The common people of the place know me already, and love me, particularly the children.  When at first I associated with them, and inquired in a friendly tone about their various trifles, some fancied that I wished to ridicule them, and turned from me in exceeding ill-humour.  I did not allow that circumstance to grieve me:  I only felt most keenly what I have often before observed.  Persons who can claim a certain rank keep themselves coldly aloof from the common people, as though they feared to lose their importance by the contact; whilst wanton idlers, and such as are prone to bad joking, affect to descend to their level, only to make the poor people feel their impertinence all the more keenly.

I know very well that we are not all equal, nor can be so; but it is my opinion that he who avoids the common people, in order not to lose their respect, is as much to blame as a coward who hides himself from his enemy because he fears defeat.

The other day I went to the fountain, and found a young servant-girl, who had set her pitcher on the lowest step, and looked around to see if one of her companions was approaching to place it on her head.  I ran down, and looked at her.  “Shall I help you, pretty lass?” said I. She blushed deeply.  “Oh, sir!” she exclaimed.  “No ceremony!” I replied.  She adjusted her head-gear, and I helped her.  She thanked me, and ascended the steps.

May 17.

I have made all sorts of acquaintances, but have as yet found no society.  I know not what attraction I possess for the people, so many of them like me, and attach themselves to me; and then I feel sorry when the road we pursue together goes only a short distance.  If you inquire what the people are like here, I must answer, “The same as everywhere.”  The human race is but a monotonous affair.  Most of them labour the greater part of their time for mere subsistence; and the scanty portion of freedom which remains to them so troubles them that they use every exertion to get rid of it.  Oh, the destiny of man!

But they are a right good sort of people.  If I occasionally forget myself, and take part in the innocent pleasures which are not yet forbidden to the peasantry, and enjoy myself, for instance, with genuine freedom and sincerity, round a well-covered table, or arrange an excursion or a dance opportunely, and so forth, all this produces a good effect upon my disposition; only I must forget that there lie dormant within me so many other qualities which moulder uselessly, and which I am obliged to keep carefully concealed.  Ah! this thought affects my spirits fearfully.  And yet to be misunderstood is the fate of the like of us.