THE CAUSE OF MY ARREST—PROFESSOR THUN—MY DEFENCE—PLANS OF ESCAPE—MY
LEGAL ADVISER
In Germany, as a constitutional state, the law requires that no one
shall be imprisoned for more than four-and-twenty hours without a
magistrate’s order. As a foreigner, however, this was not held to apply
to me; and it was only after two days that I was brought before a
magistrate.
After he had asked me the usual questions as to name, position, and
antecedents, he informed me that being a foreigner whose identity could
not be immediately established, I must remain in prison. He added that,
of course, I could appeal against this decision, but that I should find
it useless to do so. And, in fact, the appeal that I did make was
rejected.
So after this examination I was as wise as ever regarding the cause of
my arrest. Again, I began turning over and over my various conjectures.
Uncertainty is always an unpleasant condition, and most prisoners have
to endure it; but in my case uncertainty racked me with the most
dreadful apprehensions. After three days that seemed endless, I was
again taken before the magistrate. When the ordinary questions had been
answered he asked me if I knew the reason of my arrest. On my reply in
the negative he gave me the following explanation:—
Some days before my arrival from Basel two men had come from the same
place, (my acquaintance, the Swiss Socialist, and the Pole Yablonski).
They also had put up at the Freiburger Hof; they also had brought boxes
filled with books. They had despatched those books to a man in Breslau,
who had just been imprisoned under the law against Socialists; and in
connection with his arrest the police had confiscated the parcel, in
which were discovered Polish socialistic pamphlets prohibited in
Germany. The senders having given the address of the Freiburger Hof, the
pamphlets had been sent back to Freiburg, as a preliminary to the search
for the persons who had despatched them. Orders were given at the hotel
to inform the police if they or any other suspicious characters should
arrive from Switzerland. Thus it was that the hotel porter, learning
that I had books in my trunk, had, after consultation with the landlord,
given information which led to the appearance of the police. The
detective had found among my books the duplicate of one in the Breslau
parcel—the _Calendar of the Naròdnaia Vòlya_; and when he also
discovered copies of the _Sozialdemokrat_, things were suspicious enough
to warrant my arrest. The charge against me, therefore, was that in
conjunction with other persons I was guilty of distributing prohibited
Polish literature in Germany.
On hearing this, it was easy for me to reply to the charge that there
was nothing in Polish among my books, nor any single book which had been
prohibited in Germany; and as to the copies of the _Sozialdemokrat_,
their possession was no offence. The question resolved itself simply
into this: Whether I was in conspiracy with certain persons, and whether
I had not in any case been circulating forbidden literature. Chance
alone had led to my capture.
“If you had not gone to the Freiburger Hof nobody would have thought of
arresting you,” said Herr Leiblen, the magistrate.
My spirits rose on hearing this. I said to myself, “All is not lost yet.
Perhaps everything will go off smoothly, and I shall soon be set free,
if only the Russian Government is kept out of the game.” That was the
thought which occupied me while the magistrate was writing out the
protocol. He then said, pointing to a gentleman who sat at a table
somewhat apart, “That is the interpreter who is assisting us in your
case, a professor of our University.”
During my examination I had once or twice looked round at this
gentleman. He seemed known to me, and his presence caused me involuntary
uneasiness.
“You can speak Russian with the Herr Professor,” concluded Herr Leiblen,
as he left the room to fetch some document.
“Do you not recognise me?” said the interpreter, turning round.
“Professor Thun!” cried I in great astonishment.
“What! am I so much altered that you didn’t know me before?“ he asked,
and did not wait for my answer, but continued without pause, “How can I
help you?”
“Do you know who I really am?” I asked, without replying, and a cold
shudder ran through me.
“Yes; I know your true name. But there is no need for alarm. You have
turned quite pale!”
His recognition had indeed given me no small fright. I had come to know
Professor Thun about a year and a half before this time in Basel,
whither I had then betaken myself in order that, being there at some
distance from the colony of Russian refugees, I might be freer from
interruptions to my studies than when surrounded by friends and
acquaintances. I had matriculated in the Basel University, and was
attending Professor Thun’s lectures on political economy and statistics.
Karl Moor, a leader of the Basel working-men, had introduced me
personally to the professor, who supposed me to be simply a Russian
student, not knowing me by my real name, but under the assumed one of
Nicholas Kridner. He invited me to call on him, and confided to me his
plan of writing a history of the revolutionary movement in Russia. Of
this plan I had already heard, and it was partly this that had attracted
me to Basel. Professor Thun was a Rhinelander, had studied at Dorpat,
and had then passed some years in the interior of Russia. He spoke
Russian fluently, and was pretty well up in Russian affairs. When he
found, in conversation with me, that I was not unacquainted with the
Russian revolutionary movement, he suggested that I should help him in
his work, to which of course I gladly assented; and thus it happened
that we became rather intimate. In this way I learned Professor Thun’s
views regarding the Terrorists and their deeds. He condemned them
ruthlessly; according to his convictions, it was the duty of all
European governments to refuse such persons the right of asylum, and to
deliver them over as ordinary criminals to the Russian authorities. In
particular I had a lively recollection of the following occurrence.
Professor Thun had given a lecture in the Basel “Freisinniges Verein,”
before a large audience, on “Two Episodes in the Russian Revolutionary
Movement.” These two episodes were the attempted assassination of
Alexander II. and the Tchigirìn case. In speaking of the latter he
related how Stefanòvitch, Bohanòvsky, and I had escaped from the
fortress of Kiëv;[11] and he closed with the remark that these criminals
were living in foreign parts, and had “unfortunately” not yet been
captured. I had an opportunity afterwards of speaking to him on the
subject, and gathered the impression that if he knew my real name
Professor Thun would not only break off all connection with me, but
under certain circumstances would even perhaps assist in my “capture.”
This led me to reduce my personal relations with him to a minimum, and
besides I shortly afterwards left Basel.
Footnote 11:
See note, p. 98.
Now here I was standing, a prisoner, before this man, and he knew who I
really was! My feelings may be imagined.
“How do you know my name?” I asked, trembling with excitement.
“Your friend, Karl Moor, told me it in confidence after you had left
Basel.”
“And although you know who I am you offer me your help?” asked I in
surprise.
“Yes. Only tell me how to help you, and I will do what I can.”
I could scarcely grasp it, but one look in his eyes convinced me that I
might trust him; it was that intuitive confidence that, once given, is
unbounded.
“Thank you,” said I. “Well, if I do not succeed in getting out of prison
by lawful means, I shall try to escape. Would you stand by me then?”
“Certainly,” said he simply and earnestly.
I still could hardly believe my ears. This German professor, whom I had
heard publicly express his regret that the minions of Tsarism had not
yet caught me—in other words, that I was not hanging on the gallows—this
same man now offered me help to fly from a German prison! He gave me,
however, undeniable proof of his sincerity. As translator he was in
possession of all books, letters, etc., taken from me; he now produced
my notebook, and advised me to tear out and destroy pages on which he
had noticed addresses entered that might prejudice my cause. Of course,
I immediately acted on his suggestion.
I then proposed to him that he should go to Basel without delay, tell my
friend Axelrod what had occurred, instruct him what steps he could take
to obtain my release by legal means, and finally, arrange with him some
way of effecting my escape should the danger of extradition to Russia
arise.
This task Professor Thun fulfilled to the letter; and during my
imprisonment in Freiburg he did me many kind offices, running serious
risk of thereby compromising his own position. He arranged secret
meetings in Freiburg Cathedral with my friends, who had come in haste on
the chance of being useful to me. He was also the medium of both verbal
and written communication between me and my comrades.
Having the right of free access to me, as the authorities placed full
confidence in an illustrious professor, he often had me called into the
translator’s office, where we could chat undisturbed. In these
conversations I saw how much he had taken my affairs to heart. He went
so far as to offer his house as a refuge if I were obliged to attempt an
escape. Sometimes he joked about the part he was playing:—“Look at me,
now,” he would say, laughing; “I, a German professor of dignity and
position, have become a Russian conspirator; and this peaceful town of
Freiburg is the scene of a plot!” Through his relations with the
magistrate he knew how my case was going on, and of course he kept me
posted up.
At the first hearing of my case I made the following statement:—I was a
Russian student, and had come abroad in pursuit of my studies. I had
married here, and had one child. Hitherto I had lived in Switzerland,
but now I wished to remain in Freiburg, whither my wife, now in Zurich,
was to follow me. I lived partly by literary work, partly on private
means. In Switzerland I had attended the University as “hospitant” (an
occasional student at lectures).[12] As for my political opinions, when
I left Russia they were still somewhat undecided; but the influence of
German literature had led me to join the Social Democrats, and I had
determined to assist, as far as I could, in the propagating of their
views in my own country.[13] When, for various reasons, I had determined
to live in Germany, I had brought with me the publications found in my
possession, meaning to sell them eventually to the country people. They
were not prohibited in Germany, and their possession was in no possible
sense an infringement of German law. “And now,” I concluded, “in a free
German town, in Frei-Burg, I have been arrested with no legal
justification, without any of the prescribed formalities, I am subjected
to all manner of indignities, and clapped into gaol like a common
malefactor. As if that were not enough, the police, with no shadow of
excuse, seized upon and arrested a lady of this town as if she were a
pickpocket or disturber of the peace. I may well ask, What difference is
there between this constitutional state of the German Empire and the
absolute despotism of Russia? No one could have been worse treated, even
in Russia!”
Footnote 12:
These particulars were necessary, because they applied to Bulìgin, the
friend from whom I had borrowed a passport for this journey, and whose
name I always used when travelling. He really did live at Zurich with
his wife and child, and attended the University there.
Footnote 13:
This corresponded pretty nearly with fact. About a year previously, in
1883, Plehànov, Vera Zassoùlitch, Axelrod, and I had founded the
Social-Democratic organisation—“The League for the Emancipation of
Labour”; the object of which was to spread the doctrines of Marx in
Russia, by means of translations and original writings. Some of the
papers in my box were of this description, the first fruits of our
literary activity, which had just been printed by our private press
established for the purpose.
These words seemed to make some impression on the magistrate. He walked
up and down excitedly, while he dictated my statement to the clerk,
assured me repeatedly of his sympathy, and asserted his keen disapproval
of the way in which the police had behaved towards me and the young
lady. At one point he muttered, “Still, as Othello says, ‘The
handkerchief, the handkerchief!’” Herr Leiblen appeared to be quite on
my side, and Professor Thun told me later that he had declared the
matter seemed to him harmless enough; in his opinion here was a
perfectly innocent person being kept shut up in prison, and he hoped I
should soon be set free. I had therefore a well-grounded hope of
obtaining my release in due course; nevertheless doubts continued to
arise, and thoughts of escape still haunted me. With some slight help
from outside it would probably have been by no means difficult during
these first days of my imprisonment.
One day, while I was still in this state of suspense betwixt hope and
fear, I was called into the visitors' room. I expected to find Professor
Thun there, and was surprised at being confronted by a man perfectly
unknown to me. He introduced himself by name (I cannot recollect it
now), and informed me that he was a lawyer, who had been engaged by my
friends to undertake my defence. He announced himself as a comrade, a
member of the Social-Democratic party, and invited me to be quite open
with him, as my friends had already told him everything concerning my
past career. “You think of attempting to escape?” he asked in a whisper;
and when I assented he continued quickly, “That would be a most fatal
mistake. I have just seen the minutes of your case; the affair is going
splendidly for you. I have no doubt you will soon be set at liberty. Why
should you risk the dangers of a flight? If the attempt were to fail you
would be in an infinitely worse position than now. I have been talking
to the magistrate; he is convinced there is nothing of any significance
against you. As soon as inquiries in Switzerland have elicited a
satisfactory reply regarding your identity you will be released.”
“But,” I interposed, “supposing a simultaneous inquiry is set on foot in
Russia?”
“There is no ground whatever for such a proceeding,” replied the lawyer,
“and if it were contemplated we should get to know it somehow. Germany
is not Russia. With us legal proceedings are not secret. On the
contrary, the law provides that your trial shall be held in public, and
all documents relative to the case are without delay submitted to me as
your counsel. In such documents mention would be made if an
understanding with the Russian authorities were suggested. In our
conduct of such cases it is absolutely out of the question that such a
weighty complication should be kept private.”
“Yes,” I interrupted, “but how can you be sure that the police executive
will not put the political and administrative authorities in
communication with Russia?”
“The Government and the police would never combine in an affair of law
without some announcement. You were arrested because there were grounds
for supposing you in relation with persons who had made themselves
liable to prosecution by German law. If you are set free—as neither I
nor the magistrate have the slightest doubt that you will be—you will be
discharged unconditionally. There is nothing now to wait for but the
establishment of your identity in Switzerland. You may rely on this. As
a German lawyer I know all our legal methods; you, on the other hand,
judge from Russian conditions, which are altogether different.”
An inner voice said to me that the consistency of German law was not so
entirely to be trusted; but I had no rational ground for demur, as
German affairs of the kind were perfectly strange to me. And an attempt
to escape, although it might have been easily managed in the first
instance, became more risky as time went on. Though not quite abandoning
the idea, these considerations led me to set it aside for the moment,
till we had some proof of collaboration between the Russian and German
Governments. Apparently such a step could not be hidden from me; and I
had the well-known and influential Professor Thun on my side, who was on
the best of terms with the authorities both of town and state. News must
reach me through him if anything fresh were planned.