Letters From My Windmill by Alphonse Daudet (korean novels in english TXT) 📕

ran high,the Sanguinaires were shrouded in white sea spray, and they were cutoff for two or three months at a time, sometimes in terrible conditions.

—I tell you what happened to me, monsieur,—old Bartoli told me oneday, while we were eating,—it was five years ago, at this very table,one winter evening, just like this one. That night, there were just thetwo of us, me and a fellow keeper called Tchéco…. The others wereashore, or sick, or else on leave…. I can't remember, now…. We werefinishing our dinners, quite contentedly…. Suddenly, my fellow keeperstopped eating, looked at me with strange eyes, and fell forward ontothe table with outstretched arms. I went to him; I shook him; I calledhis name:

"—Hey Tché!… Hey Tché!…

"No response! He was dead!… You can't imagine how I felt! I stayedthere, idiot-like and trembling, next to the body for more than anhour. Then suddenly, I remembered,—The Light!—I only just had time toclimb up to light the lantern—it was already getting dark….

"What a night, monsieur! The sea and the wind, they just didn't soundlike they usually do. All the time somebody seemed to be calling to mefrom down the stairway…. I became frenzied; my mouth dried. But youcouldn't have made me go down there again…. Oh no! I was too scaredof the dead body. However, in the small hours, some of my couragereturned. I went down and carried my mate back to his bed, covered himover with a sheet, said a short prayer, and then ran to raise the alarm.

"Unfortunately, the sea was too heavy; I shouted as loudly as I could,again and again, but to no avail, nobody came…. So, I was alone inthe lighthouse with poor Tchéco, and for God knows how long. I washoping to be able to keep him close to me until the boat came, butafter three days that became impossible…. What should I have done?Carried him outside? Buried him? The rock was too hard and there aremurders of crows on the island. It was a shame to leave a Christian tothem. And then I decided to take him down to one of the lodges in thelazaretto…. That sad duty lasted a whole afternoon and, yes, it tooksome courage…. Look here, Monsieur, even today, when I go down tothat part of the island through an afternoon gale, I feel that the deadman is still there, on my shoulders…."

Poor old Bartoli! Sweat ran down his forehead just thinking about it.

* * * * *

And so, our meals passed in long conversations about the lighthouse,and the sea, with tales of shipwrecks, and Corsican bandits…. Then,as night fell, the keeper of the first watch lit his hand-lamp, tookhis pipe, flask, and a red-edged, thick volume of Plutarch, which wasthe sum total of the Sanguinaires' library, and went down out ofsight. A moment later, there was a crash of chains, pulleys, and heavyweights as the clock was wound up.

While this was going on, I went to sit outside on the terrace. The sun,already well down, hurried its descent into the water, dragging thewhole skyline with it. The wind freshened; the island turned violet. Inthe sky a big bird passed slowly near me; it was the eagle homing tothe Genoese tower…. Gradually, a sea mist got up. Soon, nothing couldbe seen except a white ridge of sea-fog around the island. Suddenly, agreat flood of light emerged above my head from the lighthouse. Theclear ray left the island in complete darkness as it fell far out tosea, and I, too, was lost to sight in the night, under the greatluminous sweeps which barely caught me as they passed…. But the windwas freshening again. Time to go indoors. I groped to close the hugedoor, I secured the iron bars, and then, still feeling my way, took thesmall cast-iron stairs, which trembled and rang under my feet, to thetop of the lighthouse. Here, as you can imagine, there was plenty oflight.

Picture a gigantic lamp with six rows of wicks with the inner facets ofthe lantern arranged around them, some with an enormous crystal glasslens, others opened onto a large fixed glass panel which protected theflame from the wind…. When I came in, I was completely dazzled, andthe coppers, tins, white metal reflectors, rotating walls of convexcrystal glass, with large blue-tinged circles, and all the flickeringlights, gave me a touch of vertigo.

However, gradually my eyes got used to it, and I settled down at thefoot of the lamp, beside the keeper who was reading his Plutarch—forfear of falling asleep….

Outside, all was dark and desperate. On the small turning balcony, amaddening gust of wind howled. The lighthouse creaked; the sea roared.Out on the point, the breakers on the shoals sounded like cannonshots…. At times, an invisible finger tapped at the panes; it wassome bird of the night, drawn by the light, braining itself against theglass….

Inside the sparkling, hot lantern, nothing was heard except thecrackling flame, the dripping oil, the chain unwinding and themonotonous intoning of the life of Demetrius of Phaleron….

* * * * *

At midnight, the keeper stood up, took a last peek at the wicks and wewent below. We passed the keeper of the second watch, rubbing his eyesas he came up. We gave him the flask and the Petrarch. Then, beforeretiring, we briefly entered the locker-room below, which was full ofchains, heavy weights, metal tanks, and rope. By the light of his smalllamp, the keeper wrote in the large lighthouse log, always left open atthe last entry:

Midnight. Heavy seas. Tempest. Ship at sea.

THE WRECK OF THE SEMILLANTE

The other night the mistral took us off course to the Corsican coast,so to speak. Let's stay there, as it were, while I tell you of anhorrific event, often talked about by the local fishermen during theirevening get-togethers, the details of which came to me by chance.

About two or three years ago, I was out sailing on the Sardinian Seawith seven or eight customs' men. A tough trip for a landlubber! Therehadn't been a single fair day in the whole of March.