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.