Dietrich of Bern

Worms* is celebrated as the locality of the Nibelungenlied and the epic of Walthar of Aquitaine. Following are three lesser legends of the ancient city.

The Rose Garden: A Tale of Dietrich of Bern
(Dietrich of Bern has been identified with Theodoric the Great, King of the Ostrogoths)

Dietrich of Bern is the King Arthur of German legend. Like his prototype of Britain, he has become the central figure of innumerable medieval tales and epics, a model of chivalry and martial prowess, distinguished everywhere by high deeds and mighty feats of arms, and in not a few cases displacing the rightful hero of still older myths, which thus became grafted on to the Dietrich legends. Originally he was a bona-fide historical personage, Theodoric the Ostrogoth, and as such gained a widespread popularity among his people. His historical character, however, was soon lost in the maze of legendary lore which surrounded his name, and which, as time went on, ascribed to him feats ever more wildly heroic. Among the various traditions there is one relating to the Rhenish town of Worms which calls for inclusion here as much on account of its intrinsic merit as because of its undoubted popularity. The legend of the Rose Garden of Worms is a quaint and fanciful tale, and even the circumstance that it ends with the death of several good knights and true does not rob it of a certain humorous quality it possesses.

By the time Dietrich had reached the prime of his adventurous life--so runs the story--he had gathered a considerable company of doughty paladins at his court--he formed, in fact, a kind of Round Table--and the knights who composed it were as eager as their lord to seek fresh fields wherein to display their prowess, and were second only to him in skill and valour. Among them were numbered such illustrious warriors as Herbrand, his son Hildebrand, Eckehart, Wolfhart, and Amelung.

On one occasion, as Dietrich was seated at table with his followers, he vowed that no court in Christendom could boast of such warriors as he could muster. The assembled knights greeted the assertion with hearty acclamations--all, that is, save the old warrior Herbrand, and he was silent. Dietrich looked at him in surprise.

"Hast thou nothing to say, Herbrand?" he asked.

"Thinkest thou to find better knights than these?"--indicating his followers with a wave of his hand.

Herbrand seemed somewhat reluctant to uphold his tacit objection to Dietrich's claim. "Ay", he said at length, "there are such warriors to be found."

"And where may we seek such paragons?" inquired the king, none too well pleased.

"In the town of Worms," replied the old knight, "there lies a wondrous rose garden, of great extent, where the queen and her ladies take their pleasure. None save these may enter its precincts unless the queen give him leave, and that the sacred boundaries may not be overstepped twelve warriors are set to guard the garth. Such is their strength and courage that none has ever succeeded in passing them, whatever his skill and renown."

"But wherefore should one seek to pass the guard?" asked a young knight. "Is there a prize to be won, then?"

"Truly," sighed old Herbrand, "I would not give a hair of my head for the prize. 'Tis but a crown of roses and a kiss from one of the queen's ladies; though it is said, indeed, that they are as lovely as women may be."

"Are there no fair maids in Bern?" cried the warriors indignantly. "Must we go to the Rhine for them?"

"For myself," said Dietrich, "I care little for the reward; yet methinks that for the honour and glory I would e'en meet these doughty warriors, and peradventure overcome them. Who will follow me to Burgundy?"

As with one voice his knights responded to his appeal, and he chose eight from among them to accompany him on his quest. As there were still but nine, including Dietrich himself, to meet the twelve guardians of the Rose Garden, the king decided to send for three knights who were absent from the court. At the suggestion of Hildebrand he selected Rüdiger of Bechlarn, Dietleib of Styria, and Ilsan, who was brother to Hildebrand and at that time a monk in the monastery of Munchenzell. Rüdiger was margrave to King Etzel, and had to obtain his lord's permission to venture forth on the romantic undertaking; Dietleib's father strongly recommended that the quest be abandoned, though the youth himself was as eager as any to accompany Dietrich; while as for Ilsan, he found it especially difficult to obtain leave of absence, for, naturally, his abbot deemed the enterprise a strange one for a monk who had fled all earthly delights. However, all difficulties were eventually overcome, and when the party was ready for departure Rüdiger was sent on an embassy to King Gibich at Worms, to prepare him for their coming. Gibich gave his ready consent to the proposed trial of strength, whereupon the warriors set out for the Rhine to see whether they might not win a kiss and a garland from some fair lady.

'Father Rhine' and his children -
the keeper of the Rheingold

An imposing array did the knights of the Rose Garden make as they awaited the approach of the strangers, but no less imposing were Dietrich and his warriors. Each chose an opponent and immediately engaged in a fierce hand-to-hand struggle, which was to end disastrously for more than one brave knight. The first to dispatch his antagonist was Wolfhart, who submitted to being crowned with a rose-wreath, but disdained to accept the rest of the reward. The monk, who was the next victor, took the roses and kissed the maiden heartily. But alas! a bristly beard covered his chin, and the maid was left ruefully rubbing her pouting lips. One by one Dietrich's knights overcame their adversaries, some of whom were slain and some wounded. Toward nightfall a truce was called, and Dietrich and his company set out to return to Bern, well satisfied with having disproved the assertion of Herbrand that there were better warriors in the world than Dietrich and his noble company.

The Devil's Vineyard

There is a curious legend told to account for the excellent quality of the wine of Worms. An old nobleman who at one time lived in that neighbourhood was in the habit of drinking more of the Rhenish wine than was good for him. In every other respect he was a most worthy man, kind, generous, and pious.

His piety, in an age when such qualities were rare, roused the ire of the Devil, who determined to bring about his fall, and as the old man's love of wine was his only serious weakness, it was through this that the Fiend set himself to compass the nobleman's destruction.

The Devil therefore disguised himself as a strolling musician and made the acquaintance of the old man. The latter set before him some of the wine of the country, extolling meanwhile its rare qualities. The guest seemed not at all impressed by the recital, but spoke of a wine which he had tasted in the South and which far surpassed any other vintage. The nobleman was all curiosity. The stranger talked of the wonderful wine with feigned reluctance, and at length his host promised to give him anything he should ask if only he would fetch him some of the wine. Satan promised to plant a vineyard in Worms, asking in exchange the soul of his host, to be forfeited at the end of a fixed period.

To this the old man consented, and the strolling musician planted a vineyard which sprang up as though by magic. When the first vintage was produced it was found to be delicious beyond the dreams of the old nobleman, who was indeed a connoisseur in wines. In his delight he christened the wine Liebfrauenmilch, signifying 'Milk of our Blessed Lady.' The Devil was furious at this reference to the Holy Virgin, but he consoled himself with the thought that in due course the man's soul would be his. But the Virgin herself was pleased with the christening of the vineyard, and rather sorry for the foolish old nobleman who had bartered his soul for the Devil's wine. When, therefore, the time arrived for the Evil One to claim his fee, she sent her angels to drive him away, and thus he was robbed of his prey.

The old man, having learned the danger of treating with the Devil, now built a chapel to the Virgin in his vineyard. He lived for a long time to enjoy the luscious wine, under the protection of the saints, and never again did he make a compact with Satan.

Now, if anyone requires a proof of this marvellous story, is there not the Liebfraumilch, most delicious of wines to convince him of its truth?

The Maiden's Caprice

In the town of Worms there stands an old manor, built in the style of the Renaissance and known as the Wampolder Hof. At one time it belonged to the lord of Wampold, a wealthy noble of Mainz, who had appointed as castellan a kinsman of his, himself a nobleman, though landless and poor and no longer able to uphold his former dignities. In his youth the keeper had lived a gay and careless life, but now he was old and infirm and cared no longer for worldly vanities. His sole pride was his young daughter, a bewitching maiden who had more lovers than one could readily count, and who smiled upon them all impartially. With so many lovelorn youths at her beck and call it is hardly surprising that she should grow exacting and capricious, but this, as usually happens, only made them love her the more.

There was one among her suitors, however, for whom she cherished a real affection. Handsome, cultured, and, like herself, of noble birth, he was, notwithstanding his poverty, by far the most eligible of the youths who sought her in marriage, and the castellan readily granted his consent to their betrothal. So for a time everything seemed to indicate happiness in store for the young couple.

Yet the maiden remained as capricious as ever. On Walpurgis-night, when a party of lads and lasses were gathered in the Wampolder Hof, and tales of witches and witchcraft were being told in hushed tones, she conceived a wild scheme to test her lover's affection: She bade him go to the cross-roads at midnight, watch the procession of witches, and return to tell her what he saw. The awed company protested vigorously against the proposed test, but the girl persisted, and at last her lover, seeing that she was already piqued at his refusal, laughingly set out for the bewitched spot, convinced that no harm would befall him.

Meantime the company in the manor anxiously awaited his return. One o'clock came, then two--three; still there was no sign of him. Glances of horror and pity were cast at the castellan's daughter, who now wrung her hands in futile grief. At length a few braver spirits volunteered to go in search of their comrade, but no trace of him could they find. His widowed mother, of whom he had been the only son, cursed the maid who was the cause of his ghastly fate, and not long afterward the castellan's daughter lost her reason and died. On Walpurgis-nights she may still be heard in Worms calling for her lost lover, whom she is destined never to find.

The fate of the youth remains uncertain. The most popular account is that he was torn limb from limb by the infuriated witches and his remains scattered to the winds. But some, less superstitious than their neighbours, declared that he had been murdered by his rivals, the disappointed suitors, and that his body had been cast into the Rhine--for not long afterward a corpse, which might have been that of the missing youth, was drawn from the river by fishermen.

Notes: Worms on the River Rhine was in antiquity called Burbetomagus, originally a Celtic city, and became the center of the Vangiones, a German tribe of largely unknown background. In the 5th century it became the capital of Burgund. The scene of much of the Nibelungenlied is laid here at the Burgundian court.
(The Goths are considered to be an old Germanic people from Scandinavia that migrated south and eventually settled at the coast of the Black Sea where their tribal leaders formed a kingdom. They were close allies of Rome. As a sub-tribe, the Vangiones are mentioned in Julius Caesar's De Bello Gallico. Later the Goths split into two distinct folks, the Ostrogoths and the Visigoths, the east and the west Goths.)