When Pere Merlier was advised to change
it he shook his head, saying that a new wheel would be lazier and would
not so well understand the work, and he mended the old one with whatever
he could put his hands on: cask staves, rusty iron, zinc and lead. The
wheel appeared gayer than ever for it, with its profile grown odd, all
plumed with grass and moss. When the water beat upon it with its silvery
flood it was covered with pearls; its strange carcass wore a sparkling
attire of necklaces of mother-of-pearl.
The part of the mill which dipped in the Morelle had the air of a
barbaric arch stranded there. A full half of the structure was built on
piles. The water flowed beneath the floor, and deep places were there,
renowned throughout the district for the enormous eels and crayfish
caught in them. Below the fall the basin was as clear as a mirror, and
when the wheel did not cover it with foam schools of huge fish could be
seen swimming with the slowness of a squadron. Broken steps led down
to the river near a stake to which a boat was moored. A wooden gallery
passed above the wheel. Windows opened, pierced irregularly. It was a
pell-mell of corners, of little walls, of constructions added too
late, of beams and of roofs, which gave the mill the aspect of an old,
dismantled citadel.
Pages:
751
752
753
754
755
756
757
758
759
760
761
762
763
764
765
766
767
768
769
770
771
772
773
774
775