Nisida | Page 9

Nisida was adored by her young friends, all the mothers had adopted
her with pride; she was the glory of the island. The opinion of her
superiority was shared by everyone to such a degree, that if some bold
young man, forgetting the distance which divided him from the maiden,
dared speak a little too loudly of his pretensions, he became the
laughing-stock of his companions. Even the past masters of tarentella
dancing were out of countenance before the daughter of Solomon, and
did not dare to seek her as a partner. Only a few singers from Amalfi or
Sorrento, attracted by the rare beauty of this angelic creature, ventured
to sigh out their passion, carefully veiled beneath the most delicate

allusions. But they seldom reached the last verse of their song; at every
sound they stopped short, threw down their triangles and their
mandolines, and took flight like scared nightingales.
One only had courage enough or passion enough to brave the mockery;
this was Bastiano, the most formidable diver of that coast. He also sang,
but with a deep and hollow voice; his chant was mournful and his
melodies full of sadness. He never accompanied himself upon any
instrument, and never retired without concluding his song. That day he
was gloomier than usual; he was standing upright, as though by
enchantment, upon a bare and slippery rock, and he cast scornful
glances upon the women who were looking at him and laughing. The
sun, which was plunging into the sea like a globe of fire, shed its light
full upon his stern features, and the evening breeze, as it lightly rippled
the billows, set the fluttering reeds waving at his feet. Absorbed by
dark thoughts, he sang, in the musical language of his country, these
sad words:--
"O window, that wert used to shine in the night like an open eye, how
dark thou art! Alas, alas! my poor sister is ill.
"Her mother, all in tears, stoops towards me and says, 'Thy poor sister
is dead and buried.'
"Jesus! Jesus! Have pity on me! You stab me to the heart.
"Tell me, good neighbours, how it happened; repeat to me her last
words.
"She had a burning thirst, and refused to drink because thou wast not
there to give her water from thy hand.
"Oh, my sister! Oh, my sister!
"She refused her mother's kiss, because thou wast not there to embrace
her.
"Oh, my sister! Oh, my sister!
"She wept until her last breath, because thou wast not there to dry her
tears.
"Oh, my sister! Oh, my sister!
"We placed on her brow her wreath of orangeflowers, we covered her
with a veil as white as snow; we laid her gently in her coffin.
"Thanks, good neighbours. I will go and be with her.
"Two angels came down from heaven and bore her away on their wings.
Mary Magdalene came to meet her at the gate of heaven.

"Thanks, good neighbours. I will go and be with her.
"There, she was seated in a place of glory, a chaplet of rubies was given
to her, and she is singing her rosary with the Virgin.
"Thanks, good neighbours. I will go and be with her."
As he finished the last words of his melancholy refrain, he flung
himself from the top of his rock into the sea, as though he really desired
to engulf himself. Nisida and the other women gave a cry of terror, for
during some minutes the diver failed to reappear upon the surface.
"Are you out of your senses?" cried a young man who had suddenly
appeared, unobserved among the women. "Why, what are you afraid of?
You know very well that Bastiano is always doing things of this sort.
But do not be alarmed: all the fishes in the Mediterranean will be
drowned before any harm comes to him. Water is his natural element.
Good-day, sister; good-day, father."
The young fisherman kissed Nisida on the forehead, drew near to his
father, and, bowing his handsome head before him, took off his red cap
and respectfully kissed the old man's hand. He came thus to ask his
blessing every evening before putting out to sea, where he often spent
the night fishing from his boat.
"May God bless thee, my Gabriel!" said the old man in a tone of
emotion, as he slowly passed his hand over his son's black curls, and a
tear came into his eye. Then, rising solemnly and addressing the groups
around him, he added in a voice full of dignity and of gentleness.
"Come, my children, it is time to separate. The young to work, the old
to rest. There is the angelus ringing."
Everybody knelt, and after a short prayer each went on his way. Nisida,
after having given