Chapter 21

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Translator: Harry Potta
Chapter: 5
Chapter Title: An Exhibition of Art and Self
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Winning someone's favor is an incredibly difficult task. It is all the more so if that person has reached a level of mastery in the art of flattery.

Madame de La Vallière despised sweet words like empty praise, flattery, and adulation. She loved an unbreachable honesty and cherished the pure-white integrity that flowed from an upright heart more than any jewel.

And for good reason. It had already been over a decade since she began her reign as the queen of society. In that time, she must have heard every conceivable turn of phrase to the point of exhaustion. It would have been strange if she hadn't grown weary of the desires tangled like mire.

Therefore, the only thing I could offer her was unrefined, pure language. Even if it made me appear somewhat rustic and unpolished.

Fortunately, my attitude—revealing my own flaws by admitting that the elegance I displayed at our first meeting was the product of a desperate effort not to disgrace the Vischwartz name, and that my true self was no different from a commoner—satisfied Madame de La Vallière.

She was greatly pleased upon confirming that I, her mother's daughter, was an uncut gem.

"There is still room for improvement."

As you lifted my chin with the tip of your fan, your eyes, speaking softly, were sharper than that of a master jeweler appraising a gem. Is this what it means to be stripped bare by a gaze? The terror and helplessness my mother must have felt struck me with stark clarity.

At the same time, I felt a thrill. She was the very picture of the arrogant woman I had yearned for. A woman who reigns like a queen, rules like a tyrant, yet is worshipped like a deity!

"The blood that flows in your veins is the very essence of vulgarity. It is a brand that will follow you until the day you die. Everyone will point their fingers at you and laugh. Some may even mock you to your face. But you must endure it. It is a humiliation you deserve, so swallow it sweetly. Fear the filth in your bloodline and constantly remind yourself of what follows your name. Suffer, fall, and despair again and again in the dilemma between your vulgar origins and the nobility of the Vischwartz name. Only when you have endured all of this can you claim to have shed a layer of your old self."

Then and now, Madame de La Vallière's instruction was the epitome of rigor.

By pushing me relentlessly, she intended to make me understand the shame that came with the epithet of being my mother's daughter. Only then, she believed, would I grasp the weight and responsibility of the Vischwartz name.

The reason Madame de La Vallière willingly took me in and educated me was that she did not want to tarnish the name 'Vischwartz'.

Otherwise, she would not have disciplined me so strictly. She sought to restore the family's honor, stained by my mother, through my existence.

She couldn't be certain how well it would be received in high society, but she had resolved to prevent any further disgrace.

"If you wish to become a lady of a noble house, you must keep the following in mind. Your movements, like a flower; your face, as gentle as a spring breeze; your lips, as if holding honey when you speak to others. Your fingertips, as nimble as if playing an instrument, yet flowing as naturally as water; your steps, as smooth as if your soles were oiled. To walk with sound is something only the lowly do! Your back, straight as a tree, yet supple as a reed; and your arms, as elegant as silk falling to the floor."

Becoming a girl is a natural process, but becoming a woman requires excruciating effort.

After deciding to teach me, Madame de La Vallière's actions were unstoppable. She dedicated every moment of her day to me, aside from when I slept.

From the basics of walking correctly to the minutiae of breathing in and out, there was not a single thing untouched by her hand. Even the small moment it took to turn my head, a trivial instant of a few seconds, was done under La Vallière's strict guidance.

Thanks to her, even the number of wrinkles in my skirt when I sat was under her control.

Madame de La Vallière pushed me to my limits, to the point of evoking the word 'brutal'. Every time I tried to imitate an action, the word 'again' would spill from her lips hundreds of times. For some things, I had to hear 'again' nearly a thousand times.

I must have repeated the single motion of sweeping a stray strand of hair from my forehead sixty or seventy times. Need I say more?

Everything was a target for correction. Madame de La Vallière possessed a sharpness that pointed out not only the clumsy gestures I showed her on purpose but also the habits so ingrained in me that I wasn't even aware of them, as natural as breathing.

This turned out to be a great stroke of luck for me. Although I had mastered etiquette through my past experiences, I had never reached the true pinnacle of mastery that Madame de La Vallière demonstrated, so her critiques were of immense help.

The Madame described all the training she was putting me through as "making a beast human." It was a rather harsh statement, unbefitting of her usual manner of speaking, but the expression on her face as she said it was perfectly natural, even haughty.

The pride underlying it was so brilliant it overwhelmed all and compelled others to agree.

Perhaps because of this, there were people who whispered, "Just how dreadful must Cisse de Vischwartz's behavior be for her to speak like that?" After all, for a girl just beginning to blossom, the choice and pairing of words were as coarse as a common ruffian's.

But the 'beast' Madame de La Vallière spoke of was not a metaphor for my actions. It referred to my immature eyes, which could not hide my feelings for her.

It was a graceful mockery of my terribly pitiful blood, which writhed violently whenever I heard the words 'filthy blood,' yet which I desperately tried to conceal, unable to do anything about it.

"Unlike your mother, you have a quick and agile mind. Not only that, you possess a patience unbefitting your age and are cleverly trying to please me with your actions. But how am I to interpret the impudence you've shown me? I warn you, do not bare your fangs so carelessly. It is enough to hold your thorns beneath your tongue. Is there any greater fool than one who reveals their emotions with their eyes? So, be patient. Be patient, and be patient again. There is more you can do than this; there is no need to make enemies, is there?"

I shrank under the sharp gaze pouring onto my back and stifled a laugh. I couldn't help but smile, for what she had said finally made me realize what weapon I truly needed to perfect.

The predator taught the snake how to use its fangs effectively. The snake, unaware of how sharp its fangs were or how terrifying the venom within them, learned from the panther that its weapon was more powerful than that of any other beast.

*Hiss, hiss.* The snake narrows its eyes and smiles in satisfaction. The way it flickered its tongue was menacing, as if it would devour the predator before it at any moment.

But, as per La Vallière's advice, the snake holds back, biding its time for a later day. Just as she said, with a smile in its eyes!

"Yes, Aunt."

Because the one who will stand tall with a triumphant smile in the future will surely be me.

A few days passed like that.

Around the time Madame de La Vallière told me, "You've finally become presentable," the 'exhibition' that had been her original objective was held.

A festival for artists and inventors, a time that provided opportunities to take promising individuals under one's wing and become their patron, this was the time of year Madame de La Vallière loved most.

The La Vallière of the past would have gone to the exhibition with only Roena. Roena, after all, enjoyed appreciating art no less than she did.

But the present La Vallière decided to take not only Roena but me as well.

To her, 'presentable' meant the same as 'not embarrassing to be seen with,' and she needed a chance to show off the beast she had so painstakingly trained.

"Would it not be shameful if a woman bearing the Vischwartz name couldn't even appreciate a single painting? Therefore, it would be good to use this opportunity to broaden your narrow horizons."

As she said, I lowered my head and quietly acquiesced. I could confidently say that I had a certain mastery of art from my past experiences, but I thought it was important to continue showing her the immature Cisse for now.

After all, is there anything more appealing than an 'uncut gem' that can be shaped to one's own liking?

However, had I known that Rustein Halberd was among the knights escorting us to the exhibition hall, I would not have followed so easily.

Ah, the heart. Though it is a part of my own body, why does it refuse to move as I think, as I will?

I thought I had put everything to rest by discarding the handkerchief, but the moment his shadow entered my vision, my gaze wavered against my will. My fingertips grew abruptly cold.

Unable to control my rapidly drying lips and violently trembling eyes, I could only gasp for breath, wondering if the sweat trickling down my spine was from tension or from fear.

***

Someone once told me.

To a noble, art is nothing more than an accessory with which to flaunt one's intellectual beauty.

What they meant was, among those who claim to enjoy art, how many truly understand it deeply?

What was so praiseworthy about indiscriminately buying paintings of a similar style to follow a trend, enjoying popular operas, and acquiring useless foreign furniture?

But I dare say, what else but 'art' can reveal our dignity? This foolish vanity is the only way to boast of one's intellectual elegance, refined taste, and a unique, lofty hobby that cannot be compared to others.

People like me, especially, have no choice but to cling to 'art'. It is the only way to prove that we are people who belong in their world.

The exhibition I attended with Madame de La Vallière was both a showcase for her to display the jewel she had polished—me—and a stage to test my artistic eye.

There was no one in high society who did not know of Madame de La Vallière! Therefore, it was impossible for my presence by her side to go unnoticed.

As soon as we entered the exhibition hall, La Vallière pointed to several paintings that caught her eye and asked for my thoughts.

"What do you think of that painting?"

She knew that the people around us were whispering all sorts of things, speculating about my identity. She also knew that they were sizing me up, judging my every move.

And so, she sought to quell their arrogance by revealing the value of the beast she had tamed beforehand.

"It's a beautiful painting, as if light has been layered upon bright, splendid colors. I like how the walking woman is expressed with delicacy and elegance. That is, if you overlook the disappointment that the dress she's wearing doesn't follow the latest fashion. This painting needs to be more sensational. It would have been fine to paint objects with an exotic flair."

My answer was quite simple. Without adding all sorts of flowery language to critique the style or expressing the profound philosophy the painting contained, I just spoke my honest thoughts as they were.

The vast knowledge in my head and the aesthetic sense born from past experience didn't even have a chance to leap from my tongue.

And for good reason. Most of the painters at the exhibition are rookies, carefully selected from the academy. They are poor little lambs who have no choice but to paint pictures that suit the tastes of their potential patrons. So what meaning could I possibly find to critique in this