He completed the course of the Royal Realschule at nineteen. He was too uncertain of himself to insist on prolonging his studies at the university; he already loved my mother and so he entered a well-known house of woolen manufacturers. By this time his foster-mother was hopelessly insane and his foster-father had fallen under the influence of an inferior woman. He had no real home. And so his request to be set up in business and to marry was readily granted. At twenty-three he was a father.
I often reflect upon his tragic youth. He was only a boy, crude, passionate, impulsive. He disliked his bus