“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.