Chapter 33

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Translator: Harry Potta
Chapter: 6
Chapter Title: The Courtesan and the Keys
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Famed courtesans are arrogant. Their beautifully groomed faces overflow with feminine confidence, and the coquettish sway of their bodies is sly, as if to accentuate their own allure.

They possess not the elegance of a swan, but the dangerous magnetism of a wild beast. In bed, any man, no matter who he was, would become their lowly slave.

Few can command a man with a mere tilt of the chin as a courtesan can. And so, they know. They know just how much power a woman who monopolizes a man's love can wield.

Pérignole seemed to have already mastered this art. She watched me with a dignified air, as if she had forgotten she was a courtesan. Waving a fan laden with bird feathers, she would occasionally flash a smile with her eyes, a gesture so bold it bordered on insolent.

“Are you ready?”

She drew closer. The sway of her hips as she walked was as smooth as a slithering snake. Pérignole approached a long, satin-draped chaise and began to gently stroke its floral carvings.

At the same time, she darted her tongue out to lick her lips; there was nothing about the gesture that wasn't suggestive. She was arrogant yet vulgar, and vulgar yet utterly sensual.

They say a well-trained courtesan can arouse a man's lust with a single gesture, and just as she herself boasted, she appeared to possess the greatest talent in this field.

It is true that I need Pérignole’s actions, her coquetry, and the sexual allure layered over it all. There is no weapon more potent than a dangerous beauty that can captivate everyone.

But her visit was too soon. It was not yet time. So, I spoke to Pérignole in a slightly prim tone.

“No, there must have been some mistake. It would be best for you to leave.”

“Oh my, do you mean it? But it will be difficult to arrange another time. It is very hard for someone like me to make time, you see. I have so many who seek me out. I would not have come if not for the Countess’s summons. If you are not yet ready, my lady, I can help you. I say again, there is no one who can match me in this field.”

Was this how a snake whispered? Her words had a remarkable quality that could beguile a person. Her small, whispering voice flowed smoothly into my ear with a moist resonance.

Leaning halfway against the daybed with a languid smile, Pérignole was the very picture of seduction.

Had I been a man, I would not have been able to resist rushing to her and showering her with kisses. Even her boundless arrogance would have seemed like nothing more than endless charm before her voluptuous body.

But her charms had no effect on me. It was not because we were of the same sex, but because an inexplicable aversion to her was welling up inside me.

“I will permit it, if you can change Madame’s mind.”

“Oh, what a difficult proposition. Ah, must I leave like this, then?”

Pérignole cried out in an exaggerated tone, as if acting in a play, and bowed her head. It was so comical it was like watching a scene from a farce.

“Who knows. If you visit in modest attire, perhaps Madame will grant her permission.”

“But the mistress of this estate is the Countess, is she not? Why must I receive permission from Madame de La Vallière?”

Pérignole blinked as if she did not understand. I walked over to her. Then, I patted her shoulder and said.

“That is a problem for you to figure out.”

In truth, there was no way a woman as clever as she—I had thought her quite shrewd from our conversation then—would fail to understand my meaning. Unless, of course, she was trying to drag things out to receive her promised payment.

But her lingering here was not good for anyone. I had to get Pérignole out of my room as quickly as possible.

Pérignole puffed out her cheeks in dissatisfaction. Whether it was intentional or not, all her actions were incredibly lovely, even cute, as if designed to stir a man’s emotions. The expression she was showing me now was likely one of the charming pouts she showed her clients.

“My, how cruel you are. Very well. I shall withdraw for today. But please, do call for me again. I will come running with a joyful heart, no matter how busy I am.”

Fortunately, she understood my urgency and knew when to make a beautiful exit. I answered with a nod as Pérignole blew a small kiss toward my cheek and smiled with her eyes. I thought to myself that this would be the only time I would generously overlook her impudence.

Less than an hour after Pérignole left the estate, Mother came to see me. From her pale face and tear-stained cheeks, I could guess who she had met first.

It must have been Madame de La Vallière.

That elegant woman, as cold as they come, must have been unable to bear the fact that a courtesan had entered the Vischwartz house and summoned Mother to lash out at her. Relentlessly, not even letting her catch her breath. She must have driven her into a corner, forcing her to taste great humiliation and shame.

Thinking of her sharp, thorny tirades, I couldn't help but feel sorry for the long ordeal Mother must have endured.

“Oh, Cisse. My baby.”

As soon as she sat in the chair, Mother took out a handkerchief and dabbed her eyes. Then she began to let out a lament that was close to a grumble. Paying no mind to the tea Marie had poured, her lips poured out endless complaints.

“Isn’t it natural for a mother to care for you? I hear other people hire courtesans to educate their daughters at your age. But I don’t understand why she won’t understand. My dear, you wouldn’t know how I feel. Do you know what it feels like to have your heart brutally torn apart? I was so ashamed. I truly was.”

“She is a virtuous woman. That is why she could not understand.”

“But darling, I am the Countess. I am the one who manages the Vischwartz estate.”

“But you have not received the keys.”

At my words, Mother’s face flushed bright red. I feigned ignorance, sipped my tea calmly, and continued.

“That is what symbolizes the authority of the Countess, after all. No matter how much you manage the household, as long as you don’t have the keys, you won’t know the finer details, will you? What’s the point of the butler drawing up ledgers and presenting them? Or were you planning to keep inspecting the storehouses with Roena?”

“But they are also a memento…”

“Mother.”

I called to her in a firm tone. She flinched noticeably and watched my expression. She knew from long experience that she could not win when I lowered my voice like this.

“This is a matter of respect. If she thought of you as the mistress of the Vischwartz house, she would not have done so. A memento? Fine. I won’t deny that it is too precious to be handed over carelessly. But before being a memento, it is the key that controls the housekeeping of the Vischwartz estate. If it were me, I would overcome my grief and hand the keys to you, Mother. Because nothing is more precious than the family. Am I being cold? Or am I making a rational judgment?”

Mother is a gentle and affectionate person. I love her humble character, her warm nature, and her consideration for others.

But there were times I wished she would become a little more vicious, just for my sake, as the mother of the past once was. Maintaining a close relationship with Roena and a desirable mother-daughter bond was only good for my stepfather, Count Vischwartz.

I want Mother to suspect and constantly hate Roena. That is why I want her to return to how she was then. I love and respect you, but sometimes this weakness of yours was saddening.

A snake whispers with a strange laugh. *Hiss, slither, hiss.* As if that alone were the magic that could solve all problems.

“If you, Mother, were to possess those keys that manage the Vischwartz family’s wealth, no one would ever be able to push you around again. Because you would be the true mistress.”

A bright red tongue flickers, bewitching my mother’s ear. I imagined it was painted a deeper red than Pérignole’s lips.

***

Dinnertime is a joy. The gleaming silverware, the crisp, wrinkle-free tablecloth, the candlesticks showcasing delicate craftsmanship—the scenery of a well-kept table is both elegant and enchanting.

Above all, nothing is not appetizing, from the fragrant scent of bread that tickles the nose to the sweetness of the wine, the perfectly roasted meat, and the well-salted fish.

I especially love the moment when I wash my hands in orange-scented water and dry them with a cloth. Washing one’s hands with water is an act that signals the start of the meal, making one feel an almost monastic reverence.

In the past, as a child, I was often hungry. My flat, empty stomach would grumble at all hours, speaking of its starvation.

But Mother’s income was not enough to buy delicious and nutritious food. When we lived on the streets, the only thing we could eat was blackened bread, as hard as a stone.

That bread, which I had to gnaw into pieces with my teeth and dissolve with saliva just to sate my hunger, tasted awful.

Only at the beginning of the new year could we eat warm oat bread with a piece of cheese, alongside a hot vegetable stew.

Of course, sometimes we were lucky enough to eat a thin soup with a few small pieces of meat. But that happened maybe once or twice a year.

The vegetable soup Mother served was little more than plain water with a few slices of carrot floating on top, a mere imitation of a meal.

We couldn't even dream of savory cheese and fragrant wine. Vegetables like cucumbers, cauliflower, green beans, and celery were things only the wealthy could afford.

Spices were treated as having the value of their weight in silver, and seasonal fruits were almost ornamental, delivered only to the estates of nobles, so we could not dare to even think of them. Eating eggs was only possible if you raised a hen in your front yard.

So I would often drool while staring at the fluffy bread sold in shops. The fragrant smell wafting from the bakery was an unbearable temptation.

The sight of neatly dressed women entering the shop, choosing bread, and paying for it was something I deeply admired as a child. I was envious of the financial stability that allowed one to buy something without hesitation.

Perhaps that is why? The Cisse of the past—that pitiful Cisse who ran wild like a naive fool, ignorant of her place—loved to eat.

It was common for her to use the wrong utensils or drop them on the floor from improper use, but she always savored the dishes served to me with a happy heart.

Roasted pheasant, quail stew, salted beef tongue, veal breast, and marzipan made with almonds, sugar, and eggs…

The foolish girl, who was faithful to her instinctual desires for food and clothing, had no idea what mealtimes meant to the nobility.

She simply thought it was wonderful to be able to eat as much delicious food as she wanted. If not for the matter with Lord Halberd, if I hadn't been consumed by my inferiority complex toward Roena, I would have grown quite plump from the rich food I ate every day.