At last eleven o'clock came. The barred door opened, and swiftly, yet with a terrible restraint-knowing that the least disorder would cost them a day's dinner-the prisoners mounted the stone steps, and passed slowly, in single file, before two enormous caldrons. A cook, provided with a long ladle, stood by the side of each; and, with a dexterous plunge and a twist, a portion of porridge and a small block of beef were fished up and dashed into the pipkin extended by each prisoner. Another official stood ready with the flat loaves. In a very short time, the whole of the prisoners were served.
Hunger seasoned the mess; and I was sitting on the bedstead-end enjoying it, when the police-soldier appeared on the threshold, calling me by name.
"You must leave-instantly."
"I am ready," I said, starting up.
"Have you a rug?"
"No."
I hurried out into the dark passage. I was conducted to the left; another heavy door was loosened, and I was thrust into a gloomy cell, bewildered, and almost speechless with alarm. I was not alone. Some half-dozen melancholy wretches, crouching in one corner, were disturbed by my entrance; but half-an-hour had scarcely elapsed, when the police-soldier again appeared, and I was hurried out. We proceeded through the passage by which I had first entered. In my way past the nest of pigeon-holes "up above," my valuables were restored to me.
Presently a single police-soldier led me into the open street.
The beautiful air and sunshine! how I enjoyed them as we passed through the heart of the city. "Bei'm Magistrat," at the corner of the Kohlmarkt was our destination. We entered its porticoed door, ascended the stone stairs, and went into a small office, where the most repulsive-looking official I have anywhere seen, noted my arrival in a book. Thence we passed into another pigeon-holed chamber, where I delivered up my little property, as before, "for its security." A few minutes more, and I was safely locked in a small chamber, having one window darkened by a wooden blind. My companions were a few boys, a courier-who, to my surprise, addressed me in English-and a man with blazing red hair.
In this place I passed four days, occupied by what I suppose I may designate "my trial." The first day was enlivened by a violent attack which the jailer made upon the red-haired man for looking out of window.
He seized the fiery locks, and beat their owner's head against the wall.
I had to submit that day to a degrading medical examination.
On the second day I was called to appear before the "_Rath_," or counsel.
The process of examination is curious. It is considered necessary to the complete elucidation of a case, that the whole life and parentage of the accused should be made known; and I was thus exposed to a series of questions which I had never anticipated:-The names and countries of both of my parents; their station; the ages, names, and birthplaces of my brothers and sisters; my own babyhood, education, subsequent behaviour, and adventures; my own account, with the minutest details of the offence I had committed. It was more like a private conference than an examination. The Rath was alone-with the exception of his secretary, who diligently recorded my answers. While being thus perseveringly catechised, the Rath sauntered up and down; putting his interminable questions in a friendly chatty way, as though he were taking a kindly interest in my history, rather than pursuing a judicial investigation.
When the examination was concluded, the secretary read over every word to me, and I confirmed the report with my signature.
The Rath promised to do what he could for me; and I was then surprised and pleased by the entrance of my employer. The Rath recommended him to write to the English Embassy in my behalf, and allowed him to send me outer clothing better suited to the interior of a prison than the best clothes I had donned to spend the holiday in.
I went back to my cell with a lightened heart. I was, however, a little disconcerted on my return by the courier, who related an anecdote of a groom, of his acquaintance, who had persisted in smoking a cigar while passing a sentinel; and who, in punishment therefor, had been beaten by a number of soldiers, with willow rods; and whose yells of pain had been heard far beyond the prison walls. What an anticipation! Was I to be similarly served? I thought it rather a suspicious circumstance that my new friend appeared to be thoroughly conversant with all the details (I suspect from personal experience) of the police and prison system of Vienna. He told me (but I had no means of testing the correctness of his information) that there were twenty Rathsherrn, or Counsellors; that each had his private chamber, and was assisted by a confidential secretary; that every offender underwent a private examination by the Rath appointed to investigate his case-the Rath having the power to call all witnesses, and to examine them, singly, or otherwise, as he thought proper; that on every Thursday the "Rathsherrn" met in conclave; that each Rath brought forward the particular cases which he had investigated, explained all their bearings, attested his report by documentary evidence prepared by his secretary, and pronounced his opinion as to the amount of punishment to be inflicted. The question was then decided by a majority.
On the third day, I was suddenly summoned before the Rath, and found myself side by side with my accuser. He was in private clothes.
"Herr Tuci," exclaimed the Rath, trying to pronounce my name, but utterly disguising it, "you have misinformed me. The constable says he did not _knock_ your hat off-he only _pulled_ it off."
I adhered to my statement. The Polizeidiener nudged my elbow, and whispered, "Don't be alarmed-it will not go hard with you."
"Now, constable," said the Rath; "what harm have you suffered in this affair?"
"My uniform is stained with blood."
"From _my_ head!" I exclaimed.
"From _my_ nose," interposed the Polizeidiener.
"In any case it will wash out," said the Rath.
"And you," he added, turning to me,-"are you willing to indemnify this man for damage done?"
I assented; and was then removed.
On the following morning I was again summoned to the Rath's chamber. His secretary, who was alone, met me with smiles and congratulations: he announced to me the sentence-four days' imprisonment. I am afraid I did not evince that degree of pleasure which was expected from me; but I thanked him, was removed, and, in another hour, was reconducted to Punishment Room No. 1.
The four days of sentence formed the lightest part of the adventure. My mind was at ease: I knew the worst. Additions to my old companions had arrived in the interval. We had an artist among us, who was allowed, in consideration of his talents, to retain a sharp cutting implement fashioned by himself from a flat piece of steel-knives and books being, as the most dangerous objects in prison, rigidly abstracted from us. He manufactured landscapes in straw, gummed upon pieces of blackened wood.
Straw was obtained, in a natural state, of green, yellow, and brown; and these, when required, were converted into differently-tinted reds, by a few hours' immersion in the Kiefel. He also kneaded bread in the hand, until it became as plastic as clay. This he modelled into snuffboxes (with strips of rag for hinges, and a piece of whalebone for a spring), draughts, chess-men, pipe-bowls, and other articles. When dry, they became hard and serviceable; and he sold them among the prisoners and the prison officials. He obtained thus a number of comforts not afforded by the prison regulations.
On Sunday, I attended the Catholic chapel attached to the prison-a damp unwholesome cell. I stood among a knot of prisoners, enveloped in a nauseous vapour; for there arose musty, mouldy, effluvia which gradually overpowered my senses. I felt them leaving me, and tottered towards the door. I was promptly met by a man who seemed provided for emergencies of the kind; for he held a vessel of cold water, poured some of it into my hands, and directed me to bathe my temples. I partly recovered; and, faint and dispirited, staggered back to the prison. I had not, however, lain long upon my bed (polished and slippery from constant use), when the prison guard came to my side, holding in his hand a smoking basin of egg soup "for the Englishman." It was sent by the mistress of the kitchen.
I received the offering of a kind heart to a foreigner in trouble, with a blessing on the donor.
On the following Tuesday, after an imprisonment of, in all, nine days, during which I had never slept without my clothes, I was discharged from the prison. In remembrance of the place, I brought away with me a straw landscape and a bread snuff-box, the works of the prison artist.
On reaching my lodging I looked into my box. It was empty.
"Where are my books and papers?" I asked my landlord.
The police had taken them on the day after my arrest.
"And my bank-notes?"
"Here they are!" exclaimed my landlord, triumphantly. "I expected the police; I knew you had money somewhere, so I took the liberty of searching until I found it. The police made particular inquiries about your cash, and went away disappointed, taking the other things with them."
"Would they have appropriated it?"
"Hem! Very likely-under pretence of paying your expenses."
On application to the police of the district, I received the whole of my effects back. One of my books was detained for about a week; a member of the police having taken it home to read, and being, as I apprehend, a slow reader.
It was matter of great astonishment, both to my friends and to the police, that I escaped with so slight a punishment.
CHAPTER XVIII.
WHAT MY LANDLORD BELIEVED.
My Bohemian landlord in Vienna told me a story of an English nobleman.
It may be worth relating, as showing what my landlord, quite in good faith and earnest, believed.
You know, Lieber Herr, said Vater Bohm, there is nothing in the whole Kaiserstadt so astonishing to strangers as our signboards. Those beautiful paintings that you see-Am Graben and Hohe Markt,-real works of art, with which the sign-boards of other countries are no more to be compared, than your hum-drum English music is to the delicious waltzes of Lanner, or the magic polkas of Strauss. Imagine an Englishman, who knows nothing of painting, finding himself all at once in front of one of those charming compositions-pictures that they would make a gallery of in London, but which we can afford to put out of doors; he is fixed, he is dumb with astonishment and delight-he goes mad. Well, Lieber Herr, this is exactly what happened to one of your English nobility. Milor arrived in Vienna; and as he had made a wager that he would see every notability in the city and its environs in the course of three days, which was all the time he could spare, he hired a fiaker at the Tabor-Linie, and drove as fast as the police would let him from church to theatre; from museum to wine-cellar; till chance and the fiaker brought him into the Graben.
Milor got out to stretch himself, and to see the wonderful shops, and after a few turns came suddenly upon the house at the sign of the Joan of Arc.
"Goddam!" exclaimed Milor, as his eye met the sign-board.
There he stood, this English nobleman, in his drab coat with pearl buttons, his red neckcloth, blue pantaloons and white hat, transfixed for at least five minutes. Then, swearing some hard oaths-a thing the English always do when they are particularly pleased-Milor exclaimed, "It is exquisite! Holy Lord Mayor, it is unbelievable!"
Mein Lieber, you have seen that painting of course, I mean Joan of Arc, life-size, clad in steel, sword in hand, and with a wonderful serenity expressed in her countenance, as she leads her flagging troops once more to the attack upon the walls. It has all the softness of a Coreggio, and the vigour of a Rubens. Milor gave three bounds, and was in the middle of the shop in a moment.
"That picture!" he exclaimed.
"What picture-Eurer Gnaden?" inquired the shopkeeper, bowing in the most elegant manner.