Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - VIII. Swedenborg
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the six oven doors! Is it a bad dream? No,
commonplace fact, for a frightful stench, a
stream of dirt, and a chorus of grunting reveals
to me immediately that I have a pig-sty in front
of me.
Between the miller’s house and the hill, just
under the Turk’s head, the path contracts to a
narrow passage. As I go farther along it, I
find myself confronted by a large, wolf-coloured
Danish dog, a counterpart of the monster which
guarded the studio in the Rue de la Santé in
Paris. I retreat two steps, but immediately
remember Jacques Cœur’s motto, “To a brave
heart nothing is impossible,” and press onward
into the ravine. Cerberus appears not to notice
me, and so I pursue the path which now winds
between low and gloomy houses. On one side,
a black, tailless fowl with a red comb is running
about, on the other a woman wearing a red
crescent-shaped ornament on her forehead comes
out of a house. She looks beautiful at first, but
as she comes nearer, I see that she is toothless
and ugly.
The waterfall and the mill combined make a
noise like that roaring in the ears which I had
during my first period of disquiet in Paris.
The white-powdered miller’s men, who control
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