assertion with weapons, against the champion of the beautiful Richilda. Usually no one replied to this; or if they wished to fight on a festival-day, and any knight allowed himself to be persuaded to accept the challenge, and to dispute the prize for the beauty of the lady of his heart, it only ended in show; the politeness of the knights never permitted them to throw the Countess’ champion from the saddle; they broke their lances, acknowledged themselves defeated, and the prize of beauty was awarded to the fair Richilda; an offering which the Countess always received with ladylike modesty.
As yet she had never asked anything of her magic mirror; she only used it as a common looking-glass, to examine her head-dress, and to see if her tirewoman had put it on becomingly. She had not hitherto allowed herself to put any question, either because no critical circumstance had yet happened, which required a counsellor; or because she was too timid, and feared that her question might be impertinent and silly, and thereby the polished mirror become clouded. The voice of flattery, however, constantly increased her vanity, and produced in her heart the wish to be indeed, what report daily sounded loudly in her ears, she was. To a blooming and accomplished maiden, the question of her pleasing or disagreeable form is as weighty a problem, as that of the four last things to an orthodox preacher. Therefore it was not to be wondered at, that the beautiful Richilda desired information on a matter so interesting to her; and from whom could she expect such secure and indubitable information, as from her incorruptible friend the mirror? After some reflection, she found this inquiry so just and reasonable, that she hesitated not to use her proper authority. She shut herself up one day in her room, stood before the magic mirror, and repeated this speech:—
“Mirror shining, mirror bright,
Golden mirror on the wall,
Within the land of wide Brabant,
Show me the fairest maid of all.”
Quickly she drew back the curtain, looked on the wall, and saw with delight her own figure, which the mirror had so often shown her unasked. Then her soul was highly rejoiced, her cheeks coloured deeper and her eyes sparkled with glee; but, alas, her heart was hard, proud, and arrogant, as the heart of Queen Vashti.
The praises of her pleasing form, which she had before received with modesty and soft blushes, she now demanded as a tribute; she looked down on all the maidens of the land with pride and arrogance, and if sometimes their beauty was praised, it went to her heart, and she pursed up her mouth, and fell into a bad humour. The courtiers, who soon discovered their mistress’s weakness, flattered and dissembled shamelessly, calumniated the whole world of women, and declared that no lady beside their mistress was worth a doit in regard to beauty. Even the famed beauties
