The story of Luste begins long before the palace walls rose. In 1570, Duke Gotthard Kettler granted the land, then known as Vecpienava, to Lutheran pastor Johann Rīvijs. The site was not just a manor; it was also revered as a place of healing and spiritual energy, situated along the Pienava stream, where a natural spring gushed crystal-clear water from split stone. Folklore speaks of devil’s paths and ancient burial mounds in the area—indications of a pre-Christian sanctuary. Later, Rīvijs’s efforts to produce the first known Latvian-language religious texts would earn this land a sacred place in the evolution of Latvian literacy and culture.

In the 1770s, with Courland under the rule of Duke Peter von Biron, the tranquil site transformed into a princely retreat. Architect Severin Jensen, of Danish descent, was tasked with designing a luxurious pleasure palace in the French style, blending baroque splendor with classical harmony. Each of the four façades featured distinct architectural ornamentation, some in actual relief and others painted to create a three-dimensional illusion. Inside, grandeur reigned: the grand hall sparkled with Venetian mirrors and oil paintings, while the Duchess’s private salon was upholstered in silk and velvet. A singular chimney system cleverly unified all flue vents into a central column, an architectural marvel of its time.

The grounds surrounding Lustes pils were no less enchanting. By 1777, greenhouses had been completed, and the estate flourished with terraced parks, shaded avenues, ornamental bridges, Chinese-style pavilions, and even an “English cabinet.” Deer roamed the enclosed hunting park. In 1780, the palace was renamed Friedrichslust to honor a visit from Prussian Crown Prince Friedrich Wilhelm. Count Lēndorfs later wrote in awe of the estate’s poetic serenity and architectural imagination. Though dubbed a "pleasure palace," Luste was more than leisure—it was the Courland duchy’s declaration of refinement and cosmopolitan ambition on par with Europe's grandest noble estates.

By the early 20th century, the palace grounds had fallen into neglect. Yet hope stirred again between 1910 and 1912, when agronomist Paulis Lejiņš led students from Jelgava Agricultural School in revitalizing the manor as an exemplary model farm. In the interwar years, the Džūkste-Sīpele Dairy Cooperative operated a creamery here, taking care not to disturb the historic interiors. In 1936, a commemorative plaque was added to honor Johann Rīvijs and the 350th anniversary of his contribution to Latvian letters. This era of balanced restoration showed that even a former ducal palace could evolve to serve new generations—nobly, humbly, and productively.

Despite escaping significant damage during World War II, Lustes pils would not emerge unscathed. In the postwar years, the manor was gradually abandoned and inhabited sporadically. By the 1950s, organized stripping of the estate began. Majestic fireplaces, hand-carved staircases, and even elements of the inner structure were removed or destroyed. High-ranking officials oversaw some of this dismantling, while later years saw further plundering by vandals and scavengers. The palace—once a beacon of elegance—was left to crumble. What had been a symbol of the duchy’s twilight opulence was reduced to haunting ruins, framed by overgrown trees and the murmur of the Pienava stream.

Today, the remaining walls of Lustes pils still carry the whispers of its luminous past. Though structurally ruined, the site remains protected as a State Cultural Monument (No. 4936)—a designation reflecting its architectural, historical, and symbolic significance. Many in the local community still regard the area as sacred, echoing the reverence that predates the palace itself. With growing national interest in preserving Latvia’s noble estates, Lustes pilsdrupas beckon not just as ruins, but as a rare palimpsest of Latvian heritage—from sacred spring to printed word, from ducal ambition to rural ingenuity. The question remains: will the whispers of Luste be met with a voice willing to revive them?