🎵 Pfeiferbrunnen (Bagpiper Fountain)
📍 Spitalgasse, Bern
⏳ Built c. 1545–1546
It’s the week before Fastnacht and Spitalgasse smells like firewood and fresh pastries. The bagpiper statue stands proud on his perch, his face worn by winter and the smoky breath of passersby. But today, beneath him, a real bagpiper performs in the flesh—drunk perhaps, or just enthused.
Children cluster around, clapping out of sync. A baker’s boy throws a coin into the basin, missing entirely. Your father frowns—he’s never liked music—but your mother lingers, foot tapping, eyes smiling.
The statue above seems to wink.
Marching to a different beat—literally—the Pfeiferbrunnen (Bagpiper Fountain) brings a burst of cheeky rhythm to Spitalgasse, one of Bern’s liveliest thoroughfares. Amid solemn warriors and symbolic giants, this fountain strikes a lighter, almost impish note: a barefoot musician in a jaunty pose, cheeks puffed and fingers mid-tune on a set of bagpipes.
It’s a rare moment of humor carved in stone—a 16th-century reminder that even a city of law, order, and Calvinist morality needed a little street music now and then.
🧑🎨 A Minstrel Immortalized
Crafted by the prolific Hans Gieng, Bern’s go-to sculptor during the great fountain renaissance of the 1540s, the Pfeiferbrunnen stands out not just for subject matter, but for tone. This wasn’t a biblical figure or military hero—it was a wandering entertainer, likely inspired by the itinerant musicians and jesters who roamed central Europe during festivals, markets, and Carnival (Fastnacht).
The figure wears a plumed hat and tunic, with a dagger tucked into his belt and his feet confidently bare. He exudes charm—half noble, half rogue—and gazes slightly off to the side, as if already lost in his next melody.
🎭 A City’s Musical Soul
Spitalgasse in the 16th century wasn’t just a medical quarter (the name derives from “hospital”); it was a bustling entryway into the city—a place of market stalls, foreign tongues, clattering carts, and general chaos. Music would have been a regular companion here, played to draw crowds, drown out haggling, or charm passersby into loosening their purse strings.
The bagpiper represented this slice of Bernese life: whimsical, transient, but ever-present.
And yet, even this whimsical figure might have carried a message. In the tradition of moral allegory, minstrels were sometimes seen as symbols of temptation, vanity, or folly—a warning not to be led astray by idle pleasures. Or, conversely, he may have simply embodied joy and spontaneity, both of which the reform-weary city surely needed in moderation.
💧 Function with Flair
Like the other Bernese fountains of the period, the Pfeiferbrunnen was both decorative and practical. Its octagonal basin collected spring-fed water for public use, while the central column made it visible from afar—beckoning children, travelers, and overworked cobblers alike to pause and sip.
The basin today bears the city's signature sandstone bears in armor (always watching), reminding even the most carefree flute-blower that he plays under their heraldic gaze.
🛡️ Ryfflibrunnen (Ryffli Fountain)
📍 Aarbergergasse, Bern
⏳ Built c. 1545
It’s the end of a long market day. Your shoes are coated with dust from the countryside roads, and your arms ache from carrying firewood. You shuffle past the tavern on Aarbergergasse and pause by the Ryfflibrunnen. The soldier on the column looks down—not menacingly, but firmly, a guardian of the night watch.
You drink deeply from the basin, cool water dribbling onto your tunic. A candle flickers in a nearby window. Somewhere, a dog barks.
You glance back up at the armored figure. For a moment, you wonder what it would feel like to carry the city’s banner, to be trusted like that.
Then you turn homeward, the banner still waving high in stone above your shoulder.
Tucked within Aarbergergasse, one of Bern’s oldest trade routes, the Ryfflibrunnen stands like a quiet sentinel—easily missed if you’re distracted by shop windows or lost in the smell of fresh rösti wafting from a nearby café. But stop for a moment and look up, and you'll see a stone man in armor, clutching a banner, staring out as if daring time itself to forget him.
⚔️ Who Was Ryffli?
The statue atop the fountain likely represents Johannes Ryffli, a Bernese standard bearer (Venner) from the 16th century—a man of both military responsibility and political influence. In Bernese society, the Venner was an officer who not only led troops in battle but also represented civic order in times of peace. He carried the city’s banner into war and stood for its honor back home.
While precise documentation is scarce, the naming of this fountain in Ryffli's honor suggests he was either especially distinguished in his role or came from a family with substantial influence in Bern’s political-military structure. His likeness here isn’t just decorative—it’s a subtle nod to the fusion of civic pride and martial duty that characterized Bern’s golden age.
🛠️ Built During the Fountain Boom
The Ryfflibrunnen was created during Bern’s ambitious mid-16th-century fountain program, the same movement that produced many of the city’s more famous figures: ogres, lions, prophets, and flag-bearers. These were not mere water sources, but narrative monuments—civic sculpture meant to inspire pride, fear, virtue, or at the very least, to leave a lasting impression.
Crafted in sandstone and originally painted in vibrant colors (some of which still shimmer through careful restorations), the Ryffli statue stands on a classical column above a polygonal basin. It may be simpler in ornament than the flamboyant Kindlifresser or flamboyant Simson, but its restrained dignity mirrors the values it was built to honor: vigilance, loyalty, and guardianship.
🧭 Strategic Placement in the City
Aarbergergasse was once the main road westward out of Bern, toward Aarberg and further into the Seeland and Jura. Merchants, soldiers, and travelers alike would pass this route, and the Ryfflibrunnen would greet them as they entered or exited the fortified Old City. Its presence signaled not just a place to quench your thirst, but a point of passage, a moment to acknowledge the city’s strength and structure.
In this way, the Ryfflibrunnen acted almost like a stone checkpoint, tying the flow of daily life to Bern’s larger identity as a military and political power in the Swiss Confederation.