“The comparison may be slightly applicable,” said the Elector, “and as far as the Augean stable is concerned.  I, too, have my stable to cleanse; only it belongs not to Augias, but to Schwarzenberg.  Still, I will try to purify it.  But I must set about my undertaking with dexterous hands; of that, however, let us speak hereafter.  I shall first consider your simile, drawn from the story of Hercules.  Do you know, Leuchtmar, the names of my twelve tasks, and their extent?  I ask you once more, do you know who I am, or, rather, what my name is?  Look, there lies the document which I am just on the point of sending to my good subjects, and by means of which I shall notify them of my assumption of the reins of government.  Just read the heading, Leuchtmar.”

Leuchtmar took the paper handed him and read:  “’We, Frederick William,
Marquis of Brandenburg, Lord High Chancellor and Elector of the Holy Roman
Empire, Duke of Prussia, Julich, Cleves, Stettin, Pomerania, Cassuben, and
Vandalia, as also Duke of Silesia, Croatia, and Jaegerndorf, Burgrave of
Nuremberg, Prince of Rugen, Count of Markberg and Ravensberg, Baron of
Ravenstein.’”

“Enough!” cried the Elector.  “You have now read the outlines of my Herculean task, you now know who I am.  A Prince of long titles, not one of which has its foundation in truth and reality.  And this is my Herculean task, to make these titles real, and to give a good kernel to these empty nut shells.  Look, Leuchtmar, there is a map.  Let us examine it and compare it with my titles, for it is a map corresponding finely with these titles, and on which all the counties and provinces pertaining to them are designated.  Marquis of Brandenburg, that is my first title, and you would naturally suppose that this, at least, was veritable, for the Mark is the oldest possession of our house, and my ancestor, the Burgrave Frederick von Nuremberg, was invested with it by the Emperor.  But what do I obtain from the Mark?  Friend and foe have quartered there, until they have changed it into a desert; famine and pestilence hold sway there, and the despairing inhabitants have left their fields untilled and wander about shelterless and hungry.  The only prosperous man there, possessed of power and consideration, is the Stadtholder in the Mark, Count Adam von Schwarzenberg.  The Mark suffers and groans, but he is of glad heart, and the distress of the people touches him not.  What cares he for land or people, save in so far as they conduce to the furtherance of his own ends, and do you know what those ends are?”

“He is an Imperialist and a strict Catholic,” said Leuchtmar, “and it must be confessed that he would rather see the whole Mark go to destruction than behold it Protestant and independent.”