Those who approached him and his son did so with uncovered head and
bended knee. An act of personal familiarity would have been looked on as
high treason. Taxes might remain unpaid, laws might be broken, and there
was mercy in the ducal heart; but a flaw in ceremony was unpardonable.

The boar's meat and the brown bread were eaten in state; the sour wine
was drunk solemnly; and going to bed each night was an act of national
importance. Such had been the life of this house for generations, and
good Duke Frederick neither would nor could break away from it.

Of all these painful conditions young Max was a suffering victim. Did
he sally forth to stick a wild boar or to kill a bear, the Master of the
Hunt rode beside him in a gaudy, faded uniform. Fore-riders preceded
him, and after-riders followed. He was almost compelled to hunt by
proxy, and he considered himself lucky to be in at the death. The bear,
of course, was officially killed by Maximilian, Count of Hapsburg, no
matter what hand dealt the blow. Maximilian, being the heir of Hapsburg,
must always move with a slow dignity becoming his exalted station. He
must, if possible, always act through an officer; I verily believe that
Duke Frederick, his father, regretted the humiliating necessity of
eating his own dinner.

Poor Max did not really live; he was an automaton.

Once every year Duke Frederick gave a tournament, the cost of which, in
entertainments and prizes, consumed fully two-thirds of his annual
income. On these occasions punctilious ceremony took the place of rich
wine, and a stiff, kindly welcome did service as a feast. These
tournaments were rare events for Max; they gave him a day of partial
rest from his strait-jacket life at the little court among the crags.