Translator: Nox

21 - Pieces of the Broken Glass Slipper

Shattered Glass Slipper Shards, Episode 21

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Winning someone’s favor is an incredibly difficult task. It is even more so when the other party has reached a level of mastery in flattery.

Madame de Lavalier despised sweet words like empty boasts, flattery, and adulation. She loved honesty as unyielding as a fortress wall and cherished the pure, white chastity flowing from a straightforward heart more than any jewel.

It was only natural, considering she had reigned as the queen of high society for over a decade. She must have heard every conceivable embellishment that words could express to the point of utter weariness. It was no wonder she was not exhausted by the tangled desires that clung like mire.

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

Fortunately, my demeanor—revealing my own flaw that the elegance shown at our first meeting was the product of a desperate effort not to tarnish the Bishvarts Family’s reputation, and that my true self was no different from a commoner—satisfied Madame de Lavalier.

She was greatly pleased upon confirming that I, the daughter of her mother, was an unpolished gem.

“There is still room for improvement.”

As you lifted my chin with the tip of your fan, your gaze was sharper than that of a craftsman appraising a jewel. Was this what it meant to be stripped bare by a look? The fear and helplessness my mother must have felt became vividly clear.

At the same time, I felt a thrill. She was the haughty woman I had longed for. One who reigned like a queen, ruled like a tyrant, yet was worshipped like a faith!

“The blood that flows in your body is vulgarity itself. It is a brand that will follow you until the day you die. Everyone will point fingers and laugh at you. Some might even mock you to your face. But bear it. Swallow it sweetly, for it is the humiliation you rightfully deserve. Let the bloodline fear impurity and constantly remind yourself of what follows your name. Suffer, fall, and despair repeatedly within the dilemma of your humble origins and the nobility of the Bishvarts surname. Only when you have endured all of this can you proudly claim that a layer has been shed.”

Madame de Lavalier’s education, both in the past and present, was severity itself.

By pushing me harshly, she sought to make me understand the shame brought by the epithet “daughter of my mother.” Only then, she believed, would I grasp the weight and responsibility that came with the Bishvarts name.

The fact that Madame de Lavalier willingly took me under her wing and educated me was because she did not want to tarnish the name ‘Bishvarts.’

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

While she could not guarantee how well this would be received in high society, she was determined to prevent further disgrace.

“For you to become a lady of noble birth, you must remember the following. Your actions should be like flowers, your face gentle as a spring breeze, and your words sweet as honey when addressing others. Your fingertips should be nimble as when playing an instrument, yet flow naturally like water, and your steps should be as smooth as if oil were applied to the soles of your feet. Walking with noise is for the lowly! Your waist should be as straight as a tree, yet as supple as a reed, and your arms as elegant as silk trailing on the floor.”

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

After deciding to teach me, Madame de Lavalier’s actions were unhesitating. She devoted all her time, except for sleep, to me.

There was nothing untouched by her hand, from the basic act of walking correctly to the minute details of breathing in and out. Even the small moment of turning one’s head, a fraction of a second, was performed under Lavalliere’s strict guidance.

Thanks to this, even the number of pleats formed in my skirt when sitting down was under her control.

Madame de Lavalier pushed me to my limits, to the point where the word ‘harsh’ came to mind. Each time I imitated an action, the word ‘again’ was uttered hundreds of times. For some actions, I had to hear ‘again’ nearly a thousand times.

There is no need to elaborate when even the simple act of brushing hair falling onto my forehead was repeated sixty to seventy times.

Everything was subject to correction. Madame de Lavalier displayed a sharpness that pointed out not only the clumsy gestures I deliberately displayed for her sake but also actions so natural they were like breathing, which I myself did not even recognize.

This proved to be a great fortune for me. While I had mastered etiquette through past experiences, I had never reached the level of genuine mastery that Madame de Lavalier demonstrated, so her corrections were of great help.

Madame described all the education she was giving me as ‘making a beast human.’ It was a somewhat extreme statement, uncharacteristic of her usual demeanor, but her face was utterly matter-of-fact and serene as she uttered it.

The pride underlying it was so brilliant it overwhelmed everyone, even eliciting agreement from others.

Perhaps because of this, some people whispered, ‘How terrible must Cishe de Bishwaltz’s behavior be for her to speak like that?’ The words used to describe a girl just beginning to blossom were as rough as those of a common ruffian.

However, the word ‘beast’ that Madame de Lavalier used was not a metaphor for my actions. It referred to the immature eyes that could not hide their feelings towards me.

It was an elegant mockery of a pitiful bloodline that writhed violently whenever it heard the words ‘dirty blood,’ yet tried desperately to conceal it, unable to do anything about it.

“Unlike your mother, you possess a keen and agile nature. Furthermore, you have a patience unbefitting your age and act intelligently to please me. But how should I interpret the impudence you have shown me? I warn you, do not reveal it carelessly. It is enough to have thorns beneath your tongue. Is there anyone more foolish than one who reveals their emotions through their eyes? So, endure. Endure and endure again. There is something more you can do, so why create enemies unnecessarily?”

I flinched under the sharp gaze pouring down on my back and suppressed a laugh. It was because, through what she said, I finally understood what weapon I truly needed to perfect, and I couldn’t help but laugh.

The predator taught the snake how to use its fangs effectively. The snake, unaware of how sharp its fangs were or how fearsome its venom, realized through the leopard that its weapons were more potent than those of any other beast.

Hiss, hiss. The snake narrowed its eyes and smiled with satisfaction. Its flickering tongue was as menacing as if it were about to devour the predator before its eyes.

However, the snake, heeding Lavalliere’s advice, held back and waited for a future opportunity. With a smile in its eyes, just as she had said!

“Yes, Aunt.”

For it was undoubtedly I who would stand proudly with a triumphant smile in the future.

Thus, several days passed.

It was only when Madame de Lavalier said, ‘You’ve finally become somewhat presentable,’ that her original purpose, the ‘Exhibition,’ was held.

This festival for artists and inventors, offering opportunities to discover and sponsor promising individuals, was Madame de Lavalier’s most cherished time.

Had it been the past Lavalliere, she would have attended the exhibition with only Roena. Roena, too, enjoyed appreciating art as much as she did.

But the current Lavalliere decided to attend the exhibition, bringing not only Roena but me as well.

To her, ‘presentable’ meant being able to accompany her without shame, and she needed an opportunity to show off the beast she had painstakingly trained to the world.

“Would it not be shameful for a woman of the Bishvarts name to know nothing of a painting? Therefore, it would be good for you to broaden your limited horizons through such an opportunity.”

As she said, I bowed my head and quietly agreed. While I could confidently say I had a certain level of proficiency in paintings from past experience, I thought it important to show Cishe, who was still inexperienced, to myself.

After all, is there any person or partner as attractive as a ‘raw gem’ that one can mold to their liking?

However, had I known that Lustewin Halberd was among the knights accompanying me to the exhibition, I would not have so easily agreed to go.

Ah, why is the heart, though attached to my body, so unwilling to move according to my thoughts and will?

I thought I had settled everything by discarding the handkerchief, but the moment his shadow met my eyes, my gaze inexplicably wavered. My fingertips grew suddenly cold.

Unable to control my rapidly drying lips and trembling eyes, I could only breathe in short gasps. I wondered if the sweat trickling down my spine was due to tension or fear.

\*

In the past, someone told me.

For nobles, art was merely an accessory to flaunt their intellectual beauty.

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

What pride is there in indiscriminately buying paintings of similar styles to follow trends, enjoying operas with popular melodies, and bringing in useless foreign furniture?

But I dare say, what else but ‘art’ can reveal our refinement? This is the only way to boast of one’s intellectual elegance, sophisticated taste, and unique, noble hobbies that cannot be compared to others, amidst such foolish vanity.

Especially for people like me, we have no choice but to cling to ‘art.’ This is the only way to prove that we are people who belong in their world.

The exhibition hall, which I attended with Madame de Lavalier, was both an exhibition to showcase the jewel you had refined and a stage to test my artistic aesthetic sense.

There is no one in high society who does not know Madame de Lavalier! Therefore, my presence by her side could not go unnoticed.

As soon as we entered the exhibition hall, Lavalliere pointed to several striking paintings and asked for my opinion.

“What do you think of that painting?”

She knew that people around us were guessing my identity and whispering all sorts of things. She also knew that they were scrutinizing and judging my every move.

Therefore, you intended to preempt their arrogance by revealing the value of the beast you had tamed.

“It’s a beautiful painting, adorned with bright, vibrant colors as if kissed by light. I like how the walking lady is depicted with delicacy and elegance. Except for the regret that the dress she wears does not follow the current trend. This painting needs to be more sensual. It would have been good to paint objects imbued with exotic charm as well.”

My answer was quite simple. I spoke honestly, as it was, without adding all sorts of embellishments to critique the style or express the profound philosophy the painting contained.

The profound knowledge residing in my mind and the aesthetic sense born from past experiences never had a chance to leap onto my tongue.

It was only natural, as most of the painters exhibiting at the fair were newcomers carefully selected from academies. They were pitiful lambs who had no choice but to paint pictures that suited the tastes of nobles who might sponsor them. So, what meaning could be found in critiquing them!