Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, 1905-05-23

Lewis will occupy the cottage on Ma
rietta street just below Mr. Thos. w.
Rhymes.
THE MIRROR OF FATE.
A Venetian Legend Of the Days Of
the Doees.
Here Is a legend which l heard In
Venice. l offer 1t to all among you
who are fond of solitude and silence.
offer 1t to you as 1 would offer
flower which has blossomed amid
somber shadows on sleeping lagoon:
Ghita Gherardini was the niece OF
the doge Poets whose names we have
forgotten. but who were renowned at
that time, had composed innumerable
songs in her honor. They praised In
them the tresses of the young girl
black as night, in which pearls gleam-
ed like milk white stars. They also
sang about the radiance Of her dark
violet eyes and about the two roses
which formed her lips. In truth, Ghita
Gherardini was very beautiful. She
had however, listened too earnestly to
the passionate words Of the singers
and an immense pride took possession
of her young soul. De-.
One night she heard beneath her
window the yearning sob of lutte.
Standing in a motionless gondola, a
lovesick page was singing to her.
Tender was the music. and the water
and the darkness added something to
the sweetness of the strains and to
the passion in the voice of the sing
er. The young page was clarifying
her as the most radiant among all wo-
men.
Ghita heard him. and a delightful
tremor ran through her. Without wait
ing to light the torches, which had
gone out, she took her mirror and ran
to the window, through which the
moonlight shone into her room. There
upon in this mysterious light she saw
that she was strangely beautiful; that
her beauty was indeed almost su-
pernatural. The moonlight revealed
her pale and transparent, like the
princess Of a poem.
Intoxicated with her charms, she
let the seductive mirror slip from her
ecstacy escaped her as she cried:
ecstacy escaped here as she cried:
'I am beautiful! l am beautiful"
Thenceforth Ghita Gherardini spent
all her time marveling at her own
beauty. She did not desire to fall In
love. for she fancied that there was no
man living who was worthy OF her.
Those songs which had no words OF
praise for her eyes and her hair she
treated with contempt, and to the
mysteries of religion she never gave
thought.
She went to high mass solely for
the purpose of being seen by the peo-
pie and of being flattered by them as
they whispered to one another about
her. The restless eyes were never
turned toward the altar. ..
She thought of nothing save her
own triumphant beauty and OF the
Jewels which set 1t off in sumptuous
fashion.
One day Ghita Gherardini slipped a
little mirror beside the first page or
her mass book, which had been deli
cately Illuminated by a pious artist,
And while her attitude Of devotion
edited the multitude she studied her
face enshrined in the book Of prayer.
The doge's niece had forgotten that
the Creator alone is worthy of wer-
ship and not any of his creatures. she
had also forgotten that pride is an
abominable sin-aye, perhaps the most
perilous of all sins-since 1t was the
cause of the rebellion of the archan-
gels and the downfall of Lucifer.
One day Ghita Gherardina was In
tently studying her face in the little
mirror between the holy leaves Of her
mass book, and suddenly she uttered a
loud cry of terror Through the large
building it rang, drowning the solemn
voice of the priest, the responses OF the
congregation and the sonorous muir
mur of the organ. And straightway
the doge's niece fell to the ground In
faint. She had seen reflected In the
guilty mirror the sacrilegious mirror
not her own countenance, but that OF
Death.
There Is today in the Church Of San
Giorgis Maggiore, where this miracle
was accomplished, the statue of wo-
man. who is seated and looking at her
self in a mirror. Very beautiful Is
this woman, as beautiful as Ghita
Gherardini was formerly. The story
goes that this statue is the work of a
famous sculptor, but the people be-
lieve-and their legends contain
good deal of truth-that 1t was once
Ghita Gherardini herself and that her
body was turned into stone by the
terrible vision.
To all those who love the silence OF
dead cities l offer this legend. found
1t at Venice as one occasionally finds
a flower which has blossomed amid
somber shadows on a sleeping lagoon
Helene de Zuylen de Nyevelt In
European Edition New York Herald.