kscans

Chapter 18 - The Story of a Certain Viscount's Second Son

Born the second son of a viscount, Alfonso lived at his family home, unmarried and painting as a hobby, serving as insurance in case anything happened to his older brother. But now, his brother had a second son, both of them so robust they never even caught a cold. In other words, the viscount's line was secure. This meant Alfonso's purpose as insurance was practically nonexistent.

From a young age, Alfonso loved painting more than anything, so he didn't particularly mind the misfortune of being a dependent son. In fact, he was even grateful for his circumstances, which allowed him to immerse himself in his hobby. As long as he could live his life just painting, he didn't mind the feeling of being a burden. His sister-in-law's gaze had been growing harsher for some time, but Alfonso was the type who could forcefully pretend not to notice a piercing stare.

However, the situation had become untenable. When she confronted him head-on, even he could no longer feign ignorance.

"Alfonso-sama, paint is not free, you know. Of course, I am well aware of your position, and I have promised your father that we would see to your living expenses. My husband is also quite lenient with you, his younger brother. However, our sons' education will begin to cost a great deal of money. It is self-evident that our sons, who will carry the future of this house, take precedence over you, is it not?"

"Ah... yes, I suppose so."

"We will continue to provide for your living expenses as before. But if you wish to continue your hobby, you will have to find a way to cover the costs yourself."

"Well, even if you say that…"

"And with that, I bid you good day."

As his sister-in-law departed, looking refreshed after her one-sided tirade, Alfonso was left at a complete loss.

Objectively speaking, Alfonso's skill as a painter was not bad. If he could have abandoned his particular obsession, he could have likely earned a decent income as an artist. He also had the title and connections of a viscount's second son. But that was an impossible request for Alfonso. No, he had tried to abandon it. He had tried to paint what his clients wanted. But in the end, it had all ended in failure.

The reputation of his still-life and landscape paintings was not bad. In fact, many people expressed admiration for his realistic style, which looked as if he had cut a slice out of reality. He had even sold a few.

But what really made money in painting was portraiture. Vain nobles loved to have their portraits painted. And they preferred portraits that were embellished, more beautiful than the real thing.

Alfonso had absolutely no talent for that. Even when painting a lady, he would not—no, could not—fudge the number of wrinkles. Not by a single one.

His portraits had a terrible reputation. And because of that, even his well-regarded still-life and landscape paintings were unpopular.

Facing his dwindling supply of paint, all Alfonso could do was sigh.

It was then that a turning point arrived for Alfonso.

He received a commission for a portrait. The request was anonymous, but the man who appeared to be a butler, who came to fetch him, was dressed in fine clothes and had impeccable manners, suggesting his master was a high-ranking noble.

He must know my reputation, so why me? Alfonso wondered. But the request was to begin work immediately, so he hastily gathered his familiar tools. He was told that consumables like paint would be provided. When he couldn't help but ask if he could take home any leftovers, he was told to do as he pleased. Suddenly motivated, Alfonso eagerly boarded the waiting carriage, determined to do his best to meet the wishes of this generous client. The determination, at least, was there. He could only see a future of failure no matter how hard he tried, but he thought optimistically that if the client was commissioning him specifically, he must understand that aspect of his work.

As it turned out, the carriage was headed for, of all places, the royal palace.

As he was guided through the halls, feeling like he might die of fright, Alfonso was filled with regret. A commission from the royal family would normally be a thing of honor and excitement. But Alfonso's portraits had never once satisfied a client. On the contrary, they had angered them far more often. If he incurred the royal family's displeasure, the very survival of the viscount's house could be in jeopardy. He had no idea why the lot had fallen to him, but perhaps the commission was based on his landscape paintings, which had a decent reputation. If he had been summoned with such high expectations, it would be the worst possible scenario.

By now, Alfonso's mind was consumed with a single, desperate thought: he had to find a way to refuse the commission.

"P-Prince Ebalt…!"

When the person appeared before him, Alfonso scrambled to bow in a fluster. This was the worst-case scenario. Though not yet official, the man before him was the future Crown Prince and king. If he earned this man's displeasure, the viscount's house would surely be blown to smithereens.

"Alfonso Delfin Rohner. Raise your head."

"Y-Yes, sir."

"I thank you for answering my sudden summons. First, I want you to promise me you will not speak of this commission to anyone. As for the details…"

"B-Before that, please, permit me to speak!"

Sensing that he was about to be railroaded into accepting the commission, Alfonso cut off the prince with something close to a scream. It was blatantly disrespectful, but Alfonso was in no state to care. Clenching his hands, which were slick with cold sweat, he looked desperate.

"Permission granted."

The prince's brow furrowed in displeasure for a moment, but he magnanimously chose to overlook the interruption. Taking a breath, Alfonso wiped the sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief and desperately tried to steer the conversation toward declining the commission.

"I… I… I cannot possibly paint a portrait that would satisfy Your Highness. Are you not aware of my reputation for portraiture?"

"Ah, that. Of course, I am aware. You are the 'honest fool' Alfonso, disliked for painting things too much as they are, are you not?"

What, he knew? Alfonso's face went blank, and he felt a flicker of irritation toward the prince for commissioning him anyway.

"…That is correct. Therefore…"

"That is why you are perfect for this."

"Pardon?"

"Even with me, the prince, as your client, you will not resort to flattery and distort the truth. That is what I need."

Alfonso's eyes went wide. In a moment of sheer disrespect, he stared, speechless, at the prince.

In a dark basement room, Alfonso moved his brush with single-minded focus. The prince's commission was a strange one. It was for a portrait of a certain woman, but the woman was already deceased. In other words, Alfonso was currently in the royal palace's underground morgue, painting a portrait of the woman in question.

What His Highness the Prince had asked of Alfonso was to keep this commission a secret, not to pry into the woman's identity, and to paint her exactly as she was.

Alfonso had accepted. When told, "I can only ask this of you," he could not refuse. What's more, the very thing Alfonso had considered a flaw—his inability to beautify—was supposedly essential. He had no idea how or why that was the case, but it wasn't as if he was unhappy to have a part of himself he'd felt inferior about be acknowledged. There was no way he could have turned it down.

It wasn't that he had no reservations about painting a corpse. When he first saw the woman, a shiver honestly ran down his spine. The emaciated figure lying there in a mourning dress looked like a ghost. She was so eerie that he imagined her eyes might snap open at any moment and she might lunge at him.

But then, the prince gently caressed the cheek of that unsettling corpse as if touching a treasure and cast his eyes down sorrowfully.

In that instant, the eerie corpse in Alfonso's mind transformed into the remains of an unfortunate young woman who had died young. She was a woman cherished so dearly by the prince that he wished to preserve her true form in a painting.

Alfonso looked at the body again. Was this the result of a long illness? Her body was painfully thin everywhere. On closer inspection, she seemed to be of an age better described as a girl than a woman. Normally, a corpse would be dressed in its finest for a funeral. He wondered if the mourning dress was really appropriate. In fact, the mourning dress itself was strange. Mourning clothes were for those who saw the deceased off; the one being seen off was supposed to be adorned as beautifully as possible as a final tribute.

She was fair-skinned with blonde hair and well-formed features. If she were dressed in a brightly colored gown, her impression would surely be quite different. This woman, too, would probably want to be remembered by the prince in a painting looking as beautiful as possible. Even Alfonso, who was completely inept when it came to the female heart, could surmise that much.

"Her attire… is the mourning dress acceptable as it is?"

"Yes. That is fine."

If His Highness says so, then there's nothing to be done. Alfonso averted his gaze from the prince's handsome face, thinking that His Highness was even more hopeless with women than he was. He felt a great deal of sympathy for the silent woman.

"There is one thing I must paint from imagination. Her eye color?"

"Blue. A grayish light blue."

"And what of the background?"

"The town of Regis would be good. A bright, sunny day in Regis."

Regis was no problem. He had painted the town several times before; its scenery was firmly etched in his mind.

"Her expression… as it is?"

"Yes."

Naturally, the corpse had no expression. Imagining the final painting, Alfonso's heart sank.

"This is difficult to say, but I believe the result will be quite an unsettling painting. Perhaps if we at least gave her a smiling expression…"

"No, this is fine. It might be hard to see, but she is smiling peacefully, even now."

As he said this and smiled, the prince's expression had a strange, persuasive power.

If His Highness says so, then perhaps it's true. It's just something I can't see.

And so, Alfonso came to believe the prince's words were correct.

The unmoving, silent woman spoke the truth more eloquently than any living person. The living always postured, trying to present their best selves. Vain people who commissioned portraits were especially so. He could stare at her as much as he wanted without it being considered rude, observing every detail. And because of that, he understood. The corners of her mouth were turned up ever so slightly. Her smooth forehead was without a single wrinkle, and her brow was serene. She must have passed away without suffering. Alfonso didn't know why the prince wanted to preserve her appearance just before death rather than when she was healthy and beautiful. But he felt he was beginning to understand why he himself couldn't fudge even a single wrinkle. He must have unconsciously disliked disregarding wrinkles, even those considered an enemy by ladies, as they were a part of a person's life.

Landscape paintings captured only the beautiful parts, but nature itself wasn't only beautiful. Sometimes it destroyed everything in a storm that seemed like the wrath of God. Alfonso didn't dislike such desolate landscapes. After a storm, the sky and wind were clear, and signs of life's regeneration would soon appear on the ravaged earth. Alfonso's faith was thin, but that sight always filled him with a strange sense of reverence.

Who could call this woman, who must have lived so earnestly in her sickly, emaciated state, ugly?

The prince's face when he'd said, "she is smiling peacefully, even now," floated into Alfonso's mind.

And he thought to himself: Prince Ebalt will surely become a good king.

Before the finished painting, the prince nodded in satisfaction. Alfonso let out a sigh of relief.

The prince had come to see the painting many times during its creation and had no complaints, so Alfonso had thought it would be fine. But now that it was finished, even he, the painter, had to admit it was a rather unfortunate memento of a deceased lover. It was a masterpiece that captured her exactly as she was, just as the prince wished, but it had turned out to be an incredibly dark painting. Right at the very end, he had felt a surge of anxiety, wondering if this was truly acceptable.

Now, he regretted not suggesting a change of clothes. He felt truly sorry for her. She must have been a beautiful person before her illness, and for this to be the painting displayed by Prince Ebalt's side… would she be able to rest in peace? As he was brooding over this, a shiver ran down his spine, and he instinctively looked behind him.

"Your payment will be delivered at a later date."

Ignoring Alfonso's suspicious behavior, the prince named a sum that nearly made Alfonso's eyes pop out of their sockets. Honestly, Alfonso had no ability to manage such a large amount of money. He could have entrusted it to his brother, but then his sister-in-law would probably find out. His sister-in-law was the treasurer of their viscount house. If she found out, he had a feeling a good portion of it, if not all, would be siphoned off. Plus, she would pester him endlessly about who the client was. He didn't particularly want to live in luxury. He had no intention of marrying, and as long as he could paint, he was happy. So, he decided to make a suggestion he had been mulling over as the painting neared completion.

"Regarding that, if it is possible, could you change it to a lifetime's supply of art materials instead?"

"Is that all you wish for?"

The surprised prince received a solemn nod from Alfonso.

"The value of my paintings is understood by no one other than Your Highness, Prince Ebalt, so I will likely continue to be unsuccessful. My family will not invest in my unprofitable hobby. As long as I can paint, I am happy."

"I see."

The prince nodded with a wry smile.

"You know the Saint-Clément Shop, I presume. I will arrange it so that any purchases you make there will have the bill sent to me."

"Thank you very much."

The Saint-Clément Shop was a long-established art supply store with a superb selection and quality. For Alfonso, there could be no better arrangement.

As Alfonso bowed his head deeply, the prince said, "Well then," and took his leave. The ten days had been short, but they had been a rich and precious experience worth ten years. With that in his heart, Alfonso made his way home.

"Oh, you've returned?"

His sister-in-law's expression clearly said, Why did you come back? Alfonso responded with a smile.

"Yes, I have just returned. Unusually, my work was well-received, and I have managed to secure a means to buy art supplies. I know I have caused you worry, sister, but it seems my patron will continue to support me…"

"My, they liked your painting? Who on earth is it? How much were you paid?"

This time, his sister-in-law's expression was openly delighted. Alfonso suppressed a laugh and put on a serious face.

"I cannot say. At the client's request, even what I painted is a secret. The payment… well, it's enough to buy all the paint I need."

"You… you aren't painting anything that would compromise our dignity, are you?"

Instantly back to being displeased. This time, Alfonso was sure he was going to burst out laughing. He cleared his throat theatrically and smiled.

"Of course not. It's just that the person who appreciates my work is rather peculiar and is well aware that they have unusual tastes. I suppose they dislike being rumored about as having bad taste."

"I see. In any case, you are absolutely not to do anything that would bring shame upon my husband's name."

"Of course."

His sister-in-law shot him a glare with a huff that was almost audible before she left. She was an honest person, to a degree unbecoming of a noble.

Alfonso discovered that he no longer found his sister-in-law as difficult as before, and this time, with no one watching, he laughed out loud.

I'll try painting her next.

Imagining her face when she inevitably disliked it and got angry, Alfonso laughed again.

"Maybe I'll paint her while she's angry. I bet the nephews would get a kick out of that."

As he muttered such pleasant thoughts, he opened the door to his studio for the first time in a while. The air, filled with the scent of paint, made Alfonso feel as if his body was being set free. The cluttered studio, bathed in the afternoon light, felt terribly dear and nostalgic.

He sat down before the half-finished canvas and stretched with all his might.

And he thought to himself that he never wanted to paint in a dark basement again.

As he had predicted, Alfonso never achieved any fame as a painter and ended his life in obscurity, but he lived a reasonably happy life. He never married, but he painted countless pictures of his brother's children, his nieces and nephews, and their lively, unpretentious expressions were apparently even liked by his difficult sister-in-law. He was particularly adored by his nephew who inherited the viscountcy, and in his later years, he passed away peacefully, looked after by his family.

Alfonso, who remained a painting fool to the end and had no interest in anything else, was unaware of the play Princess Koto and the rumors surrounding it. He departed for the next world, still mistaken that the woman he had painted in the basement was Prince Ebalt's secret lover who had died after a long illness, and also mistaken that Prince Ebalt was an unfortunate gentleman even more clueless about the female heart than himself.

After King Ebalt's death, no one knew who the painter of that picture was.