Like Sturmhanns's little dog, friendly one moment and the next snapping
at one's calf, are these uncertain dog-days. In the morning all
promises well, and the skies are bright and clear. And the sun caresses
and kisses thee, embracing the world with passionate love--who would not
then stroll out into the comforting shade of the woods? Thou wanderest
freely about and gazest on the green earth thinking: Beloved, beautiful
day! Then, all at once, the dark clouds are over thee, and the storm
tears thy hat from thy head, and the rain madly beats thee in the face;
find a shelter for thyself quickly--the hail comes rushing down.
The dog-days. Can Nature be unfaithful also? It is man who accuses her
of evil, because his thoughts are unreasonable and his wisdom is
lacking. There is nothing evil and nothing good, excepting in the heart
of man, the one being to whom is given free-will.
If we could lay aside our free-will, we should then have no conscience.
In the forest there are many to whom that would be very agreeable.