I know not whether some deceitful spirits haunt this spot, or whether
it be the warm, celestial fancy in my own heart which makes everything
around me seem like paradise. In front of the house is a fountain,—a
fountain to which I am bound by a charm like Melusina and her sisters.
Descending a gentle slope, you come to an arch, where, some twenty steps
lower down, water of the clearest crystal gushes from the marble rock.
The narrow wall which encloses it above, the tall trees which encircle
the spot, and the coolness of the place itself,—everything imparts
a pleasant but sublime impression. Not a day passes on which I do not
spend an hour there. The young maidens come from the town to fetch
water,—innocent and necessary employment, and formerly the occupation
of the daughters of kings. As I take my rest there, the idea of the old
patriarchal life is awakened around me. I see them, our old ancestors,
how they formed their friendships and contracted alliances at the
fountain-side; and I feel how fountains and streams were guarded by
beneficent spirits. He who is a stranger to these sensations has never
really enjoyed cool repose at the side of a fountain after the fatigue
of a weary summer day.