THE REMINISCENCES OF CARL SCHURZ
friend Reinhold Solger, a fellow-German refugee, a man of great knowledge and acquirements, who later was to occupy a respected position in the service of the United States. We were in the neighborhood of the Palais Royal when an unknown man stopped me and asked to have a word with me aside, as he had something very confidential to communicate to me. As soon as we were out of the hearing of Mrs. Solger he told me that he was a police agent, ordered to arrest me and to take me at once to the “Prefecture de Police.” I excused myself to Mrs. Solger as best I could and accompanied the unwelcome stranger.
He conducted me first to a police commissioner, who inquired after my name, my age, my nativity, and so on. I was astonished that the police, who seemed to know my name, did not know where I lived. I declared to the commissioner that I had absolutely no reason for concealing anything, and acquainted him with the number of the house in which I lived, as well as with the place in my room where the keys to all my belongings could be found; but I wished to know for what reason I had been taken into custody. The commissioner mysteriously lifted his eyebrows, talked of higher orders, and thought I would learn of this soon enough. Another police agent then conducted me to the “Prefecture de Police.” There I was turned over to a jailer, who after I had surrendered the money I had with me and my pocket-knife to a subordinate turnkey, took me into a cell and locked me in. To the question whether I would not soon be informed of the reason of my arrest I did not receive any answer. My cell was a little bare room, sparingly lighted by a narrow window with iron bars high up in the wall. There were two small, not very clean, beds, two wooden chairs and a little table.
I expected every moment to be called to a hearing, for I
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