There is, however, another word portrait of the duke as he looked in the year 1473, whose trend is more sympathetic.[2] “His stature was small and nervous, his complexion pale, hair dark chestnut, eyes black and brilliant, his presence majestic but stern.  He was high-spirited, magnanimous, courageous, intrepid, and impetuous.  Capable of action, he lacked nothing but prudence to attain success.”

From the two descriptions emerges a fairly clear picture of an energetic man, somewhat undersized, and sometimes inclined to assert his dignity in a fashion that did not quite comport with his physical characteristics.  The conviction that he was a very important personage with greater importance awaiting him, and his total lack of a sense of humour, combined with his inability to feel the pulse of a situation, undoubtedly affected his bearing and made it seem more pompous.

[Illustration:  CHARLES THE BOLD IDEALISED BY RUBENS.  IN THE IMPERIAL GALLERY AT VIENNA BY PERMISSION OF J.J.  LOWY, VIENNA]

The emperor was not an heroic figure in appearance any more than he was in the records of his reign, distinguished for being the feeblest as well as the longest in the annals of the empire.  He was indolent, timid, irresolute, and incapable.  His features and manners were vulgar, his intellect sluggish.  Peasant-like in his petty economies, he was shrewder at a bargain than in wielding his imperial sceptre.  At Treves he was accompanied by his son, the Archduke Maximilian, a fairly intelligent youth of eighteen, very ready to be fascinated by his proposed father-in-law, who was a striking contrast to his own languid and irresolute father, in energy and strenuous love of action.

As the two princes rode together into the city, Charles’s accoutrements attracted all eyes.  The polished steel of his armour shone like silver.  Over it hung a short mantle actually embroidered with diamonds and other precious stones to the value of two hundred thousand gold crowns.  His velvet hat, graciously held in his hand out of compliment to the emperor, was ornamented with a diamond whose price no man could tell.  Before him walked a page carrying his helmet studded with gems, while his magnificent black steed was heavily weighted down with its rich caparisons.

Frederic III., very simple in his ordinary dress, had exerted himself to appear well to his great vassal.  His robe of cloth of gold was fine, though it may have looked something like a luxurious dressing-gown, as it was made after the Turkish fashion and bordered with pearls.  The emperor was lame in one foot, injured, so ran the tradition, by his habit of kicking, not his servants, but innocent doors that chanced to impede his way.

The Archduke Maximilian, gay in crimson and silver, walked by the side of an Ottoman prince, prisoner of war, and converted to Christianity by the pope himself.  And then there was a host of nobles, great and small.  Among them were Engelbert of Nassau[3] and the representative of the House of Orange-Chalons, whose titles were destined to be united in one person within the next half-century.