Long ago there was a Count and Countess who lived in a lovely chateau in France. One can believe that they had many lovely things and knew many lovely people, and that, altogether, their life was quite lovely. But despite what most people would understand the life of a Count and Countess to be like, no noble title or manner of objects was enough to prevent them from the, rather common, grievances of marriage.
The Count and the Countess had fallen in love some years ago, perhaps at a ball or some other high-end social affair they were both accustomed to attending. The courting was brief, but arguably passionate, and before either of them knew it, they stood, facing each other at the altar. The early years of their marriage were colored by extravagant romance; countless vacations to exotic lands, expensive treasures exchanged between them as though merely trifles, and languorous evenings spent feeding one other decadent pastries and other such treats. Eager to prove their love for one another and with such ample pleasures at hand, the Count and Countess never expected the flame of their love would die out.
As the years began to accumulate, however, the worldly sights began to lose their luster, the priceless gifts diminished in worth, and the delectable items of their indulgence were never as sweet as they had once been. The Count and Countess grew old and apart from one another, often spending their days in entirely separate rooms of their chateau. In the afternoons, the Countess could be found sipping tea and reading poetry in the drawing room, while the Count was reclined in his study, smoking a cigar and reading philosophy. In the evenings they shared the dining room; typically in utter silence. And when they were not in utter silence it would happen that they had found some small subject to bicker and argue over. On one such vociferous evening, the Countess complained that she and the Count never spent any time together. To which the Count argued that the Countess was never satisfied with any activity they participated in. According to the Count, any time he took his wife to the theatre, the opera, the park, even a restaurant in the city, she would find some occasion to complain. This statement fueled a fierce rebuttal from the Countess, in which she chastised the Count for being a terribly neglectful husband. For, in her view, she had never once complained about anything they did together, rather it was the Count who would always whine childishly about having to dress up to go out. The argument became so explosive that, at the top of his lungs, the Count declared he was going to spend the entirety of the following day with his wife, and that would be that. So, the great battle came to a standstill and the Count retired for his evening cigar as the Countess readied herself for bed.
As she was about to extinguish the light from her bedside lamp, the Countess happened to spot what she perceived to be the slight movement of a shadow in the corner of the room. At first, she assumed it was merely an illusion of the light. But as she gazed more fixedly at the point, it twitched and seemed to grow until it had completely morphed into the rather terrifying visage of what appeared to be a man made entirely of shadow. The Countess was far too horrified to do anything other than utter a small cry. The shadowy figure advanced towards her and introduced itself as the personage of Death. Still somewhat paralyzed in a state of disbelief, the Countess managed to ask if he had come for her, to which Death replied he had not. Instead, Death told her, he had come for the life of her husband, the Count.
The Countess found this news incredibly upsetting, for she very suddenly and quite vividly remembered everything she had ever loved about the Count. She realized that it had never been about their lavish lifestyle or their petty arguments but about the warmth and tenderness they had once felt and could perhaps feel again. Somewhere underneath the bitterness and solemnity that had aged their marriage, there was still the spark of true love that the Countess could not bear the thought of living without. She knelt before Death and pleaded with him not to take her husband away.
Death, as he is often considered to be, was in a bargaining mood and explained to the Countess that she could save her husband by completing a rather simple task. The Countess replied that she would be willing to do anything. So Death told her that he would take her soul and place it inside the mirror of her powder room, thus encasing it within her own reflection. The task Death charged her with was to keep continuous eye contact with her own soul from the moment she looked into the mirror in the morning until the moon rose that evening. For no reason whatsoever would the Countess be permitted to break focus between herself and her reflection. Doing so would result in the Count’s immediate death. The Countess agreed to the terms laid before her, as it was the only hope she had of saving her husband. Death left her to a night of tossing and turning next to the snoring Count, who was blissfully unaware of the grave peril he was in.
The morning light crept in far too quickly and discovered the Countess wide awake. Quietly, she crept into the powder room and slipped in front of the mirror, coming face to face with her own soul, which appeared to be not a single bit different from her own reflection. And so she sat there, in the early hours of the morning, looking into her own eyes, quite determinedly. It was early the afternoon when the Count knocked on the powder room door inquiring whether or not the Countess was ready for him to take her out as he had so emphatically vowed to do the previous evening. The Countess replied that she was still in the process of dressing and would not be ready for some time.
The Count returned within the hour with the same question as before, to which the Countess fashioned some other excuse as to why she could not leave her powder room. This scene became a repetition as the day progressed and the Count grew increasingly agitated. Just as the sky was beginning to darken, the Count, once more, made his presence outside the powder room known by violently pounding on the door. By this time, the Countess was very fatigued from having spent the whole day locked in the room, yet she thought only of her husband. If only he knew what was really happening inside the powder room, how she was saving his life. Instead, the pounding crescendoed into thunderous blasts and the Count screamed at her, threatening to break down the door. No sooner had he done so than the door gave way and he burst into the powder room in a red-faced rage. Despite the incredible disturbance, the Countess managed to keep her focus on the mirror.
When the Count saw her sitting there, having not even changed from her night-clothes, he broke into tears of frustration. In a voice hoarse from yelling and wrought with anger, he begged the Countess to tell him why she had locked herself inside the room for the day. The Countess replied that she had been feeling rather unwell since early that morning and simply could not move from her chair. The Count knew her to be lying and the fact quite fairly broke his heart. He revealed to her that all he had wanted to do that day was spend time with her in the hopes that it would rekindle the passion they once had. Tears formed in the Countess’ eyes as the Count told her of how he had been remembering all the happy days they used to spend together and how he wished for it to be that way again. She desperately tried to convey that she returned the sentiment but the Count did not believe her. He argued that she would not even look at him as she spoke of her love for him. The Countess had no excuse for this but attempted all the more to prove what she felt any way she could without looking at him. The Count would have none of it unless she was looking into his eyes. The Countess knew she could not, and her only hope was that the moon would rise quickly so that her deal with Death would be broken.
However, the Count’s agitation swelled once more, and he demanded that she look away from her reflection. The Countess pleaded with him, for she could see by the reflection of the window in the mirror that it was nearly dark and that the moon would soon rise. Yet the Count was unaware of what that meant and descended into an infuriated rant regarding the Countess‘ heartless vanity, suggesting that she appeared to be more in love with her own reflection than with him. That was the thought that broke him. Without a second thought, he snatched up a nearby jewelry box and smashed the mirror. Just a second afterward, the pale white moon drifted into view. Death took his shadowy form and presented himself to the Countess and Count, the latter of whom fell back in terror. The Countess informed Death that she had kept her end of the bargain and had stared at her soul the entire day without looking away.
But Death, as he is often thought to be, was far too clever and pointed out that the Count had broken the mirror, which had contained the Countess’ soul, thereby mandating that the destruction of a soul issued the demise of its vessel. And before either the Count or Countess could comprehend his logic, the Countess collapsed in Death’s dark arms; her final gaze filled only with love, and focused only on the Count. Death gently rested the lifeless body on the floor and then stared for a moment at the Count. Though there was immediate fear in his eyes, Death could see that, beneath it, there was genuine love and a new dawning of insurmountable grief at the loss of that love. Death was softened by this, and before he slipped back into formless shadow, he promised the Count that he would one day be reunited with his Countess in the afterlife.
The Count buried his wife and grieved for her long-after. He lived miserably without her for several more years, always regretting his anger and his foolish act of breaking the mirror. Finally, the appointed hour came when Death’s familiar shadow crept in on him. The Count entered Death's arms happily and his soul was carried to the Underworld. The first thing that greeted him there was the soul of his wife, more overjoyed than the Count could ever remember seeing her. The soul of the Count fell to his knees and begged her to forgive him for breaking the mirror and for having ever forgot how much he loved her. The Countess’ soul embraced him and asked for his forgiveness for having ever made him feel as though she did not love him. With joyous tears, they forgave each other, with the knowledge that nothing in life, or in death, was worth more than something as simple as true love.
