It is said of the Chiemgau people that they are of a robust nature and nothing fazes them. Sometimes, however, they are irritated when someone mistakenly says “the Chiemgau” instead of “the Chiemgau”. From the perspective of the natives, the neuter is just wrong in this case. The Bayerischer Rundfunk is also becoming more and more focused on “the Chiemgau”. Most recently, this could be heard in the folk music show “Zsammg’spuit”, in which young people in traditional costume sang the song of praise for their homeland, with the moderator in the smart dirndl getting enthusiastic, but saying ironically “the Chiemgau”. A Google search also immediately pops up a map titled “Das Chiemgau”. The Bavarian section of the Allgemeine Deutsche Fahrrad Club, which certified the Chiemgau as a “RadReiseRegion” and consequently wrote “der Chiemgau”, has just proven that the correct name is still alive.
There is an old tradition behind the name Chiemgau. It was first mentioned in a Salzburg register of goods as “pago Chimingaoe” in the 8th century. Pago, which later became the Gau, is an area name from the early Middle Ages and the only Gau name from that time that has survived in Old Bavaria to this day.
The use of the article is fundamentally tricky in German. Der, die or das – even native speakers sometimes argue which article is the right one for which word. This is because the gender in German is assigned very illogically. With many words you simply have to memorize whether it is masculine, feminine or neuter. The dialects add to the problem.
The Passion and its main protagonist: Frederick Mayet, who plays Jesus, preparing for the cross.
(Photo: Sebastian Beck)
A nice example of twisted logic is offered by the Passion Play in Oberammergau, which is about to begin. In German, the gender is obvious. “Passion,” says the dictionary, “substantive, feminine”. In Oberammergau itself, however, people have always said “the passion”. Which is why the locals, regardless of their flowing hair, can be identified quickly by this expression.
In the Chiemgau, as in Oberammergau, the fields are still dotted with rural barns, another word that causes confusion. Especially because it was taken over by television and resurrected in the “Musikantenstadl”. When Andy Borg said goodbye some time ago as moderator of the show, various online media headlined: “Last Musikantenstadl with Andy Borg”. It is no longer generally known that the Stadl is not just a TV entertainment establishment. Actually, it means a barn in which, for example, hay is stored.
Dialect forms such as “der Butter” follow the specifications of large European languages in which the commodity butter is named masculine.
(Photo: Christin Klose/dpa)
Especially in Bavarian, many nouns differ from the standard language in terms of gender. This is often interpreted as an indication that dialect speakers are under-received, but this is by no means the case. Some time ago a young academic made fun of local language habits in a local paper. He is trying very hard to teach Bavarians how to speak properly and to drive out ridiculous mistakes in taste like “the butter”, he explained with well-established arrogance. Especially with the example of butter, however, any conceit is inappropriate. Old dialect forms such as “der Butter” follow the specifications of major European languages, in which the commodity butter is marked as masculine (French: le beurre, Italian: il burro) as in Bavarian. “For us Southern Germans, it is a real misfortune that Butter, who used to be male and is still in Swabia, Bavaria, Austria, became female behind our backs,” Ludwig Steub complained in an essay as early as 1862.
In his Bavarian textbook, the Germanist Hans Ulrich Schmid (Leipzig University) lists a whole list of specific Bavarian gender forms, such as radio (not radio), jam (not jam), plate (not plate), das Limo (not the soda), the Zwiefel (not the onion), the potato (not the potato), the weps (not the wasp), the Gaudi (not the Gaudi) and last but not least the chocolate. The causes do not lie in the state of mind of the dialect speaker, says Schmid, but are purely linguistic in nature. Chocolate can be bought as a bar (feminine) or in the form of a bar (masculine).
In the standard language it is called “the Cola”, but in Bavaria and Austria such drinks are called the Cola and the Fanta. Years ago, an Austrian company launched a cola drink with the advertising slogan “Das Cola”. Half of Germany laughed that it was dumbing down the language. The Austrians are now saying “das Cola” all the more, while the Bavarians are more inclined to adapt to the German standard. According to Schmid, the transfer of gender can also come from words with a related meaning. The potato got its gender from the more common word Erdapfel. Also in the case of the plate (das Teller, Standard German: der Teller) the Bavarian retained the original gender, because it is a neuter loan word from French.
The measure, the measure, the measure? – a question that can hardly be answered outside of Bavaria.
(Photo: Johannes Simon)
A special case that often generates amusement is the Mass beer. Many years ago, Günter Rexrodt (FDP), Minister for Economic Affairs at the time, needed three attempts at the Straubinger Gäubodenfest to say correctly: “Let’s raise the bar.” Earlier, to the laughter of the audience, he had referred to the earthenware jug as “den Mass” and then as “das Mass”, a term used only outside of Bavaria.
Finally, the word Schneid should be mentioned, which has experienced an interesting gender change. Even the dialect-strong colleagues from the Old Bavarian home post recently explained to their readership that the word “der Schneid” means courage, but as a knife-edge the word is feminine. But here they fell for the old Prussian militarism, which used the word “der Schneid” to express virtues such as courage, energy and bold behavior. Nevertheless, the starting point is always the edge of the knife, i.e. “the cutting edge”. The masculine form, which prevailed in standard German, goes back to Bismarck, who had demanded that the Prussian troops wage war “with full panache” in 1870/71. A pumped-up expression that still wows people to this day.