The Strand Magazine/Volume 3/Issue 15/In the Midst of the Sea
From the Italian of the Countess Bice de Benvenuti.
I.
"
HAT can be the matter with Master Andrea?"
"Ah! he has not lighted the lamp!"
"Perhaps he has gone to sleep."
"Or been taken ill."
"Good heavens! What if he were to die out there all alone!"
"Oh, no! he can't be dead!"
"Let us hope not. It does not do to be always thinking of misfortune."
"True; but the light does not appear. We must go and find out what's the matter."
"It would be impossible to venture out now."
"We must go to-morrow. It is only right that some one should go."
This conversation was taking place between a group of fishermen on the coast of Roccamarina, their voices rendered almost inaudible by the roar of the tempest-tossed sea.
It was winter, and the night pitch dark. All eyes were turned from the seashore to the spot where rises the majestic lighthouse of Isolotto: for on that late hour of night not a gleam of light had been seen shining.
The lighthouse of Isolotto was not only a beacon to warn the mariner of certain dangerous rocks which lie beneath the waters around that spot; but it was almost a friend, a kind of star of hope to the residents of Roccamarina. Hence on that night their thoughts were of Master Andrea, the keeper of the lighthouse.
On the following morning although the sea was calmer and the sky less threatening, yet not a sail could be seen on the horizon, nor did a single fisherman venture out from the shore.
Two stalwart sailors silently unfastened a boat from the port of Roccamarina, launched it into the sea and pulled at the oars with might and main across the waves towards the rock of Isolotto. The distance was considerable, and they laboured hard, for the waves rose high, and the cold was intense. But these difficulties were not thought of; for their whole mind was centred on that man who, alone in the midst of the sea and perhaps in some dire trouble, might be wanting help and even wrestling with death.
A strange and uecxpected reception awaited them.
"Who are you? What do you want? Where have you come from?"
Such were the questions, uttered in no gentle tones, with which the keeper of the lighthouse greeted the brave seamen.
"We have come for news of you," they replied, "but, Heaven be praised, you are safe!"
"News of me!" cried Master Andrea in a voice of thunder. News, indeed! Are you gone mad, to come out in such weather merely to ask how I am."
"Pardon us, but you did not light the lamps last night, and at Roccamarina people were beginning to fear something had gone wrong."
At this point Master Andrea, who had not moved, and was solely occupied in pulling his long, black beard, should have assisted his friends to come in; but he hesitated, and at length came slowly forward, and with very bad grace and undisguised ill-humour helped them to land.
"So I did not light the lamp!" he growled. "That is not true; but even if it were, is it not allowable to forget for once? Suppose that I were ill, for instance. As for the rest, you are welcome to think what you please; I won't be troubled with you."
"He followed the retreating boat with his eyes."
The two good seamen of Roccamarina were perfectly dumb-founded at this welcome. However, from motives of prudence, they made no reply to Master Andrea. But when he added, "It will be better for you to return home; I have no need of you," they both resented his language.
"We shall not return at once," they said, in a loud voice. "If you are so determined to order us away, we prefer to rest a while and warm ourselves at a good fire, and drink a good draught of wine before we return."
So saying, they resolutely leaped on to the rock, fastened their boat, and entered the little room which served Master Andrea as a kitchen. The latter slowly began to light a small fire, then drew out a bottle of wine, uncorked it, and set it down on the table with two glasses, without uttering a word.
In silence the bottle was drank, the seamen warmed themselves as well as they could while the bits of fire lasted, and then, exchanging a few words in a low tone, they both rose to go, merely observing aloud that the sea had calmed down.
Whilst they withdrew, muttering that Master Andrea was the grumpiest being in the world, and that it was only losing their time to trouble about him, the keeper of the lighthouse stood on the farthest point of the rock, and followed the retreating boat with his eyes. He was well pleased with himself, and perfectly satisfied, and he pulled vigorously at his great black beard, whilst a malicious smile passed across his countenance.
"So, so!" he said to himself. "So they think I am incapable! But what do I care what they think? I have succeeded in my scheme, and that is enough."
When the boat was well out of sight he descended the stairs, quickly lifted the latch of his bedroom, gently opened the door, and stopped to listen attentively.
II.
Master Andrea was one of those unfortunate beings whose life had known no smile. He had been brought up in idleness, yet without love, the child of a selfish, capricious mother, and a father who only knew how to grow rich, and was thoroughly heartless.
By the humble dwellers of Roccamarina, little Andrea was called from his childhood "Master Andrea," for he was the son of Master Antonio, who would, as an only son, come to inherit the busy blacksmith's forge on the shore, which yielded a good income with small trouble. In a word, he was a lad who was much envied, because it was known that, besides the forge, there was a good house and various farms which his father was purchasing in the neighbourhood, and that some day he would be the owner of some thousand lire.
How it happened is not known, but one day Master Andrea, who was in the city studying as a gentleman, was summoned in all haste to Roccamarina. It was two years since he had been home, and he now learnt for the first time that his mother had died some months previously, without remembering him, or even leaving him a message, and that his father had just been drowned in the sea. He also found that the vaunted wealth of his father had mysteriously dwindled away, and that nothing remained to him but the duty of paying off his debts. The forge was sold, the beautiful house fared the same fortune, and the farms one by one all passed into other hands.
Two years after this catastrophe, Master Andrea, who had been always reputed a gentleman of means, found himself merely the owner of a small vineyard.
Averse to taking a position less than that of a proprietor, it seemed to him hard to go and seek work. Hence when he made out his calculations and reckoned that out of this little plot of land he could obtain his daily bread, he said to himself: "Well, I am alone! I may have only dry bread and minestra to eat, but I shall be independent." And he proceeded to shut himself up in his small estate, fully intending to turn agriculturist.
He was covetous, and of a naturally melancholy character. He saw all things in a dismal light, and though still youthful, yet had no affections, and no hopes, not even a loving remembrance of bygone days, to cheer him. His parents had spent their married life in quarrelling with one another, and had often made him the innocent victim of their ill-humour. They had rendered his home perfectly unbearable, and therefore when he found himself far from them, and alone, he experienced a sense of peace and rest. And when in course of time this enforced coldness of a desolate hearth seemed to weary him, he had only to evoke the memories of the sad scenes he had witnessed in his childhood for his empty hearth and desolate existence to appear to him not only tolerable, but even pleasant.
But he was truly lonely. Not a relative, not a friend of the family had he to care for him! His parents had formed no friendships; and he himself knew not how to win them. The fact of his being better educated and in easier circumstances than the miserable fishermen of Roccamarina seemed to place a barrier around him; that talkative, active population, engaged in fishing and in traffic, and always in good spirits, could not understand how a young man should not draw his fellow-beings around him, and wrestle with his evil fortunes.
Master Andrea, from a wish to be left at peace, repelled all social intercourse, without taking into account that a man who lives selfishly for himself may free himself of many sorrows and trials, but that he also deprives himself of sharing the joys of human existence. He would not marry, fearing to bring trouble upon himself, and because he judged all women undesirable companions.
"Ah! you will soon experience the joys of a family!" he would exclaim bitterly, whenever the bells of Roccamarina merrily announced a wedding; and he truly felt compassion for the pair, although he did not know them.
In this way, leading a colourless, monotonous existence, he reached his fortieth year. He tended his vineyard, and read the newspapers and books with which a fellow student regularly supplied him. But the vineyard responded badly to his assiduous care, and left him almost destitute; and books and newspapers no longer satisfied the cravings of his existence. The latter spoke to him of the needs of a social revolution, of the cruelty of the wealthy classes, of the inertness of the poor, and depicted the world in unreal colours; and while assuming to care for the good of the people, instilled into the masses hate and distrust, rather than peace and love.
"He tended his vineyard."
He became weary of himself, of his vineyard, and more so of the world from which he lived removed. One day it was rumoured that the aged keeper of the lighthouse of Isolotto had died, and that a substitute was wanted. In his present frame of mind it seemed to him that it would be a desirable thing to go and live there in the midst of the sea, with his pipe, his books, and his papers. To those who said to him invariably, "Ah, Master Andrea, you'll soon see what a charming life that is!" he would reply, coldly, that it was a matter of indifference where he lived. Nevertheless, he felt vaguely that a change was coming in his life, if no more than the new sensation that he had a daily duty to perform—a lamp to light! He sought and obtained the post, and to Isolotto he went.
For several years he lived contentedly, speaking to no one save once a week, for a few minutes on Sunday mornings, when the sailors brought him his provisions; and during this long term he had never omitted to light the lamp, except on the night when the fishermen of Roccamarina had so anxiously watched the sea and asked one another, "Is Master Andrea dead or ill?"
None of these anxious watchers could have guessed what unaccustomed thing it was that had happened to the keeper of the lighthouse of Isolotto.
III.
Two days previously, whilst the furious waves lashed the rock of the lighthouse as though it would be dashed to pieces, Master Andrea had been awakened in the middle of the night by the unusual sound of a human voice—a weak cry, which seemed close to him.
He rose hurriedly, and listened with attention. He descended to the platform, but he could see nothing. For a moment he thought he must have been dreaming; but no, that was not possible. Some one must have cried for help, thinking to save himself upon that rock, to which the light had guided him.
Master Andrea grew anxious. "Who's there?" he shouted. He seemed to hear a sigh. Again he listened; and then determined to examine the rock. Lantern in hand, he hurried round it, and, to his surprise, discovered on a slant a child lying drenched to the skin, and to all appearance dead. He had been cast up by the storm.
"Was it indeed the storm?" he asked himself. "No," he thought, "some one must have placed him there for safety—his father or his mother; but whoever had done so had disappeared—had, no doubt, been drowned."
An hour later the little one was lying in the bed of Master Andrea, well warmed and wrapped in blankets, and was slowly recovering consciousness and vital heat. He turned round with a sigh, opened his eyes, and looked up, saying in a weak voice, "Papa!" A hand tenderly stroked his brow, and mutely led him to believe that "papa" was really near him.
For the rest of the night and during the whole of the next day Master Andrea never quitted the child.
"He must be feverish," he cried, as he saw the little form toss and throw the clothes off his bed. "Oh, heavens! what if he were to die here amid the waves!"
This apprehension seemed to give him a strange discouragement. His heart beat anxiously, and he suffered acutely.
"No!" he cried, "I shall not let him be moved. I wish him to live and recover. I will save him!"
Wrapping the child up, he took him on his knee and nestled him to his breast as a tender mother would have done. A new sensation had come over him. That day he forgot the world, he forgot himself, and at night forgot to light the lamp!
In the morning the unusual noise of oars, announcing the approach of a boat, broke upon his abstraction. He stood up, sorely agitated. Might they not be coming to claim the child and take him away! A thousand voices seemed to be whispering within him—Do not let him be taken away! he belongs to you—he is your treasure-trove!
Hence, when he descended to meet his visitors he received them with the gruff reception already described. And scarcely had he freed himself of his unwelcome guests than he ran back hurriedly, as though he had escaped some danger.
The child slept soundly. On beholding that little, fair curly head pressing the pillow of his bed, Master Andrea experienced a sudden feeling of intense joy, and he smiled, perhaps for the first time in his life!
"He took Carletto on his knee and told him stories."
A few days later, the child, whom we shall call Carletto, had quite recovered, and formed a striking contrast, with his fair winsome face of a three-year-old infant, to the sombre, black-bearded man whom he so charmingly persisted in calling "Papa."
There had commenced a new life for Master Andrea. He ran up and down stairs with the nimble little trotter to show him how he lit the lamp, and cleaned it, and put it out. He took Carletto on his knee and told him stories. He went almost without food in order that his pet should have the best of his allowance. Yet all this afforded him a new pleasure. And what of his anxiety to keep him concealed at any sacrifice? Ah! had the sailors who every Sunday morning brought his weekly provisions, and who landed on the rock of Isolotto, so much as suspected the existence of a child? But this fact Master Andrea was resolved upon keeping a secret, and thus he preferred to suffer hunger rather than ask for an increase of provisions, lest the sailors should demand the reason why.
For many months all went well. Master Andrea fasted without any ill effects, and from being selfish and moody he became chatty and merry.
Only once a week was he inexorably severe with Carletto. On Sunday mornings he used to lock him up in the highest stage of the turret and refuse to release him until the boat from Roccamarina was well on its return. During the rest of the week Carletto was his tyrant, his idol, his joy, his very life. And as the possession of a precious thing induces the conviction that the possessor has a right to it, so did Master Andrea after six months had elapsed live at peace, without misgivings.
But one Sunday his visitors thought they perceived a rosy little face flattened against the highest window of the tower.
"I fancy I see a child's face!" said one of the sailors.
"Yes," replied the other, "it is a child's face!"
"Aha! so Master Andrea has a child up there!"
"Won't we chaff him about it!"
Both the seamen, as soon as they saw the keeper, commenced to chaff him about the child. But Master Andrea turned deadly pale; he trembled from head to foot, and made incoherent replies, until at last he was forced to tell the whole truth. How gladly he would have strangled those two importunate gossips! Yet when they listened to the story, they became serious in their turn. Then they told him in reproachful tones that a poor lady from the neighbouring village passed day and night upon the shore stricken with grief, and awaiting the return of her husband and her child, who had gone to visit some relatives along the coast, and who had never returned. Carletto was, no doubt, the child of this sorrowing mother. Why had Master Andrea kept the affair so secret? Why? did he perchance think that the child had fallen from the clouds? Did he not think that it might have a mother? Or did he judge that it was nobody's child?
Master Andrea heard all these reproaches in mute dismay. He kept his eyes upon the ground, and seemed as though he had turned suddenly to stone.
At length he looked up.
"Take him away!" he said, in a low, husky voice. "I did not think he had a mother. I do not wish to keep him from her. I could not! Quick! return and tell the lady that her child is safe. No! stay!—take him to her at once!"
Slowly, sombrely, like to one who complies with a duty that entails an immense sacrifice, he went up to seek Carletto. For a few minutes he kept him in the room. He took him up in his arms, he smoothed his little head, he clasped him to his breast and kissed him passionately, and clipped a curl of his light hair. Then, somewhat consoled by the tears shed by the child on parting from him, he carerully placed him in the boat.
When the boat was quite lost to view, he went indoors, and resolved to forget the whole adventure. He gathered together his books and newspapers, which had been of late sorely neglected, and sat down to read. All to no purpose. They seemed to tell him of the march of society, they spoke to him of a future inevitable social revolution, and in alarm he cried, "What will become of Carletto?"
Unable to repress the yearning of his heart, he would daily stand for hours looking towards the shores of Roccamarina. On all sides he was surrounded by the immensity of the ocean.
He felt he could no longer live "in the midst of the sea."
IV.
Ten months have passed. Master Andrea is no longer the keeper of the lighthouse of Isolotto.
He affirmed that living in the midst of the sea did not agree with his health; but the fishermen of Roccamarina declared that he longed to have his dense black beard pulled by the chubby hands of little Carletto.
Master Andrea lives in his paternal house tending the vineyard; but he is not alone. He has taken in the sorrow-stricken widow and her child, and labours day and night to support them.
He is perfectly resigned to his lot when he hears himself called "Papa" by the darling little fellow who, "in the midst of the sea," taught him how sweet it is to follow the commands of love.
