The Attack on the Mill, and Other Sketches of War — John Stuart Mill — John Shaqi
The Attack on the Mill, and Other Sketches of War
John Stuart Mill · en
So numerous and so loud are the whispering voices of these
streams that they silence the song of the bullfinches. It is as if one
were in an enchanted park, with cascades falling on every side.
The meadows below are never athirst. The shadows beneath the gigantic
chestnut trees are of inky blackness, and along the edges of the
fields long rows of poplars stand like walls of rustling foliage.
There is a double avenue of huge plane trees ascending across the
fields toward the ancient castle of Gagny, now gone to rack and ruin.
In this region, where drought is never known, vegetation of all kinds
is wonderfully rank; it is like a flower garden down there in the low
ground between those two wooded hills, a natural garden, where the
lawns are broad meadows and the giant trees represent colossal beds.
When the noonday sun pours down his scorching rays the shadows lie blue
upon the ground, the glowing vegetation slumbers in the heat, while
every now and then a breath of icy coldness passes under the foliage.
Such was the spot where Father Merlier’s mill enlivened with its
cheerful clack nature run riot. The building itself, constructed of
wood and plaster, looked as if it might be coeval with our planet. Its
foundations were in part washed by the Morelle, which here expands into
a clear pool. A dam, a few feet in height, afforded sufficient head of
water to drive the old wheel, which creaked and groaned as it revolved,
with the asthmatic wheezing of a faithful servant who has grown old in
her place. Whenever Father Merlier was advised to change it, he would
shake his head and say that like as not a young wheel would be lazier
and not so well acquainted with its duties, and then he would set to
work and patch up the old one with anything that came to hand, old
hogshead-staves, bits of rusty iron, zinc, or lead. The old wheel only
seemed the gayer for it, with its odd profile, all plumed and feathered
with tufts of moss and grass, and when the water poured over it in a
silvery tide its gaunt black skeleton was decked out with a gorgeous
display of pearls and diamonds.