On the other hand, to show how seriously my father regarded my
education, when I was six years old he took me to a clergyman in
the country at Possendorf, near Dresden, where I was to be given
a sound and healthy training with other boys of my own class. In
the evening, the vicar, whose name was Wetzel, used to tell us
the story of Robinson Crusoe, and discuss it with us in a highly
instructive manner. I was, moreover, much impressed by a
biography of Mozart which was read aloud; and the newspaper
accounts and monthly reports of the events of the Greek War of
Independence stirred my imagination deeply. My love for Greece,
which afterwards made me turn with enthusiasm to the mythology
and history of ancient Hellas, was thus the natural outcome of
the intense and painful interest I took in the events of this
period. In after years the story of the struggle of the Greeks
against the Persians always revived my impressions of this modern
revolt of Greece against the Turks.

One day, when I had been in this country home scarcely a year, a
messenger came from town to ask the vicar to take me to my
parents' house in Dresden, as my father was dying.

We did the three hours' journey on foot; and as I was very
exhausted when I arrived, I scarcely understood why my mother was
crying. The next day I was taken to my father's bedside; the
extreme weakness with which he spoke to me, combined with all the
precautions taken in the last desperate treatment of his
complaint--acute hydrothorax--made the whole scene appear like a
dream to me, and I think I was too frightened and surprised to
cry.