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Updated: June 12, 2025
"It is, sire. And this man will testify that no one has set foot into the imperial rooms," said Count Munster, pointing with a smile to the castellan, who, holding his bunch of keys in his uplifted arm, stood at the entrance of the Gallery of Palms. "Who is it?" asked Napoleon, whose eagle eye was fixed upon Schluter.
I have run as fast as I could, in order to inform your excellency." "I am coming," said the count, advancing rapidly. But, having proceeded a few steps, he turned again and beckoned the castellan to his side. "Schluter," he whispered to him, "if you love your life, do not say a word about what has just happened here. It must remain a secret."
"What portrait do you refer to?" asked Napoleon, impatiently. "The portrait of the White Lady," said Schluter. "I saw it this very day in the cabinet on the other side; all the doors were locked, and now I suddenly find this large painting in the room above you; it was lying on the floor as if in walking it had stumbled over something and fallen.
"A secret!" muttered Schluter to himself, gazing after the count, who hurried away. "The White Lady will manage the affair in such a manner that he at least will hear of the secret, and the bloodthirsty tyrant will not sleep well in the palace of the Margraves of Brandenburg." He violently closed the door and stepped out into the large staircase-hall, the doors of which opened upon the street.
"How those fools are gaping!" growled Schluter. "Idle and lazy as usual; they like to complain and lament, but they never think of doing anything. If only each one would take up a single stone from the pavement and throw it as a greeting at the tyrant's iron head, all this distress and wretchedness would be at an end.
"If that be true, how does it happen that there is a lady here in the gallery," asked Count Minister, stretching out his arm toward the lower end of the apartment. "A lady?" asked Schluter, greatly amazed. "Where is she, your excellency?" The count fixed his eyes searchingly on the large arched window, in the bright light of which he had distinctly seen the lady.
She loved the handsome Burgrave so intensely, that she henceforth hated the children, because she believed them to be the sole obstacles to her marriage. "Medea!" ejaculated Napoleon, staring into the fire. "This, then, is the history of the Medea of the Hohenzollern." "No, sire, the name of the countess was not Medea, but Cunigunda," said Schluter, respectfully. Napoleon smiled.
The emperor cast a searching glance upon him, and then turned away, folded his hands, and slowly paced the room. Suddenly he stood in front of the castellan. "What about this White Lady?" he asked, hastily. "Who was she, and what is her history?" "Ah, sire, it is a long and melancholy history concerning the ancestors of the Margraves of Brandenburg," said Schluter, sighing.
"I know I saw her distinctly; it is impossible that I could have been mistaken. Where can she be? What has become of her? Where has she concealed herself?" "What becomes of the last sigh of a dying person, your excellency," asked Schluter, solemnly. "Where does the soul conceal itself after escaping from the body?" "Ah, nonsense!" ejaculated Count Munster. "It could not have been a spectre.
For the moment the courtyard was empty, except that in the center stood a great mass of bronze by Schluter, I think a heroic equestrian statue of Saint George in the act of destroying the first adulterated German sausage.
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