Franz, Gundel's betrothed, had been summoned to join his regiment.
My little pitchman has just returned from the town, and brings me news that "there'll be war with the French." He tells me, too, that our business will become poor, that the people do not care to buy, and that our employer offers only half the usual price; and so I will be working for stock.--I, too, must help to bear the world's burden.
How strange it seems that I no longer know anything about my country and the age in which we live. One consolation is left me. In such warlike times, they will not seek the lost one.
We are all, unconsciously, on heights from which the graves of our beloved dead are invisible. Were they ever present, there would be neither work nor song in this world.
Self-oblivion or self-knowledge--about this, everything revolves.
Even in hottest summer, I can always see the snowcapped mountains before me. I do not know how to express it, but they always inspire me with strange and confused emotions. I pay no regard to the date or the seasons, for I have them all at once.
In my heart there is also a spot on which rest eternal snows.