Sometimes, I find myself wondering what Countess Brinkenstein, pious Constance, Schnabelsdorf, or Bronnen, would say if they were to see me now; and at such moments, I am obliged to look around, in order to satisfy myself that they are not present.
So long as I cannot govern my imagination, I am not free. Fancy is the most powerful of despots.
Our fountain gushes and bubbles the whole night through, and when the moonlight rests upon it, it is lovelier and more peaceful than ever. The earth bounteously gives forth its healing waters. They flow unceasingly. All that we need do is to go to the spring and drink. My favorite seat is near there. Its waters sometimes suddenly increase in volume and swiftness, as if they were bringing me a special message. Perhaps it is all caused by the currents of air, and I may be mistaken after all. One easily gives way to reverie when by the spring.
Gundel, the little pitchman's daughter, affords me much much pleasure. The honest, kind-hearted, simpleminded creature is now full of joy; she loves, and is loved in return.
One of the farm hands is a native of Hansei's birthplace. He was once in the cuirassiers, and this faithful, but rough and ill-favored lad, is Gundel's lover. A girl whom no one has noticed, whose life has been constant drudgery, is invested with new importance, both in her own eyes and in those of others, as soon as she becomes the object of a man's love. All that she does is regarded as good and pretty, and she is at once lifted up out of her lowly and forgotten state.
Love is the crown of every life, a diadem even on the lowliest head.
When Gundel goes about her rough work--to draw water, or to feed the cattle--she seems radiant with newborn happiness.
Although I have said nothing, she notices that I am interested in her, and she often ask whether there is anything she can do for me.