There was no style in
nature, providence had wisely made nature natural, nothing but
natural. Nature was that which was unrestrained, that which was
unspoiled. But with the fall of man civilization had come upon
mankind; now civilization had become a necessity; but it would have
been better, if it had not been thus. The state of nature was
something quite different, quite different. The councilor himself
would have had no objection to maintaining himself by going about in a
coat of lamb-skin and shooting hares and snipes and golden plovers and
grouse and haunches of venison and wild boars. No, the state of nature
really was like a gem, a perfect gem.
The councilor and his daughter walked down to the lake. For some time
already it had glimmered between the trees, but now when they turned
the corner where the big poplar stood, it lay quite open before them.
There it lay with large spaces of water clear as a mirror, with jagged
tongues of gray-blue rippled water, with streaks that were smooth and
streaks that were rippled, and the sunlight rested on the smooth
places and quivered in the ripples. It captured one's eye and drew it
across its surface, carried it along the shores, past slowly rounded
curves, past abruptly broken lines, and made it swing around the green
tongues of land; then it let go of one's glance and disappeared in
large bays, but it carried along the thought--Oh, to sail! Would it be
possible to hire boats here?
No, there were none, said a little fellow, who lived in the white
country-house near by, and stood at the shore skipping stones over the
surface of the water.
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