The Man Who Looked On His Face In A Mirror
I wish I had known Axel Gunnarson in life. Indeed, most people who ever heard of him wished that they knew him, for he was generally considered the leading man of his generation. His noble birth, his superior breeding, his education at the country's leading schools and universities, his inherited wealth - all these were enough to set him apart from the herd, but in addition he possessed a natural charm and Olympian good looks. Men, as well as women, admired, desired him: as friend or lover, as patron or client.
Only Axel Gunnarson knew the true secret of his success, the
magic gift that his father had bestowed upon him when he was a
young child. On that day, when he was eight years old, his father
had stood with him before the tall mirror in their family home and
demanded
- What do you see?
Looking up at the mysterious grim man he hardly knew, he
whispered
- Why, you and me, father.
- No, cried his father, gripping the boy's shoulder till it hurt. Do not look at the reflection of what is standing before the mirror. When you look in the glass, see what you want and expect others to see, when they look at you. See the name of Gunnarson, the title, the status, the wealth, the power: the man to whom others bow in awe and admiration.
And so it was that Axel Gunnarson learned to behold himself in the mirror, and so he learned to live and rise steadily through his chosen professions. As a student at the university, he graduated with the highest honours and became the youngest and most highly regarded fellow of his faculty. As a lawyer he attracted the most prestigious and lucrative cases. As manager of the family estates, he increased the Gunnarson wealth twentyfold. As politician, he won the hearts of the people and of his opponents alike, and became chancellor, and adviser of kings. In addition to all this, he was a world-renowned poet and international man of letters, and well-known for his love affairs with the greatest beauties of society.
He had a fascination with mirrors, surrounded himself with them, filled every room in his house with them, and spent long hours standing before them, gazing at them. Not at the reflection of what stood before them, but at the man he expected others to see. And he was constantly looking out for finer, more beautiful mirrors to acquire.
One day he came across a particularly fine antique specimen, in a dark shop in a corner of the city that he had never visited before. It was a mirror of curious Chinese workmanship, with a strange inscription that he could not decipher. When he asked the price, he was shocked by its ridiculous cheapness, and terrified of showing his eagerness he grumbled at it, paid over the money and hurried home with his purchase. He hung the mirror in pride of place in his dressing-room, and it quickly became his favourite. It became almost a ritual to look into it for long minutes at the beginning and end of every day.
But from the beginning, along with the strong attraction of this ancient mirror, he also noticed a strange sensation when he stood in front of it. It was as if, in the moment before his eyes focused on what was there, something slipped out of sight at the edge of his vision. And he seemed to catch a glimpse of a face.
Curious, and not a little fearful, he tried to train himself to come to the mirror obliquely, and stand for a moment with his attention open and unfocussed; to look, as it were, at the edges of the mirror and not the centre. As he learned to gaze indirectly like this, the something that seemed to slip out of sight disappeared rather more slowly. Until a morning came, when Axel Gunnarson came to the mirror and stared for a long minute at the face of someone not himself.
He saw the face of a fool. For a moment it seemed to shimmer and waver, assuming the features of a cretin, a jester, an idiot savant, before suddenly it winked broadly at him, grinned, and vanished. And he saw the image of the man of the world he had expected to see.
Torn between the rational view that he needed more rest, and wondering about what else he might be able to see in the mirror, Axel Gunnarson continued his experiment with the curious glass. But it was unpredictable, could not be manipulated. For days nothing out of the ordinary appeared. Then one day, when he had almost forgotten about his vision, he came to the mirror and saw there a child. A baby, a young boy, an infant, and at last a toddler who looked long at him, giggled, and was gone.
More time passed, and there came a morning when again, almost not thinking about it, he stood before the mirror and saw a wild beast, man-sized, hairy and taloned. For a moment, all the fears of the primal night passed before his eyes. Then the beast bared its fangs at him, and he saw only himself.
Again, days passed in which he saw nothing but his own image. Yet a strange foreboding hung around him, until the hour came when, coming to the mirror from one side, he stood face to face with - a corpse. The pale, sightless face of a dead man wrapped in his winding sheet, stiff and cold. In terror, Axel Gunnarson stared for a long moment, unable to speak or cry out. At last he was released from the spell that held him, when the corpse suddenly opened its eyes and stared full at him.
With a shriek, Axel Gunnarson rushed from the room, out of the
house, through the early morning streets, to the shop where he had
purchased the curious antique mirror. Dragging the frightened
shopkeeper from his bed, the Chancellor demanded,
- In God's name, what is that accursed glass you sold me, in which
I have seen the face of a fool, and a baby, and a wild beast, and a
dead man?
- Why, the shopkeeper replied, it is the Mirror of the Tao.
- And its inscription? For the love of God, man, what is the inscription? Some spell, or curse?
- No, only the words of the sages:
The name that can be named is not the eternal name.
The face that can be seen is not the true face.
But he who learns to behold his true face will become as the
uncarved block.
He will dare not to be greater than his neighbour.
Axel Gunnarson left the shop shaken, and thoughtful.
That night the antique mirror in the dressing-room vanished, and so did the man Axel Gunnarson. His wife and family expected him at dinner; but he never came. His master the king looked for him for counsel; but he was nowhere to be found. Because he was such an important man, they immediately launched a search for him, that turned into a manhunt, that turned into a murder inquiry. But no body was ever found, no suspect was ever identified, nor was there any trace of Axel Gunnarson.
How does this story end?
Many years later, in a small town far from the capital city, a man died. For years he had lived there, the life of a semi-recluse, making his simple living as a woodcarver. Few knew him, and none knew where he had come from, but the local children loved him for the wooden toys he carved for them.
When his landlord came to clear the house, the only object of interest he found was an ancient mirror of curious Chinese workmanship, with an inscription in characters he could not recognise.
It wasn't to the landlord's taste, so he threw it on the rubbish heap.
© Tony Price, 2003