It was the irony of life that the son, who kindled a mighty hope in the hearts of unnumbered thousands of his fellow human beings, a hope that is today inspiring millions of those who speak his name with reverence and love, should be able to do that only by destroying his mother’s hope and happiness in her son, and that every step he took should fill her heart with a great agony.

When young Marx grew out of boyhood into youth, he was attractive to all those who met him.  Tall, lithe, and graceful, he was so extremely dark that his intimates called him “der neger”—­“the negro.”  His loosely tossing hair gave to him a still more exotic appearance; but his eyes were true and frank, his nose denoted strength and character, and his mouth was full of kindliness in its expression.  His lineaments were not those of the Jewish type.

Very late in life—­he died in 1883—­his hair and beard turned white, but to the last his great mustache was drawn like a bar across his face, remaining still as black as ink, and making his appearance very striking.  He was full of fun and gaiety.  As was only natural, there soon came into his life some one who learned to love him, and to whom, in his turn, he gave a deep and unbroken affection.

There had come to Treves—­which passed from France to Prussia with the downfall of Napoleon—­a Prussian nobleman, the Baron Ludwig von Westphalen, holding the official title of “national adviser.”  The baron was of Scottish extraction on his mother’s side, being connected with the ducal family of Argyll.  He was a man of genuine rank, and might have shown all the arrogance and superciliousness of the average Prussian official; but when he became associated with Heinrich Marx he evinced none of that condescending manner.  The two men became firm friends, and the baron treated the provincial lawyer as an equal.

The two families were on friendly terms.  Von Westphalen’s infant daughter, who had the formidable name of Johanna Bertha Julie Jenny von Westphalen, but who was usually spoken of as Jenny, became, in time, an intimate of Sophie Marx.  She was four years older than Karl, but the two grew up together—­he a high-spirited, manly boy, and she a lovely and romantic girl.

The baron treated Karl as if the lad were a child of his own.  He influenced him to love romantic literature and poetry by interpreting to him the great masterpieces, from Homer and Shakespeare to Goethe and Lessing.  He made a special study of Dante, whose mysticism appealed to his somewhat dreamy nature, and to the religious instinct that always lived in him, in spite of his dislike for creeds and churches.