When Napoleon humiliated Austria for the second time, one of his
mushroom nobles, who placed too much faith in the man of destiny,
selected this wooded paradise as a residence. He built him a
fine castle of red brick, full of wide halls and drawing rooms
and chambers of state, and filled it with fabulous paintings,
Gobelin tapestries, and black walnut wainscot. He kept a small
garrison of French soldiers by converting the huge stables
partly into a barrack. One night the peasantry rose. There was a
conflict, as the walls still show; and the prince by patent fled,
no one knew where. After its baptism in blood it became known
far and wide as the Red Chateau. Whenever children were unruly,
they were made docile by threats of the dark dungeons of the Red
Chateau, or the ghosts of the French and German peasants who
died there. As it now stood, it was one of the summer residences
of her Highness.
It was here that the long night's journey came to an end.
"Gentlemen," said the Colonel, dismounting, "permit me, in the
name of her Highness, to offer you the hospitality of Red
Chateau. Consider; will you lighten my task by giving me your
word of honor to make no attempt to escape? Escape is possible,
but not probable.
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