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THE WINDMILL

 

A WINDMILL stood upon the hillproud to look at and it was proud too

"I am not proud at all"it said" but I am very much enlightened without and withinI have sun and moon for my outward useand for inward use tooand into the bar-gain I have stearine candlestrain oil lampsand tallowcandlesI may well say that I'm enlightenedI am a thinking beingand so well constructed that it's quite de-lightfulI have a good set of millstones in my chest and I have four wings that are placed outside my headjust be- neath my hatthe birds have only two wingsand are obliged to carry them on their backs I am a Dutchman by birththat may be seen by my figure-'a flying Dutch- man'They are considered supernatural beingsI know and yet I am quite naturalI have a gallery round my chestand house-room beneath itthat's where my thoughts dwell My strongest thoughtwho rules and reignsis called by the others"the man in the mill"He knows what he wantsand is lord over the meal and the branbut he has his companion tooand she is called "Mother"She is the very heart of meShe dose not run about stupidly and awkwardlyfor she knows what she wantsshe knows what she can doshe's as soft as a zephyr and as strong as a stormshe knows how to begin a thing carefullyand to have her own wayShe is my soft temperand the father is my bard onethey are twoand yet onethey each call the other"My half"These two have some little boysyoung thoughtsthat can growThe little ones keep everything stirringWhen latelyin my wisdomI let the father and the boys exmine the millstonesand the wheels in my chestto see what was going onthere-for something in me was out of orderand it'swell to examine oneself-the little ones made a tremen-dous noisewhich is not a becoming thing when one stands on a hill as I dothere one must remember thatone stands in a strong light-that of public opinion

Wellas I was sayingthe young ones made a terri-ble noiseThe youngest jumped up into my hatand shouted there so that it tickled meThe little thoughtsmay growI know that very welland out in the worldthoughts come tooand not only of my kindfor as far asI can see I cannot discern anything like myselfbut thewingless houseswhose throats make no noisehave thoughts tooand these come to my thoughtsand makelove to themas it is calledIt's wonderful enough-yesthere are many wonderful things

Something has come over meor into me-some- thing has changed in the mill-workit seems as if theone-halfthe fatherhad alteredand had received abetter tempr and a more affectionate helpmate-so young and goodand yet the sameonly more gentle andgood through the coruse of timeWhat was bitter haspassed awayand the whole is much more comfortable

"The days go onand the days come nearer andnearer to clearness and to joyand then a day will comewhen it will be over with mebut not over altogetherImust be pulled do that I may be built up againI shallceasebut yet shall live onTo becorme quite a differentbeingand yet remain the sameThat's difficult for meto understandhowever enlightened Imay be with sunmoonstearinetrain oiland tallowMy old wood-workand my old brick-work will rise again from the dust

"I will hope that I may keep my old thoughtsthefather in the milland the mothergreat ones and littleones-the familyfor I call them allgreat and littlethecompany of thoughtsbecause I mustand cannot refrainfrom it

"And I must also remain'myself'with my throatin my chestmy wings on my headthe gallery round mybodyelse I should not know myselfnor could the othersknow meand say'There's the mill on the hillproudto look at and yet not proud at all'"

That is what the mill saidIndeedit said much morebut that is the most imporatant part

And the days cameand the days wentand yesterday was the last day

Then the mill caught fireThe flames rose up highand beat out and inand bit at the beams and planksand ate them upThe mill felland nothing remained of it but a heap of ashesThe smoke drove across the scene of the conflagrationand the wind carried it away

Whatever had been alive in the mill remainedand lost nothing by that eventit actually gained by it

The miller's family-one soulmany thoughtsand yet only one-built a newa splendid millwhich an-swered its purposeIt was quite like the old oneand peo-ple said"Whyyonder is the mill on the hill proud to look at"But this mill was better arrangedmore up to date than the lastso that progress might be madeThe old beams had became worm-eaten and spongy-they lay in dust and ashesThe body of the mill did not rise out of the dust as they had believed it would dothey had taken the words literallyand all things are not to be taken literally

 


 

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