sorrowful glance fell directly upon the portrait of his father, John
Sigismund, whose sad, pale face was turned toward him, with its dark,
melancholy eyes.

"Poor father!" murmured the Elector with a heavy sigh, "I understand quite
well and easily conceive why you voluntarily laid down your power and
retired from the government before death had sent his summons. An Elector
of Brandenburg has by no means a comfortable, pleasant life of it; and a
sorely oppressive inheritance have I received from you, so that I, too,
might despair, and do as you have done. I, too, might rid myself of the
hard task of seeming to be an Elector and reigning sovereign, while I am
naught but a poor, much-tormented man, who has more titles than lands,
more debts than money, and whose nation consists not of obedient subjects
but of obstinate brawlers, a mob of would-be politicians and starved-out
people. No! no!" he cried, interrupting himself, "no! I shall not give my
son so much joy. I shall not do him the pleasure of yielding up the power
to him, and being thrown aside myself like a squeezed lemon. No, Elector
I shall remain, and my lordly son shall submit to the paternal will, and
return home. Schwarzenberg must provide me with the means. He is the very
man for this--he understands it!"

The Elector reached out again for his silver whistle and sounded a shrill
call. Immediately one of the outer doors was opened, admitting a lackey.
The Elector had already opened his mouth, to issue his commands, when he
suddenly grew dumb and looked at the lackey with a still more clouded brow.

"Fellow," he said angrily, "how dare you appear in this presence with such
a dress? With your short bearskin jacket and patched hose, you present
such a pitiably mean appearance that I am actually ashamed to behold you."