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Updated: May 5, 2025
People breakfast early in Vienna; and, as I had tasted nothing since that meal, I was very hungry; but I was not to starve; for soon we heard the groaning of bolts and locks, and the police-soldier who guarded the door appeared, bearing in his hand a red earthen pot, surmounted by a round flat loaf of bread “for the Englishman.” I took my portion with thanks, and found that the pipkin contained a thick porridge made of lentils, prepared with meal and fat; in the midst of which was a piece of fresh boiled beef.
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.
A police-soldier, armed with a drawn sabre, guarded the entrance to Punishment Room No. 1. The bolts gave way; and, in a few moments, I was a prisoner within. Punishment Room No. 1, is a chamber some fifteen paces long by six broad, with a tolerably high ceiling and whitened walls. It has but two windows, and they are placed at each end of one side of the chamber.
In these states there was also not the least trouble with the passport and the intolerable pass-tickets. No officious police-soldier comes to the carriage, and prevents the passengers alighting before they have answered all his questions.
From that instant I never saw him again; nor, in spite of repeated demands, could I ever obtain redress for, or even recognition of, the violence I had suffered. Another weary hour, and I was consigned to the care of a police-soldier; who, armed with sabre and stick, conducted me through the crowded city to prison. It was then two o’clock.
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.
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.
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