山上有一个风车。它的样子很骄傲，它自己也真的感到很骄傲。
“我一点也不骄傲!”它说，“不过我的里里外外都很明亮。太阳和月亮照在我的外面，也照着我的里面，我还有混合蜡烛①鲸油烛和牛油烛。我敢说我是明亮②的。我是一个有思想的人;我的构造很好，一看就叫人感到愉快。我的怀里有一块很好的磨石;我有四个翅膀——它们生在我的头上，恰恰在我的帽子底下。雀子只有两个翅膀，而且只生在背上。“我生出来就是一个荷兰人③;这点可以从我的形状看得出来——‘一个飞行的荷兰人’我知道，大家把这种人叫做‘超自然’④的.东西，但是我却很自然。我的肚皮上围着一圈走廊，下面有一个住室——我的‘思想’就藏在这里面。别的‘思想’把我一个最强大的主导‘思想’叫做‘磨坊人’。他知道他的要求是什么，他管理面粉和麸子。他也有一个伴侣：名叫‘妈妈’。她是我真正的心。她并不傻里傻气地乱跑。她知道自己要求什么，知道自己能做些什么。她像微风一样温和，像暴风雨一样强烈。她知道怎样应付事情，而且她总会达到自己的目的。她是我的温柔的一面，而‘爸爸’却是我的坚强的一面。他们是两个人，但也可以说是一个人。他们彼此称为‘我的老伴’。
“这两个人还有小孩子——‘小思想’。这些‘小思想’也能长大成人。这些小家伙老是闹个不休!最近我曾经严肃地叫‘爸爸’和孩子们把我怀里的磨石和轮子检查一下。我希望知道这两件东西到底出了什么毛病，因为我的内部现在是有毛病了。一个人也应该把自己检查一下。这些小家伙又在闹出一阵可怕的声音来。对我这样一个高高立在山上的人说来，这的确是太不像样子了，一个人应该记住，自己是站在光天化日之下，而在光天化日之下，一个人的毛病是一下子就可以看出来的。
“我刚才说过，这些小家伙闹出可怕的声音来。最小的那几个钻到我的帽子里乱叫，弄得我怪不舒服的。小‘思想’可以长大起来，这一点我知道得清清楚楚。外面也有别的‘思想’来访，不过他们不是属于我这个家族，因为据我看来，他们跟我没有共同之点。那么没有翅膀的屋子——你听不见他们磨石的声音——也有些‘思想’。他们来看我的‘思想’并且跟我的‘思想’闹起所谓恋爱来。这真是奇怪;的确，怪事也真多。
“我的身上——或者身子里——最近起了某种变化：磨石的活动有些异样。我似乎觉得‘爸爸’换了一个‘老伴’：他似乎得到了一个脾气更温和、更热情的配偶——非常年轻和温柔。但人还是原来的人，只不过时间使她变得更可爱，更温柔罢了。不愉快的事情现在都没有了，一切都非常愉快。
“日子过去了，新的日子又到来了。时间一天一天地接近光明和快乐，直到最后我的一切完了为止——但不是绝对地完了。我将被拆掉，好使我又能够变成一个新的、更好的磨坊。我将不再存在，但是我将继续活下去!我将变成另一个东西，但同时又没有变!这一点我却难得理解，不管我是被太阳、月亮、混合烛、兽烛和蜡烛照得怎样‘明亮’。我的旧木料和砖土将会又从地上立起来。
“我希望我仍能保持住我的老‘思想’们：磨坊里的爸爸、妈妈、大孩和小孩——整个的家庭。我把他们大大小小都叫做‘思想的家属’，因为我没有他们是不成的。但是我也要保留住我自己——保留住我胸腔里的磨石，我头上的翅膀，我肚皮上的走廊，否则我就不会认识我自己，别人也不会认识我，同时会说：‘山上有一个磨坊，看起来倒是蛮了不起，但是也没有什么了不起。’”
这是磨坊说的话。事实上，它说的比这还多，不过这是最重要的一部分罢了。
日子来，日子去，而昨天是最后的一天。
这个磨坊着了火。火焰升得很高。它向外面燎，也向里面燎。它舔着大梁和木板。结果这些东西就全被吃光了。磨坊倒下来了，它只剩下一堆火灰。燃过的地方还在冒着烟，但是风把它吹走了。
磨坊里曾经活着过的东西，现在仍然活着，并没有因为这件意外而被毁掉。事实上它还因为这个意外事件而得到许多好处。磨坊主的一家——一个灵魂，许多“思想”，但仍然只是一个思想——又新建了一个新的、漂亮的磨坊。这个新的跟那个旧的没有任何区别，同样有用。人们说：“山上有一个磨坊，看起来很像个样儿!”不过这个磨坊的设备更好，比前一个更近代化，因为事情总归是进步的。那些旧的木料都被虫蛀了，潮湿了。现在它们变成了尘土。它起初想象的完全相反，磨坊的躯体并没有重新站起来。这是因为它太相信字面上的意义了，而人们是不应该从字面上看一切事情的意义的。
①原文是Stearinlys，即用兽油和蜡油混合做成的蜡烛。
②明亮(Oplyst)在丹麦文里同时又有“开明”，“聪明”，“受过教育”等意思，因此这儿有双关的意义。
③因为荷兰的风车最多。
④这是原文Overnaturlige这个字的直译，它可以转化成为“神奇”，“鬼怪”的意思。)
风磨英文版：
The Windmill
AWINDMILL stood upon the hill, proud to look at, and it was proud too.
“I am not proud at all,” it said, “but I am very much enlightened without and within. I have sun and moon for my outward use, and for inward use too; and into the bargain I have stearine candles, train oil and lamps, and tallow candles. I may well say that I’m enlightened. I’m a thinking being, and so well constructed that it’s quite delightful. I have a good windpipe in my chest, and I have four wings that are placed outside my head, just beneath my hat. The birds have only two wings, and are obliged to carry them on their backs. I am a Dutchman by birth, that may be seen by my figure—a flying Dutchman. They are considered supernatural beings, I know, and yet I am quite natural. I have a gallery round my chest, and house-room beneath it; that’s where my thoughts dwell. My strongest thought, who rules and reigns, is called by others ‘The Man in the Mill.’ He knows what he wants, and is lord over the meal and the bran; but he has his companion, too, and she calls herself ‘Mother.’ She is the very heart of me. She does not run about stupidly and awkwardly, for she knows what she wants, she knows what she can do, she’s as soft as a zephyr and as strong as a storm; she knows how to begin a thing carefully, and to have her own way. She is my soft temper, and the father is my hard one. They are two, and yet one; they each call the other ‘My half.’ These two have some little boys, young thoughts, that can grow. The little ones keep everything in order. When, lately, in my wisdom, I let the father and the boys examine my throat and the hole in my chest, to see what was going on there,—for something in me was out of order, and it’s well to examine one’s self,—the little ones made a tremendous noise. The youngest jumped up into my hat, and shouted so there that it tickled me. The little thoughts may grow—I know that very well; and out in the world thoughts come too, and not only of my kind, for as far as I can see, I cannot discern anything like myself; but the wingless houses, whose throats make no noise, have thoughts too, and these come to my thoughts, and make love to them, as it is called. It’s wonderful enough—yes, there are many wonderful things. Something has come over me, or into me,—something has changed in the mill-work. It seems as if the one half, the father, had altered, and had received a better temper and a more affectionate helpmate—so young and good, and yet the same, only more gentle and good through the course of time. What was bitter has passed away, and the whole is much more comfortable.
“The days go on, and the days come nearer and nearer to clearness and to joy; and then a day will come when it will be over with me; but not over altogether. I must be pulled down that I may be built up again; I shall cease, but yet shall live on. To become quite a different being, and yet remain the same! That’s difficult for me to understand, however enlightened I may be with sun, moon, stearine, train oil, and tallow. My old wood-work and my old brick-work will rise again from the dust!
“I will hope that I may keep my old thoughts, the father in the mill, and the mother, great ones and little ones—the family; for I call them all, great and little, the company of thoughts, because I must, and cannot refrain from it.
“And I must also remain ‘myself,’ with my throat in my chest, my wings on my head, the gallery round my body; else I should not know myself, nor could the others know me, and say, ‘There’s the mill on the hill, proud to look at, and yet not proud at all.’”
That is what the mill said. Indeed, it said much more, but that is the most important part.
And the days came, and the days went, and yesterday was the last day.
Then the mill caught fire. The flames rose up high, and beat out and in, and bit at the beams and planks, and ate them up. The mill fell, and nothing remained of it but a heap of ashes. The smoke drove across the scene of the conflagration, and the wind carried it away.
Whatever had been alive in the mill remained, and what had been gained by it has nothing to do with this story.
The miller’s family—one soul, many thoughts, and yet only one—built a new, a splendid mill, which answered its purpose. It was quite like the old one, and people said, “Why, yonder is the mill on the hill, proud to look at!” But this mill was better arranged, more according to the time than the last, so that progress might be made. The old beams had become worm-eaten and spongy—they lay in dust and ashes. The body of the mill did not rise out of the dust as they had believed it would do. They had taken it literally, and all things are not to be taken literally.
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