Finding himself frustrated in his ambition by the election of another to the seat he had fondly deemed his own, he resolved to unseat him if he could, and, at any rate, to prevent the ulterior consequences of his elevation.  He made a pilgrimage to Sedan, to confer with that irrepressible intriguer and Huguenot chieftain, the Duc de Bouillon.  He felt sure of the countenance of the States-General, and, of course, of his near relative the great stadholder.  He was resolved to invite the Duke of Lorraine to head the anti-Austrian party, and to stand for the kingship of the Romans and the Empire in opposition to Ferdinand.  An emissary sent to Nancy came back with a discouraging reply.  The Duke not only flatly refused the candidacy, but warned the Palatine that if it really came to a struggle he could reckon on small support anywhere, not even from those who now seemed warmest for the scheme.  Then Frederic resolved to try his cousin, the great Maximilian of Bavaria, to whom all Catholics looked with veneration and whom all German Protestants respected.  Had the two branches of the illustrious house of Wittelsbach been combined in one purpose, the opposition to the House of Austria might indeed have been formidable.  But what were ties of blood compared to the iron bands of religious love and hatred?  How could Maximilian, sternest of Papists, and Frederick V., flightiest of Calvinists, act harmoniously in an Imperial election?  Moreover, Maximilian was united by ties of youthful and tender friendship as well as by kindred and perfect religious sympathy to his other cousin, King Ferdinand himself.  The case seemed hopeless, but the Elector went to Munich, and held conferences with his cousin.  Not willing to take No for an answer so long as it was veiled under evasive or ornamental phraseology, he continued to negotiate with Maximilian through his envoys Camerarius and Secretary Neu, who held long debates with the Duke’s chief councillor, Doctor Jocher.  Camerarius assured Jocher that his master was the Hercules to untie the Gordian knot, and the lion of the tribe of Judah.  How either the lion of Judah or Hercules were to untie the knot which was popularly supposed to have been cut by the sword of Alexander did not appear, but Maximilian at any rate was moved neither by entreaties nor tropes.  Being entirely averse from entering himself for the German crown, he grew weary at last of the importunity with which the scheme was urged.  So he wrote a short billet to his councillor, to be shown to Secretary Neu.

“Dear Jocher,” he said, “I am convinced one must let these people understand the matter in a little plainer German.  I am once for all determined not to let myself into any misunderstanding or even amplifications with the House of Austria in regard to the succession.  I think also that it would rather be harmful than useful to my house to take upon myself so heavy a burthen as the German crown.”

This time the German was plain enough and produced its effect.  Maximilian was too able a statesman and too conscientious a friend to wish to exchange his own proud position as chief of the League, acknowledged head of the great Catholic party, for the slippery, comfortless, and unmeaning throne of the Holy Empire, which he considered Ferdinand’s right.