My knowledge of this fair lady began in far-off Styria, and there I
shall begin my story.
* * * * *
In times of peace, life in Hapsburg Castle was dull; in times of war it
was doleful. War is always grievous, but my good mistress, the Duchess
of Styria, was ever in such painful dread lest evil should befall her
only child, Maximilian, that the pains of war-time were rendered doubly
keen to those who loved Her Grace.
After Maximilian had reached the fighting age there was too little war
to suit him. Up to his eighteenth year he had thrice gone out to war,
and these expeditions were heart-breaking trials for his mother.
Although tied to his mother's apron strings by bonds of mutual love, he
burned with the fire and ambition of youth; while I, reaching well
toward my threescore years, had almost outlived the lust for strife. Max
longed to spread his wings, but the conditions of his birth held him
chained to the rocks of Styria, on the pinnacle of his family's empty
greatness.
Perched among the mountain crags, our castle was almost impregnable; but
that was its only virtue as a dwelling-place. Bare walls, stone floors,
sour wine, coarse boar's meat, brown bread, and poor beds constituted
our meagre portion.
Duke Frederick was poor because his people were poor. They lived among
the rocks and crags, raised their goats, ploughed their tiny patches of
thin earth, and gave to the duke and to each man his due.
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