The Mirror of Jealousy © Jenny Alderson
Call me Isabel. For I have hunted my own Great White Whale, the white whale of Beauty. From my earliest age I have pined to be the greatest beauty the world has ever seen. Oh, how I hated and envied Helen of Troy. Like her I wished to be the child of Aphrodite, Goddess of Love. As a child people say I was a great beauty. From the earliest possible age they would comment my rouged lips and cheeks with pale blue eye shadow and mascara. (In those days only a whorish woman would wear makeup.) Men committed suicide over me. I was quite proud of that fact. I was haughty and violent myself. That my mercurial temper would overflow to cause men acts of desperation was more to me than anything. My legs were like a young colts; my neck was like a swan's. My skin was ivory with a yellowish tinge—but then that was the fashion in those days. My dyed black hair was upswept into a heart shaped arrangement with two knobs on top but without my hair flowing down. My figure was sculpted; I had more in common with Joan Crawford with my girdle and corset than with the modern actresses whose hair drapes around their faces. My breasts were fulsome, my hips round. As for my temperament—I was prone to adolescent fits of rage. My eyes flashed and my voice hardened without rising; but that was what they liked about me. I especially took my anger out on the whipping girl, Sandra. Sandra was a lazy little thing, plump with blue eyes and Shirley Temple curls, only lighter. Sandra got many beatings. Most of them were for me: I threw tantrums and said hurtful things and so people naturally beat the whipping girl to show me I how I needed to behave. Yet some of the welts she had were for her sleepy disposition. In fact, laziness was her chief vice. She would not study hard but only read light fiction or dream of some new Romeo whom she hoped would take her away and marry her for love. I disdained such pastimes. What I loved best was horse riding and politics. I studied history deeply in the hopes to learn the skills by which women clawed their way out of the bedroom and boardroom and into the court. Although my marriage prospects were good, I sincerely wanted more than to sit by husband's side while he made the decisions of the kingdom. Of course, I was an only daughter and that made the matter easier. As it turned out, Sandra came to be quite useful to me. Of course, the reason why at first made me quite angry: one of my suitors fell in love with Sandra. At first I was quite angry at the two of them, especially as they requested help in convincing Father to let this prince marry the girl who served as my whipping girl. However, then I realized a way these two could help me: Sandra's beau could help me get the spell book of the witch Ethel of Endor, a witch so named because it was believed she learned her magic from a guild in Israel where she had traveled to learn the spells of the original Witch of Endor—King Saul's witch, who brought up Samuel's ghost. This witch was known for her black magic, her poisons and disguises. She did more than dabble in love potions—the territory of ordinary midwives (who she held in contempt). Instead she even knew the right herbs—Queen Anne 's Lace, as it turned out—to induce abortions. She was known for being clever with her hands. Still, being offered my help to convince father to give Sandra an appropriate dowry to marry her prince, the two of them went off together to get the Book of Spells owned by Ethel of Endor. As I hoped for the best I received my suitors. The newest of the group was King Albert—a widower who was a handsome in the way of a retired athlete. By this I mean that he had a square jaw and a few extra pounds, but otherwise was quite good looking. He was a widower twice my age and had a little daughter “Snow White.” The girl—although I had not seen her—was supposed to be quite a pretty, little thing, even better looking than her mother. Her face was thin with a pointed chin even at that age, her skin was exquisite and her eyes and hair were coal black. Her lips and cheeks were the color of roses. Fleet like a deer with a young rabbit's softness, Snow White was said to be quite unique, and yet also a truly innocent and trusting child. My father did not expect me to like King Albert—although kind and considerate, King Albert still grieved the loss of his late wife. Besides, although impeccably well mannered, King Albert and his daughter were really quite rustic. They did not really understand big cities as well as the countryside, and King Albert preferred his hunting dogs to his courtiers as companions. This was odd, because King Albert was not all that keen on hunting. What he really seemed to like the dogs for was as pets. Even in my father's kingdom he soon knew the names of all the dogs even while our politics were of little interest to him. It was said of him, “Oh, King Albert does not really expect to gain the hand of Isabel; he has come in order to be turned away. King Albert has come only to satisfy his wanderlust. Soon he will go home and be pleased enough to spend time in the forests of his realm chasing foxes or training dogs.” Yet King Albert was so kind and so good that I was in fact tempted to marry him. Particularly after he gave me a looking glass, saying, “You can ask it any question in the world and this mirror will give you the answer.” So it was that behind the backs of my suitors and my father I started asking it, “Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?” And the mirror replied, “Fair Princess, truth to tell, the lady Mirabelle.” “What?!” I screamed. “Who is Mirabelle?” The mirror showed me a woman with golden curls pulled back. Her lips were full and her cheeks like Snow White's were rosy—but not quite as dark. Mirabelle wore a peasant's garb—for that is what she was. Apparently, so lovely she was that she was the toast of her village—and the lord of the local fiefdom was interested in marrying her if only her father would agree to allow him to. Of course, Mirabelle had already sworn her heart to a boy in the village. “This peasant! I'll kill her,” I ground my teeth in wrath. The mirror spoke calmly in a melodic, pleasant voice in verse with the words, “But Mirabelle, my dear, lives very far from here. Far over the hills she, is prettier than thee, but one of many who, could be judge this way, too.”
“Will Ethel of Endor's book help me?” I demanded. The mirror spoke in its same cool, collected manner. “The witch named Ethel has the book can make you as a woman as beautiful as any but with a toll for it is all done with art and someday someone's heart will be too lovely to be outdone by what you do on the day she marries than although she tarries on that day you will die and nobody will cry.”
I broke down in tears. And those tears led to fits of rage. If it had not been for how beautiful I looked in it; I would have broken the mirror itself. So it was that I wept and wept—not in sadness but in rage. However, I knew that it was my heart's desire to be the most beautiful woman in the kingdom. I believed in my own tantrum. I must be that equal to Aphrodite in the heavens above. More, I must be that beautiful goddess when I reached the age of eighty. It was too much to ask that I tolerate a rival. No matter how good or kind that rival was I could not allow her existence. I must be Mirabelle's rival less than the one even more beautiful than she. So it was that when Sandra and her beau came back, I got the story out of them quickly for the spell book before explaining to my father—without mentioning the book—that Sandra must marry my ex-beau. My father was none too pleased with this idea but went ahead with it. Sandra received a huge dowry—one prime duchy. As for how they got the book—why, that is a story in and of itself which I might as well write here. Sandra said, “I traveled through a great forest alone. The truth is that we got separated in the woods and I got quite lost. Still, I said my evening prayers and went to sleep—while Richard says he started to look for me. “However, as I slept a voice called to me, ‘Psst. Psst.' “I woke up to find a little iron man with a grizzled beard two feet tall. He could have been smelted out of iron had it not been for the liveliness of his features. The little man said, ‘Could you give me some crusts of bread?' “I said, ‘Of course,' even though my bread supply was low. “I gave him a whole loaf. “After he ate, he asked me, ‘Could you tell me your story.' “I told him that I was going to Ethel, the witch of Endor. “‘A nasty one, that,' he said. ‘Why are you going?' “And so I explained that the royal princess wanted the spell book and I was getting it so I could marry a prince. The little man said, ‘I don't entirely approve of this venture, but let's see if I can help.' “And so the little iron man drew out this ring,” and Sandra drew out a ring with a huge ruby. The ring itself was gold, but it was very ancient looking, while the ruby had not lost its luster. I was about to thank him when I looked up and saw that he had disappeared. “He said, ‘It will protect you from poison. Wear it at all times.' “So I traveled on. Somehow I knew I was on the right track and that I would travel on my own to get to the place where Ethel, the Witch of Endor lived. It was dark among the trees; I could not tell the difference between night and day. “Then I came to a clearing. In the clearing, there was a little house and a well. Was this it? The door opened to the little house and out came a stooped, elderly woman who looked like she could have been a witch—she even had a wart or two on her forehead—save for the fact that she had such a kindly expression on her face. “‘Dear,' she said to me, ‘Will you help me draw well from the water?' “And so I pulled water from the well—it was very heavy. I pulled more than one bucket of water. However, afterwards she became a beautiful woman with the same kind expression on her face. I recognized her as a fairy queen I'd seen in a picture book. I bowed to her and she said, ‘What are you doing in this forest?' “I explained the whole story and she gave me a girdle to wear. ‘This will keep you safe at night.' “Then the lady and the house disappeared. “So I traveled farther into the forest until I saw a little black cat—very petite. I reached down and pet it and it said, ‘Why are you here in the forest?' “I explained my mission to the little cat and it said, ‘I am the familiar of the Witch of Endor. However, because you are so kind and she is so wicked, I will help you. When you get to the house, the witch will give you a great feast—the food is poisoned, but your ring will protect you. Then you will lie down in a bed she gives you—but she will take an axe to cut off your head. Then in the morning she will offer to fix you breakfast. As she offers to fix supper for you, she will say, ‘Dearie, will you get my food for me?' “When she says that, you should say, ‘Could you show me how?' and when she bends into the stove that is when you must push her in! Then you can take her book of spells. “So the cat led me to the old witch's house. The old woman brought me into the house cordially. In the house she fed me a huge supper. I ate and ate; it was delicious. Ethel—she encouraged me to call her by her first name—assured me that the oysters were freshly cooked as were the scallops. So Ethel and I ate. “After that I went to bed. While pretending to sleep, I noticed Ethel coming in with a great big axe. She chopped off my head, and then she laughed, singing, “I've had another fool; I broke another rule. My victims' list goes back to King Saul in the shack. That shack was all I had till that night he was bad and I got my pay in gold because for being bold I'll go to hell to tell of a wicked, cruel spell by which I've prolonged life for creating the strife of hell-bent debauched glee until I pay the great fee.” “So this wicked creature sang her song of giving the next life for a lengthening of her days. She sang all night; I cannot remember the rest of her songs, however. My! What a wicked woman. Anyway, imagine the lady shock when I came down the next morning and asked for my breakfast. “She sat at the table and sighed, ‘Ah dearie; I don't suppose you could cook for me.' “‘I could,' I said, ‘Except that I don't know how to work your oven.' “She led me over to the stove and bent into the stove with a metal stoke in her hand, ‘See, like this'—but with that I pushed her into the stove and got her book. “Now,” said Sandra. “Here is the book.”
“Could you make a promise to me,” said Sandy. “What?” I asked. “Don't use the book for—” “Anything outside of my beauty treatments,” I said. “I won't; this book exists only to grant me the beauty of a fine pearl.” They did not entirely trust me, but they left well enough alone. Soon afterwards they were married. Now that I was rid of them, I used the beauty treatments named in Ethel's book. Ethel had made copious notes at the side. And these notes included other spells: in particular, the poisoning methods that were rumored. Soon afterwards, I married King Albert. It was a gala event. Ladies wore their best dresses; gentleman wore newly tailored suits. I, of course, wore white—but off white rather than the stark whiteness a person sees in the clouds on a sunny summer's day. It was very tasteful. Snow White wore pink. Soon after there was another ceremony proclaiming me Albert's queen. I soon became absorbed in the king's court, as the poised, vivacious but especially beautiful wife of King Albert. People flattered and admired me. I had a great alacrity to govern; and people said I did it well. However, the King was always there with me and he did have the final say. At court it was supposed that I was mad about the king. I suppose I was. For after all, he let me shine. However, I barely noticed his little daughter, Snow White. Snow White was meek and compliant despite the fact that when King Albert married me it was supposed that my chief task would be raising Snow White. Who knew that this mouse of a girl was to be my main nemesis? Even the king fell to neglecting little Snow White some. This was despite a great love he seemed to bare her. They still spent time together in the stables where he taught her to care for his horses and his dogs. Sometimes, even when she was small, Snow White would watch us as the king and I judged court cases. I believe that some of it she found rather dull; for although not rebellious she was not precocious either—except in her beauty. She was not a demanding child. I remember once her father said, “She has such a self-effacing docility about her. It would be a shame if some man married her who was violent or rough. We must be careful—and not just look to the politics of the man.” I of course agreed. I had married for love—more or less. King Albert was a powerful king but I had liked him, attracted as much to his rough exterior as to what lay underneath. Snow White might as well do the same. I did not—as I said—notice Snow White for a long time after becoming Queen. I only remember one incident of notice: one day at age eleven, Snow White came in from the fields with daisies she had picked. Snow White handed them to me, “Isabel, would you like to have these flowers?” I was in royal dress, and said, “Child, if you must give them to me put them in a vase. I do not wish to stain my clothes.” However, it was not long after that when her father died. I mourned his loss deeply—and absorbed the shock in my work. There was nobody else who could serve as queen but me. Snow White was far too young.
And since before my marriage, the mirror replied, “You, my Queen are fairest of them all.” It spoke in tones strangely regal. It was as though it were part of the pomp of royalty to be the most beautiful woman in existence. I was, of course, prone to preparing myself before standing before the glass mirror from which I would ask this important question. It is true that other queens have managed without outstanding beauty—Queen Elizabeth and Queen Victoria, for instance—but I refused to believe that this trait were not the gold by which a woman was measured.
Imagine my horror and rage when one day I asked, “Mirror, Mirror, on the Wall; who's the fairest of them all?”
I only to get the placid reply of, “Queen you are quite fair 'tis true; but Snow White's fairer than you.”
I nearly smashed the mirror, I was so angry. I looked out the window at the fifteen year old Snow White. Snow White was fair and slender with a silly, sly smile decorating her rosy lips. Snow White's coal black hair was done up in braids. These braids matched her eyes, the gentle eyes that had reminded Snow White's father of a domesticated ‘bunny.' Snow White's dress was white; Snow White always wore white. Snow White's skin, however, was not much darker than her dress. When Snow White had been younger she resembled a ghost; now that Snow White was older she still looked ethereal. Still, it was not hard to see that despite this self-effacing shyness, Snow White was in fact lovelier than me. It was as though she had all the ambience of innocence. It was this that set her apart from other beauties. However, a solution soon occurred to me. I called in a trusted servant, my woodsman. The woodsman had served me when I lived in my father's kingdom. I gave him my instructions: take Snow White out of the kingdom and kill her. I told him to bring me Snow White's tongue and heart when he was through. Hans told me he would follow my orders and left. I knew it would take a little time and waited until the woodsman came back with a heart and tongue. I ate them with relish; hoping, although I had no particular reason to, that this would accentuate my charms. After all, I was getting a little older—I remembered with a shudder that if a woman more beautiful than I should marry, I would die. That was what the all-knowing mirror had told me in regards Ethel of Endor's Book of Spells. I took a long, luxurious bubble bath after that. Then I caked my skin in facial creams which added to my desirability. Finally I came to the mirror, “Mirror, mirror, on the wall; who's the fairest of them all?” “Queen you are quite fair 'tis true; but Snow White's fairer than you.” “What?” I cried. “Snow White lives? That child who oozes purity and goodness lives?” “She shall be discovered soon by dwarves who will offer a boon these seven kindly small souls will have her stitch their shoe soles and determine her worth as one cooking, cleaning, whereas they work in the mines for goods to sell outside of the great woods!”
I did not tell my woodsman that I had discovered him. Instead, I developed a disguise, putting a scarf on my head to hide my hair and using makeup to draw in wrinkles where there were none. Strangely, I loved defacing that beauty I had by nature and craft; it was as though something was expressed which was hidden underneath of my carefully sculpted face and body. I took off my girdle and corset; I looked like a perfectly ordinary peasant woman—except for my smooth, soft hands. Then I got out the Book of Spells that had belonged to Ethel of Endor. I brewed a poison that was powerful and strong. Then I put into the shape of a girdle. I traveled into the forest, on a broomstick. For the witch in me had overtaken propriety; it felt good to let all the wickedness out. It was as though the girdle and corset and other beatifying crops were really hedging me in. What I really longed to do was allow my hair to fall from its arrangement and be a vicious hag for the world to see. What I did not look was particularly vicious, only particularly old—elderly in fact. I looked much older than my age. I felt wanton. However, I looked kindly enough on the surface, in my red scarf and reddish brown wig which could not be told from my natural hair color if a person did not know I was wearing it. My body was disguised by the hodge-podge of old clothes I found in the scullery maid's bedroom. So it was that I came to Snow White's house and she popped her head out of the door, “Why, hello, ma'am,” she said. “I wish I could come out but my dwarves don't wish for me to leave the house—they say it's not safe.” “I can believe that,” I said, chuckling. “Why some young rapscallion would take one look at you and carry you off!” “Dearie me,” she said. “If only that were all! There is a wicked—well, you wouldn't believe the story if I told you. After all, I suppose I don't look like a princess in the middle of the woods.”
“It's my stepmother. She wants to kill me.” “I've heard stranger tales.” I looked at her as though assessing a piece of merchandise. “Do you know I have the perfect comb for you?” “Oh my!”
“My how—how absolutely beautiful!” Snow White cried, delighted.
“Oh—well, alright, but you mustn't tell a soul.” I placed the poisoned comb onto her head and she fell to the floor in a swoon. Overjoyed, I left. That night, I went to the mirror after my usual preparations. “Mirror, Mirror, on the wall, who's the fairest of them all?” “Queen you are quite fair 'tis true; but Snow White's fairer than you.”
“Curses!” I cried. “All that hard work.” Then I asked the mirror, “Mirror, mirror, tell me true if Snow White escaped my brew of a comb made with poison with the strength like an onion but without the smell of one with no poison stronger—none! How did it happen that she is alive again and free!”
The mirror replied, “Snow White was dead when you left your plan was perfect save bereft of their dear friend the dwarves took the poisoned comb and they shook her accidentally to wake her and relieved, next saw her stir.”
So it was that I prepared to go back. I felt powerful in my willingness to go back; I was ruthless and determined where Beauty was concerned. This time I made a girdle, a beautiful girdle resembling Aphrodite's. I poisoned it; however. Instead of arousing men it aroused death. Of course, it had gold pins with pearls on the top. This time I disguised myself as a wealthy female merchant. This time I wore a similar girdle myself. I was dressed and corseted but I wore ornate clothes with too much jewelry. This opulence I never dared because it ran the risk of being gaudy. And indeed, in this costume, with streaks of gray I intentionally streaked my hair with (not through dying but through false hair) I looked positively ridiculous. Then I traveled to where the dwarves lived—just outside of my kingdom. I saw Snow White hide in the cellar of her house. “Darling!” I said, with effusive warmth I never expressed. “Come buy!”
“But look!” I held out the girdle. Her eyes—I saw them from the upstairs window—bulged. Immediately she ran down as fast as her pretty little feet could carry her. “How wonderful!” she cried. I roped her into the corset as quickly as I could, and pulled it tight as the words, “I can't possibly afford—” broke out of her mouth. It cost me a pretty shilling to make it. Then I sneaked back to my castle in delight, going to the mirror after extensive cleansing and changing back into my wardrobe—I had borrowed the tasteless clothes from a countess—to go back to where my mirror was, “Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is fairest of them all?” “Queen you are quite fair 'tis true; but Snow White's fairer than you.” In horror I screamed, “How could she not lie dead?” “When you left Snow White was dead, but after checking her head the dwarves saw the tight girdle and unstrung the tight hurdle to let her breath out again; this allowed air to her brain.”
Choking with rage I had one final trick. I got the most deadly poison I could. Then I dipped half of an apple in the poison. This time I wore no makeup at all and rubbed my face in berries. I dressed myself as a young man. I wore men's clothes from my woodsman's closet—for he had no idea if Snow White lived or where. I had kept him—and everyone else—in the dark about my activities. I was determined to kill Snow White; and without evidence. So I traveled to where Snow White lived. When she saw I was a man she must have thought I was safe. For me, I enjoyed the pretence of flirting, “Lovely lady would you like an apple?” “I can't; my men folk would object.” “Why?” I asked.
Then I bit the safe side of the apple, and said—laughing—“Wouldn't you like to try an apple?” Seeing that I had eaten it, she bit into the other half—and fell, dead, to the floor. I looked into the house, “There you little good-for-nothing! Finally you lie dead at my feet.” And I spat. At the palace that night I asked my mirror, “Mirror, mirror on the wall, whose the fairest of them all?” “You my Queen are fairest of all.” The mirror spoke with an assurance of a doctor or a lawyer. After that I went back to my work as queen. Each day I tried case after court case. I had laws made and unmade. In my heart I felt powerful. And it was as though my courtiers now, despite their gallant jests, were really deeply afraid of me, in earnest. Each evening I went back to my mirror, however. As some men are reliant on opiates, so I relied on the mirror. Then one day, a letter came to me, “You are invited to the wedding of Prince Andrew to Snow White—of unknown parentage.” It was sent to all the royalty in the area as a formality; although everyone was expected to attend, it would have been boorish to leave out such an important monarch as myself. In tears, I tore through the hall towards my mirror, “Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who's the fairest of them all?” “Queen you are quite fair 'tis true; but Snow White's fairer than you.” Here our story stops; the Queen threw her mirror to the floor and screaming hideously, turned to ash. The sight of the glorious if terrible Queen destroying herself with a previously unknown—and now burned—Book of Spells, shocked the courtiers, servants and people otherwise related to the court. Indeed, the smoke was blood red and murderously similar to sulfur. Snow White, having been re-discovered—people had assumed she was dead or in the dungeon—inherited Queen Isabel's kingdom. _____________________ I have a BA in history at Friends University (Wichita, Kansas). I spent one year at Claremont Graduate University in California studying philosophy. Since then I've taken classes at Wichita State University. I have published "Shekinah" with the on-line journal Poetica (a Jewish on-line journal) as well as two blogs. Two more poems will come out in Poetica under my name, "My Broken Soul" and "Father Narcissus." Also, through the site two of my poems on Anne Frank will be in an Anne Frank anthology .
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