My oldest memories are of a simple, yet comfortable cottage in the Hartz Mountains. I lived with my father, brother: Caesar, and sister: Marcella. In summertime the landscape was beautiful, but during the severe winter, it was desolate. In the winter we remained indoors, for the vicious wolves incessantly prowled about in the cold

In the winter, my father hunted; every day he left us and often locked the door to keep us inside. During the short cold days of winter we would sit silent, longing for the happy hours when the snow would melt, and we should be free again

One evening, the howl of a wolf, close under the window of the cottage, fell on our ears. My father jumped up, seized his gun, and hastily left the cottage, locking the door after him. We anxiously waited