Anhalt demanded of Savoy 15,000 men for the maintenance of the good cause, asserting that “it would be better to have the Turk or the devil himself on the German throne than leave it to Ferdinand.”

The triumvirate ruling at Prague-Thurn, Ruppa, and Hohenlohe—­were anxious for a decision from Frederic.  That simple-hearted and ingenuous young elector had long been troubled both with fears lest after all he might lose the crown of Bohemia and with qualms of conscience as to the propriety of taking it even if he could get it.  He wrestled much in prayer and devout meditation whether as anointed prince himself he were justified in meddling with the anointment of other princes.  Ferdinand had been accepted, proclaimed, crowned.  He artlessly sent to Prague to consult the Estates whether they possessed the right to rebel, to set aside the reigning dynasty, and to choose a new king.  At the same time, with an eye to business, he stipulated that on account of the great expense and trouble devolving upon him the crown must be made hereditary in his family.  The impression made upon the grim Thurn and his colleagues by the simplicity of these questions may be imagined.  The splendour and width of the Savoyard’s conceptions fascinated the leaders of the Union.  It seemed to Anspach and Anhalt that it was as well that Frederic should reign in Hungary as in Bohemia, and the Elector was docile.  All had relied however on the powerful assistance of the great defender of the Protestant faith, the father-in-law of the Elector, the King of Great Britain.  But James had nothing but cold water and Virgilian quotations for his son’s ardour.  He was more under the influence of Gondemar than ever before, more eagerly hankering for the Infanta, more completely the slave of Spain.  He pledged himself to that government that if the Protestants in Bohemia continued rebellious, he would do his best to frustrate their designs, and would induce his son-in-law to have no further connection with them.  And Spain delighted his heart not by immediately sending over the Infanta, but by proposing that he should mediate between the contending parties.  It would be difficult to imagine a greater farce.  All central Europe was now in arms.  The deepest and gravest questions about which men can fight:  the right to worship God according to their conscience and to maintain civil franchises which have been earned by the people with the blood and treasure of centuries, were now to be solved by the sword, and the pupil of Buchanan and the friend of Buckingham was to step between hundreds of thousands of men in arms with a classical oration.  But James was very proud of the proposal and accepted it with alacrity.

“You know, my dear son,” he wrote to Frederic, “that we are the only king in Europe that is sought for by friend and foe for his mediation.  It would be for this our lofty part very unbecoming if we were capable of favouring one of the parties.  Your suggestion that we might secretly support the Bohemians we must totally reject, as it is not our way to do anything that we would not willingly confess to the whole world.”