No man living possesses a larger collection of gemsbock beards, which constitute the hunter's trophy of this form of the chase. They number nearly three thousand, and the only person whose score at all approximates the emperor's is his intimate friend and crony, the aged King Albert of Saxony. Both monarchs are now old men, with hair, whiskers and moustache, of a snowy white, but neither their years, nor their sorrows, which have contributed so much towards aging them prematurely, have been permitted until now to interfere with their chamois-hunting expeditions in the Styrian Alps. On these occasions the two sovereigns make their headquarters at Francis-Joseph's picturesque shooting-lodge, or rather château, at Mürzsteg. They are usually accompanied by the emperor's eldest son-in-law, Prince Leopold of Bavaria, Archduke Francis-Ferdinand, heir apparent to the throne, some younger members of the imperial family, and a few of the dignitaries of the court who have been the longest attached to the service of his majesty, prominent among whom is Baron Gudemus, grand huntsman of the empire. The latter, by virtue of his office, holds a seat in the privy council, ranks higher than the cabinet ministers, has under his control all the game preserves, the hunting equipages, and the shooting lodges of the crown in the various parts of the empire, and is the generalissimo of the army of game-keepers, and jägers, many thousands in number, who wear the livery of the house of Hapsburg. Usually, the first three or four days of the stay at Mürzsteg are devoted to stalking the chamois, the two sovereigns generally remaining together, attended only by the grand huntsman, and by a few jägers and guides, while the other members of the shooting party follow their individual devices. The start is made each morning about an hour before dawn, so as to enable the sportsmen to be well up on the mountain side by daybreak, that being the time when it is least difficult to get within range of a chamois. All day long the two old sovereigns, Alpenstock in hand, and short, stocky rifles slung over the shoulder, go toiling up and down the mountains, along the edges of great precipices, tracing their steps along paths that to the uninitiated would seem to afford no foothold to any living thing, save a goat or a chamois. Sometimes they are overtaken by snowstorms while up in the mountains, and are unable to see their way, or to move either backwards or forwards, for whole hours together, while at other times they are forced to lie down flat on their stomachs and to cling with hand and foot to any friendly piece of projecting rock in order to avoid being blown down the precipices, or into the deep crevasses, by the terrible winds which without warning suddenly sweep through the Alpine gorges and valleys, with a force that can only be described as cyclonic.