders, it isn't the Drydes' one who, at his master's nod, overcame the evildoers, it is not the one from Warsav who jumped off a high bridge to save a little girl, it is not the one of Montargis who killed in the king's presence the man who murdered his master, neither is it the one of Benvenuto Cellini who woke him up when they were trying to rob him. No. The best of dogs, the best of animals is Barry. You used to leave the convent with a basket round your neck, into the storm, in the most insidious snow. Each and every day you examined the mountain searching for unfortunates buried under avalanches. You dug them out and brought them back to life by yourself and, when you couldn't, you rushed back to the convent signalling the monks for help. You resurrected people. Your tenderness was so easy to communicate, that the boy you dug out had no fear to let you bring him, holding on to your back, to the Hospice. To save someone was your joy and you knew how to instill in those you were rescuing confidence and courage. A lot of men should learn from you. You never waited to be called for, you realized on your own your sacred task, as a rightfull man desires to be in God's pleasure. As soon as fog or a storm was nearing, off you went. What would you had been if God would have made you a man? For twelve years you were tireless, without expecting any thanks. I had the honour of meeting you on the Saint Bernard mountain: filled with respect, I took my hat off. You were playing with your friends as a lion among lions, I tried to caress you but you grumbled because you didn't know me. If I was an unfortunate you wouldn't have done so. Now your embalmed body rests at the Museum of Bern. The city did well hosting you when you were aged and no longer of service to humanity.
  Whoever should see your embalmed body should take his hat off, purchase your picture and put it in a frame to show it to their children and say: go and do well as this good samaritan did."

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  Other famous rescuers of the Hospice were Drapeaux and Jupiter, whose names are carefully registered in the monastery's books.
  Drapeaux saved a man in a very intelligent way: "The messanger he was escorting was caught under an avalanche and only his head was visible. At first the dog tried, in any way he knew, to dig the unfortunate out but unsuccessfully because the snow was too compact. Then he started to bark loudly, turning anxiously for help in every direction. Nobody answered his desperate cry. What to do? In the end Drapeaux made up his mind: he ran as fast as he could to ask for help, but instead of the Hospice, he ran towards a village, the nearest spot to the avalanche. Noticing the dog running alone and excited, the folks realized something bad had happened. They followed the dog and saved the messenger, who was waiting full of hope". These words, best praise to Drapeaux, were taken out of a letter the Prelate of the Hospice wrote.
  Jupiter lived in the 1830's. Among the large number of rescues performed by this canine hero, the one of a young woman and her child is worth recalling. He saw wayfarers on their way pass near the Convent and he was off to follow them right away. Later a monk noticed the dog was missing and immediatly went after him following his traces and found him lurking in a very dangerous spot, over a precipice, where the woman and the child were about to fall down if the dog hadn't stop them and brought them back to safety.
  Among the descriptions of rescues performed by dogs, we'll report the one told by the Canonic Dalleves.
   "One day in 1830 the postman came at 6 p.m. to notify us he left behind, at a league from the Hospice, a man unable to go on because of the fatigue and bad weather. Immediately monks and attendants were off to rescue the man. There were at least sixty centimeters of fresh snow! It was snowing heavily. It seemed now and then to hear blazes fall off the Mont Mort. The wind blew so impetuous it extinguished the light of the lanterns. The night was in total darkness. Only the dogs could guide us and without them we would have been, without a doubt, lost. Finally, at about 11 p.m., thanks to the dogs, we found the unfortunate man, leaning on a rock with his limbs frozen. We warmed him up rubbing the snow into his limbs. We brought the man to the Hospice but we reached it only at one o'clock in the morning". (Historical studies on the hospital of the Great Saint Bernard by Mgr. Luquet, 1849). In April 1801 the shepherd Brindel of the Vaud Canton went on a journey to the Great Saint Bernard and took some interesting notes. He could not forget "those dogs so famous all over Europe". Here are his textual words: "You can never stop gaining new knowledge on this breed so admirable and precious. They are gigantic animals, of reddish colour, with here and there a white spot. Their temperament is sweet. They never bite and bark only as wayfarers approach. They often go to meet them at the feet of the mountain, they offer them guidance and lead them to the convent. They possess an admirable instinct for finding hidden traces of the paths and stray people buried under the snow. But to assume they owe this gifts to nature only would be a mistake. The monks are the ones who train them to this so-called hospital assistence work, which requires a lot of care and patience. Naturally the younger soon assume the habit they see performed by the older ones. This breed loves the snow in a unique way and takes truly a great pleasure in rolling in the fresh fallen snow". (Short journey to the Great Saint Bernard in April 1801, published in "Etrennes Helvétiques et patriotiques").


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  A century after the birth of the famous Barry another dog, not least to the first, called Barry II, made the world take notice of him. Armed with exceptional vigour and courage and of very large size, he never left the head of the row. Whatever was the hight of the fresh snow he always followed the trace first. His performances in the mountains during the winter were extraordinary. With a chain attached to the collar round his neck, he helped a lot of people to climb up to the Hospice, once even his own worn out "marronier".

Barry II°

  One night in November 1904 two attendants departed with Barry II to meet a tanner of whom nobody had news since he had left La Cantinee. They descended the path of Combe and came to the way to Tronchet. There Barry sensed it was best to go back in the direction of the Hospice. Towards Gran-Rocher Barry II jumped off the road and found the strayed man lying on his back covered with a thin coat of snow. Since it was not too cold, the unfortunate was still alive but had lost conciousness. With a lot of difficulty, because he was a robust man, they managed to drag him up to the road and bring him back to the Convent, while Barry II was walking by his side howling. Thanks to care given by the monks Ernest Benoît, a tanner from Sainte-Croix, was saved.
  When the telephone and the telegraph were installed, in 1885 and 1886, a dog's duty became easier. When the weather was really very bad, during storms, or when the snow was very high, at the certainty that nobody would venture up the mountain, the dogs no longer had to cruise through the mountain, on a dangerous and futile search. Nevertheless their essential role remained marking the path for the "marronier", because the passage was now more frequented than ever. At least twenty-five thousand visitors came up the mountain each year and many rescues were still performed. During the last years of the XIX century, an enthusiastic pilgrim introduced himself to the Hospice. Standing on his two crutches, he insisted on climbing the mountain once more to thank the dogs and the monks for saving him. When he was ten, he found work in Switzerland as a chimney-sweeper and he was going back there in early winter. As he was very tired, his master abandoned him in the middle of the Combe-des-Morts. He would have certainly died if a dog hadn't found him and started licking him to awake him from the white death.
  Many people believe that Saint Bernard dogs can feel an incoming avalanche. "In 1812, on January 15th, two "marroniers", sent to meet two wayfarers, risked being buried under an avalanche near the Hospice. The dog that was escorting them seemed to have felt danger. Whereas he would usually mark the path, that time it was impossible to make him lead the way. One "marronier" walked on. In that precise moment a huge block of snow dropped in front of his feet." (A. Pellouchoud, The Great Saint Bernard).
  "The dog can feel even avalanche danger. In spite of our ten or fifteen-years experience we couldn't discern that an avalanche was about to fall in a certain spot, while the dog could feel it. We witnessed the same phenomenon last winter. One day we wanted to release our dogs, as usual for their daily stroll but, when they got to the doorstep, they refused to exit. As the weather was not very nice, at first we thought they were a bit lazy, and that surprised us because our dogs have no fear of bad weather neither of snow blizzards. On the contrary, you could say they love it, because it is under these very weather conditions their games become most joyful. After insisting for a while, we had to give up for no dog would exit. About five minutes later an avalanche hit the same door we were trying to get them out through just a little earlier. Under other circumstances, a few years ago, a dog refused to take a path that our fellow monks took, leaving the dog behind. The crossing of the gath was really dangerous, the avalanche buried the party." (Letter of the Prelate J. Jaquier to Mr. Dorcy, January 3rd 1939).
  Recent research and studies confirm that the dogs of the Hospice, during a two centuries time (1750-1940), saved or contributed to the rescue of over 2000 human lives.

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