an execution at vienna.

Carl Fickte, a native of Vienna, stood condemned for execution. His crime was murder. He was convicted of having enveigled his nephew, of eight years old, to the MÖlker bastion of the city fortification, and of having thrown him over the parapet into the dry ditch below. The depth of the fall was between thirty and forty feet, and the shattered body of the boy explained his miserable death. His nephew’s cloak became loosened in the struggle, and remained in the hands of Fickte, who sold it, and spent the produce in a night’s debauch. This cloak led to the discovery of the murderer, and after a lapse of eight months to his conviction and execution.

I had resolved to witness the last act of the law, and started from home at six o’clock on the appointed morning. A white mist filled the air, and gradually thickened into rain; and by the time I had reached the spot—a distance of about two miles—a smart shower was falling. The place of execution is a field in the outskirts of the city, bounded on one side by the main road, and close to the “Spinnerinn am Kreuz,” an ancient stone cross, standing on the edge of the highway. From this spot a beautiful view of the city is obtained.

The crowd was already gathering, and carts, benches, and platforms were in course of arrangement by enterprising speculators, for the accommodation of the people. A low bank which skirted the field was soon occupied, and every swell of the ground was taken advantage of. Soon the rain fell in torrents, and the earth became sodden and yielding; but no pelting shower, no sinking clay, could drive the anxious crowd from the attractive spectacle. Still on they came, men and women together; laughing and joking; their clothes tucked about them, and umbrella-laden. Over the field; on to the slippery bank, whence, every now and again, arose a burst of uproar and laughter, as some part of the mound gave way, and precipitated a snugly-packed crowd into the swamp below.

Venders of fruit, sausages, bread, and spirits, occupied every eligible situation, and from the early hour, and the unprepared state of the spectators, found abundant patronage.

A clatter was heard from the city side, and a body of mounted police galloped along the high road, halted at the gallows, and formed themselves into a hollow square around it. The gibbet was unlike our own, it had no platform, and no steps; but was a simple frame formed by two strong upright, and one horizontal beam. There was a little entanglement of pulleys and ropes, which I learned to understand at a later hour.

Still the rain came pouring down, in one uninterrupted flood, that nothing but the excitement of a public execution could withstand. And still the people clustered together in a dense crowd, under the open air and pelting rain, shifting and reeling, splashing and staggering, till the field became trodden into a heavy, clinging paste of a full foot deep. But no one left the spot; they had come for the sight, and see it they would. Over the whole field and bank, and rising ground, a perfect sea of umbrellas waved and swayed with the crowd, as they vainly sought a firmer resting place among the clogging clay. An hour went by, but there was no change, except a continued accession to the crowd. It was wonderful how patiently they stood under the watery hurricane; helplessly embedded in a slimy swamp; feverish and anxious; with no thought but the looming gallows, towards which all eyes were turned, and the miserable culprit, whose sudden end they were awaiting to see.

Fagged, at length, and soaked with rain, I left the slough, and gaining the highroad, pressed towards the city to meet the cavalcade. A rushing of people, and a confused cry, told me of its approach. “There he is!” Yes, there! in that open cart, surrounded by mounted police, and pressed on all sides by a hurrying crowd. On either side of him sit the prison officials; while in front, an energetic priest, with all the vehemence and gesticulation of the wildest religious fervour, is evidently urging him to repentance.

It is the law of Austria, that no criminal, however distinctly his crime may have been proved by circumstantial evidence, can suffer death, till he has himself confirmed the evidence by confession. But any artifice can be lawfully employed to entrap him into an acknowledgment of his guilt; therefore, although the sentence of the law may often be deferred, it is rare indeed that its completion is averted. Fickte had of course confessed. A flush was on his face; but there was no life or intellectual spirit there.

Another battle with the crowd, and I stood in the rear of the gibbet. After a weary interval, the scharfrichter—executioner—mounted, by means of a ladder, to the cross beam of the gallows. By the action of a wheel the culprit slowly rose into the air, but still unhurt. Three broad leathern straps confined his arms; and perfectly motionless, held in a perpendicular position by cordage fixed to the ground, and to the beam above, he awaited his death. No cap covered his face. A looped cord passing through another pulley, was placed under his chin, the cord running along the cross-beam, and the end fixed to a wheel at the side of the gibbet.

The culprit kissed the crucifix; a single turn of the wheel; a hoarse cry of “Down with the umbrellas!” and his life had passed away; though no cry, no struggle, announced its departure. The scharfrichter laid his hand upon the heart of the criminal, then, assured of his death, descended. And still, amid the incessant rain, with eager eyes bent upon the dead, the crowd waited, gloating on the sight. According to the sentence of the law, the corpse, with nothing to hide its discoloured and distorted features, remained hanging till the setting of the sun.

Ashamed, wearied, and horrified, I hurried home; only halting on my way to purchase the “Todesurtheil,” or “Death-sentence,” which was being cried about the streets. This is an official document, and indeed the only one with which the people of Vienna are gratified on such a subject. Trials are not public, nor can they be reported; and although the whole of the details invariably ooze out through the police, no authentic account appears before the public till the sentence is carried out.

The “Todesurtheil” appears, like our “Last Dying Speech,” at the time of the execution, but contains no verses; being a simple, and very brief narrative of the life and crime of the condemned. He is designated by his initials only, out of delicacy to his relatives, although his real name is, somehow or other, already well known.

Six months later there occurred another execution, but I had no curiosity to witness it. The condemned was a soldier, who, in a fit of jealousy, had fired upon his mistress; but killed a bystander instead. There was no mystery about the affair, and he was condemned to death.

On the day previous to his execution, he was allowed to receive the visits of his friends and the public. Only a single person was admitted at a time. He awaited his visitor (in this instance, an acquaintance of my own), with calmness and resolution; advanced with outstretched hand to meet him; greeting him with a hearty salutation. The visitor, totally unprepared for this, trembled with a cold shudder, as he received the pressure of the murderer’s hand; murmured a blessing; dropped a few coin into the box for the especial benefit of his soul, and hurriedly withdrew.

On the following morning the condemned quitted his prison for the gibbet. But the soldier, unlike the civilian—the soldier who has forfeited his right to a military execution—must walk to his death. The civilian rides in the felon’s cart; the soldier, in undress, must pace the weary way on foot. Imagine a death-condemned criminal walking from the Old Bailey to Copenhagen Fields to the gallows, and you have a parallel case.