The Mayence Festival and Tournament
Peace now prevailed both in Italy and Germany. Frederick regarded the
remarkable prosperity of the Italian cities without envy, for it
contributed greatly toward the prosperity of the German cities; and the
German people did not withhold their gratitude to the Emperor for the
good fortune they enjoyed. Frederick indeed was richly rewarded for his
great achievements both in youth and manhood.
In recognition of this great prosperity, the Emperor organized a
national festival upon a scale grander than had ever been known before.
At Whitsuntide of 1184, princes, counts, and knights from all parts of
Germany assembled by his invitation at Mayence, the seat of the highest
spiritual princes, prelates, abbots, and priests. Strangers poured into
the city in such numbers that they could hardly find accommodation. Upon
the great plain before the gates a new city of tents quickly arose,
where lodging could be obtained. The princes entered through the city
gates splendidly mounted and with large retinues. The Archbishop of
Cologne had over four thousand followers. If it was hardly possible to
count the nobles and distinguished persons, how can the number of people
who streamed in from everywhere be estimated? It was not so much the
brilliant spectacle that drew these burghers and peasants to the city,
as it was affection for the highest and most revered personage in the
Empire, who had secured peace and prosperity for them. The joy of the
Emperor was the joy of the people. It exalted the one and glorified the
other. The streets of Mayence swarmed with people of all conditions. The
fields were thronged by them, and the neighboring mountains loudly
echoed their festive songs.
The Emperor entertained all the princes and nobles, the strangers and
the people of the city for three days. An incredible amount of food was
consumed, and wine flowed in streams. All were happy and satisfied, for
every one found something that contributed to his highest pleasure. Some
regaled themselves at the abundant feasts, others admired the stately
knights, the brilliancy of their armor, the beauty and strength of their
steeds, while still others visited the various sports.
Along the tented city stretched a wide plain, surrounded by barriers,
and in the midst an elevated dais decorated with gaily colored banners,
splendid tapestries, and brilliant draperies. At early daybreak one
morning people stood in crowds by the barriers, evidently awaiting a
spectacle. As the sun rose, the crowds increased, and distinguished
guests from far and near assembled on the dais. At last the Emperor
appeared, and received an enthusiastic and long-continued welcome from
the people. In the open space, in sight of the exultant thousands, he
knighted his two sons with his own hands, and then ordered the
tournament to begin. The contestants in the feats of arms had already
been waiting long. Their powerful battle horses, seeming to know what
was impending, stamped impatiently and champed at their bits. Their
shields, embellished with their crests and arms, hung upon columns. The
heralds advanced and loudly and distinctly read the rules and
regulations of the tournament, each one of which must be strictly
observed. After sharply scrutinizing the weapons, helmets, and shields,
and inquiring the name of each knight, the heralds announced, “All are
qualified for the tournament.”
The barriers were then opened. The heralds stepped aside, two overseers
entered, carrying long white staves, and behind them followed two
knights splendidly mounted upon fiery, prancing steeds. They rode around
the grounds at a quick gallop, and as they passed the dais their steeds
stepped more proudly, the knights saluted the Emperor by lowering their
lances, and then took positions at opposite sides of the barriers. After
remaining there a short time, they couched their lances with the right
hand, and holding high their shields with the left, put spurs to their
horses and rushed at each other. They came together in the centre of the
arena. Their shields rang from the impact of the lances, but neither of
the knights was shaken. Changing positions, they rode around a second
time and then prepared for a fresh onset. It was plain that both were
greatly excited. The spectators, who had been so enthusiastic, were now
quiet, and looked on almost breathlessly as the overseers advanced near
the spot where the knights would meet. The rush was swift and impetuous.
One of the gallant knights wavered a little, but resolutely kept his
place. Furiously they came together; a lance was shattered, and its
bearer was hurled from his horse to the ground. The victor greeted the
spectators, received his prize, and withdrew. The vanquished knight
arose, and, to the delight of all, was found to be unhurt.
Two other contestants were announced with a flourish of trumpets, and
their names were loudly called. There was instant and universal
attention, for it was known that the two cherished an old grudge, and an
open encounter between them had been prevented only by the Emperor’s
command. Would they settle their quarrel now? Easily handling their
high-strung battle horses and testing their heavy lances with strong,
skilful hands, they rode to their respective positions, while a
messenger from the Emperor was conferring with the heralds and
overseers. Many were apprehensive he might forbid the contest at the
very instant the signal was given.
The knights were ready at once for the onset. The ground shook under the
hoofs of the mighty steeds, and there came a fearful crash. Both lances
struck the centres of the shields, but neither knight moved in his
saddle. With a jerk they turned their horses around and rode back to
their positions, savagely glaring at each other. Their steeds snorted as
if excited by their masters’ fury and seemed to know what was expected
from them. Like two mighty billows rushing together the knights met the
second time. The spectators eagerly watched their every movement. It was
a frightful collision: first, a shock, then a crash like a thunderbolt
tearing its way through dry branches. Both lances were shivered, the
shields clashed together, and the horses ran against each other.
The next instant the stumps of the lances were flung away and the
startled heralds and overseers sprang to one side. The broad, two-edged
swords flew from the scabbards, and blow rapidly followed blow. The
horses themselves seemed to know they were engaged in a life and death
struggle, and instantly obeyed the slightest signal of their riders. The
contest between the evenly matched combatants lasted several minutes, as
neither left himself exposed at any point or made any mistake in his
sword play. Nor did their thirst for revenge affect their presence of
mind or their caution. Blows fell with the rapidity of lightning and
were as rapidly warded off. It seemed as if the contest would never end;
but suddenly one of them dealt the other’s horse a mighty blow which
clove its head and killed the brave beast. In a trice its rider was on
his feet, the other knight dismounted, and the fight was renewed on
foot. Their shields had already crashed together and their swords were
clashing with such force that the sparks flew, when the overseers
advanced at the Emperor’s command, shouting, and interposed their white
staves as a signal that the contest must cease. The knights heard the
order with ill-concealed indignation. They looked at each other for a
moment, breathing hatred and revenge, but sheathed their swords before
they were stained with blood.
Amid loud applause for their bravery they reluctantly left the arena and
paid their homage to the Emperor. Their honorable recognition by the
first knight of his time and his mild conciliatory advice to them
exorcised the demon of hatred, and, once more reconciled, the strong,
brave men, who had just been engaged in a death-struggle, embraced one
another.