al remembrance" of this catastrophe, the worthy town-justice,
Trinksgeld, in seventeen hundred ordered a painting to be executed,
representing the fearful scene described. It occupies the whole of one
side of the Town-hall, and in its quaint minuteness of detail, and
defiance of perspective--depicting, not merely the slaughter of the
betrayed Bertholdsdorfers, but the concealment of the two who were
fortunate enough to escape, and who are helplessly apparent behind some
loose timber--would be ludicrous, were it not for the sacred gravity of
the subject.

As it is, we quit the romantic little town with a sigh, and turning our
faces towards Vienna, wonder what the young Turks of eighteen hundred and
fifty-four may possibly think of the Old Turks of one hundred and thirty
years ago.

CHAPTER XVII.

A TASTE OF AUSTRIAN JAILS.

At the "Fete de Dieu," in Vienna (the _Frohnleichnamsfest_), religious
rites are not confined to the places of worship--the whole city becomes a
church. Altars rise in every street, and high mass is performed in the
open air, amid clouds of incense and showers of holy water. The Emperor
himself and his family swell the procession.

I had taken a cheering glass of Kronewetter with the worthy landlord of
my lodgings, and sauntered forth to observe the day's proceedings. I
crossed the Platz of St. Ulrick, and thence proceeded to the high street
of Mariahilf--an important suburb of Vienna. I passed two stately altars
on my way, and duly raised my hat, in obedience to the custom of the
country. A little crowd was collected round the parish church of
Mariahilf; and, anticipating that a procession would pass, I took my
stand among the rest of the expectant populace. A few assistant police,
in light blue-grey uniforms with green facings, kept the road.

A bustle about the church-door, and a band of priests, attendants,
and--what pleased me most--a troop of pretty little girls came, two and
two, down the steps, and into the road. I remember nothing of the
procession but those beautiful and innocent children, adorned with
wreaths and ribbons for the occasion. I was thinking of the rosy faces I
had left at home, when my reflections were interrupted by a peremptory
voice, exclaiming, "Take off your hat!" I should have obeyed with
alacrity at any other moment; but there was something in the manner and
tone of the "Polizeidiener's" address which touched my pride, and made me
obstinate. I d