How to Survive as the Second Son of a Mage Family - Chapter 495

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Team. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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“It’s my mistake. I was wrong. Why did I put my paintings in the salon? Why did I let people know the name Eugene Lamour?”

Eugene Lamour’s bleak voice flowed through the air. As if time had stopped, the only things moving in this place were Eugene Lamour’s vocal cords and lips.

“It’s over now. I think I’ve endured long enough. If you people are human, please leave me alone starting tomorrow.”

“Count Eugene Lamour! What do you mean by this? Since when has this been decided?”

“Did you decide this because of Count Geret’s statement? When will you sell the remaining paintings!”

The journalists rose from their seats and shouted. The sound of chairs falling, fountain pens scratching paper, calls to newspaper offices… The performance hall that had been silent became as noisy as a marketplace floor.

When the veil that had been covering my mind began to fall away, I opened my mouth, wondering if I had misheard. Retirement. For a painter, retirement economically produces the same result as the painter’s death. From now on, Eugene Lamour’s painting prices will skyrocket. Not only Eugene Lamour’s paintings that have already passed into other collectors’ hands, but also the prices of his works held by the Eugene Lamour Foundation will all rise dozens of times over. Depending on the condition of the paintings, they would generally be worth billions of won, and if they were large and internationally recognized paintings, they could be traded for over ten billion won.

Eugene Lamour roughly folded the contract he received from his secretary, put it in his jacket pocket, and smiled. Burnel Geret’s face hardened. With Eugene Lamour’s retirement announcement, the 100,000 franc—1 billion won bond that Burnel Geret had acquired became ridiculously cheap. If he hadn’t just transferred it, he could have sold one oil painting and three sketches for at least 2 billion won right away, and if he could wait for the price to rise further for investment purposes, he could have received even more.

Eugene Lamour wouldn’t have retired if Burnel Geret hadn’t signed. But anyway, Burnel Geret had acquired the bond and the four paintings became Eugene Lamour’s property again.

While Eugene Lamour laughed so hard his uvula was visible, as if he had somewhat resolved ten years of resentment, Burnel Geret was the first to blush among the audience frozen in shock at the shocking statement. Blood vessels writhed beneath the thin skin of his forehead. Whether he was angry at his opponent’s undignified appearance, angry at being mocked, or angry at receiving less money, or perhaps all three, was unclear.

However, regardless of what Burnel Geret thought, Eugene Lamour wasn’t laughing because he was happy to have retaliated against Burnel Geret. If Burnel Geret felt that Eugene Lamour was now attacking him with great vindictiveness, that would be Burnel Geret’s great mistake. I knew that much well, no matter what anyone said. Eugene Lamour was being liberated not from Burnel Geret, but from the world surrounding him. Eugene Lamour seemed like he wanted to cry and also seemed like he wanted to laugh. Not a single tear appeared in his eyes, but I thought his face was distorted from within. The laughter felt temporary, so it didn’t feel like laughter. Had Eugene Lamour really made the resolution to put down his brush of his own will? This was a cessation due to external pressure. But to others, it would look like this—Eugene Lamour gripped the amplification artifact tightly with eyes wet with emotion and spoke fervently.

“I should have done this long ago! Ah, what have I been painting for all this time? I don’t know anymore! I was too young. I knew nothing and didn’t know it would turn out like this. I was amazed that I could create my world with just canvas, paint, brushes, and charcoal, so I foolishly believed that if I submitted paintings to salons like others did, I could widely spread my joy to others. To think I believed they would look at my paintings!”

Eugene Lamour pointed accusingly at Burnel Geret.

“For you to speak of art and criticism—were you even properly looking at my paintings enough to critique them? You said I knew nothing about art or criticism. But it was you people who began to see me as a celebrity rather than an artist. Instead of opening new horizons of interpretation for the public, you are focused on killing me. Because of people like you, criticizing someone to death may have become part of this era’s entertainment.”

“Count Lamour!”

“Wait a moment! Count Lamour, you must see this!”

As soon as his words ended, journalists shouted, and Eugene Lamour finished speaking with a displeased expression. From far away, a journalist came running onto the stage with a rolled-up newspaper.

“The article that Saxony Daily had announced has just been published.”

Already? Having listened to the conference, did they think they could no longer delay the report? The timing was poor—at this rate, Eugene Lamour’s retirement speech would become an explanation speech. I quickly turned my head. Elias unfolded a newspaper that was folded in half and handed it to me.

[Eugene Lamour Returns to Academic Works]

[Some Unreleased Private Collection Works Leaked… Perfect Return to Academic Style, What’s Next?]

What is this?

I was at a loss for words. The leaked photo printed under the proudly written title was blurry but definitely Eugene Lamour’s new work, yet it carried traces of his youthful style. Neither Elias nor Mecklenburg said anything. For a moment, the audience was the same. Everyone was watching Eugene Lamour’s reaction.

“Is this shocking news?”

Eugene Lamour spoke in a completely drained tone and just stared at the newspaper for a long time. He threw down the newspaper and muttered.

“Everyone’s gone crazy. Blinded by sales numbers.”

“Making a big fuss and holding a conference over nothing!”

Someone shouted in German with a French accent. Eugene Lamour answered bluntly with a numbed expression.

“So now stalking is nothing. I knew this would become another situation where I get criticized. If nothing happened, you should be relieved, but you seem to hope I committed some crime.”

Eugene Lamour held up the front page of the newspaper angrily.

“The person who should be truly angry is me! Where did you get this photo? Who should I suspect now? This was painted in my house a month ago—how could it leak out?”

“Count Lamour! Then is it true that you painted it yourself? Have you returned to your youthful style?”

When one journalist shouted and asked, others opened their mouths too.

“Count Lamour, you clearly said earlier that you couldn’t maintain academicism. What’s the reason for painting your new work in academic style?”

“You had already painted a return work and a perfectly fine scoop was announced, but will you maintain your retirement declaration? Don’t you plan to return!”

“Wait a moment!”

From the audience that had become a marketplace again, a critic stood up. He spoke with squinted eyes and raised corners of his mouth.

“Count Eugene Lamour, Count Lamour is someone who knows how to accept criticism. And then, because your pride wouldn’t allow it, didn’t you give a long speech saying our criticism was tiresome? When you could return to academic style and you had the mind to do so again! If you plan to make excuses rather than acknowledging that you returned to academic style through criticism, seriously reflect on this. Was there truly no influence of our criticism on your work!”

Elias opened his mouth. With so many people, extraordinary words were coming from everywhere. But the essence of that was not unfamiliar—it was familiar talk. The critic spoke with increasing conviction in his voice.

“Count Geret is right. Count Lamour, when you don’t carelessly ignore the criticism presented by us critics and improve, proper art can bloom. That academic style is exactly that example. Once art goes down the wrong path, it becomes irreversible. Not only your work but the overall flow of art itself risks becoming frivolous and incomprehensible. In that sense, the return to academic style means Count Lamour’s artistry can ignite in a healthier way in the future, and it means Count Lamour can have a positive influence on the art world in France and worldwide.”

Lamour stood still with his mouth open. Just like Elias. He looked at midair again with half-open eyes. He muttered in a daze.

“You think that if you lecture me about parts you don’t like, I’ll eventually fix them?”

“No, it can’t be expressed so lightly. In more professional terms, it’s mutual complementation…”

“I filled the elements of my painting with academic style because my spirit found a point connected to the past. Why do you claim credit for the result of personal reflection? Are you now going to claim ownership of my paintings?”

“Count Lamour, you have certainly encountered countless criticisms. Art magazines from around the world are watching you. Wherever you go, you can see evaluations of your paintings—can that painting truly be only the result of personal reflection? Can you say there was no influence from style criticism at all?”

The critic tilted his head and persuaded him. Eugene Lamour made a more comfortable expression at those words. He shook his head with a slightly lighter face, like when he had announced his retirement.

“I cannot read articles that mention me.”

I checked my watch and turned around. Already 50 minutes. A long time had passed—and nothing had happened. At least until the conference ended, it seemed I could leave it to Elias and Mecklenburg.

* * *

“What?”

Mecklenburg raised his eyebrows seeing Ascanien disappearing as he turned away. He tried to grab Ascanien’s shoulder but missed.

“Why are you leaving?”

“…”

“Hey!”

There was no answer.

Mecklenburg felt his mood worsen as he watched Ascanien’s retreating figure.

“Why is your friend acting like that?”

Hohenzollern said nothing either.

“Shouldn’t you follow him? Should I go instead?”

“Don’t go.”

“Why.”

“Don’t you think there’s a reason I’m not following him? But do you really need to go, Senior?”

Hohenzollern looked at Mecklenburg irritably then turned his head away. Mecklenburg was dumbfounded and slightly furrowed his brows and closed his mouth. Did this guy suddenly dye his hair black and his heart turned black too… Or was he always like this? He was probably always like this. I roughly knew his personality from what I’d heard.

Meanwhile, Count Lamour asked ‘could you read critical articles with your name on them if you were me,’ and the critic seriously pondered before answering.

“I understand Count Lamour’s difficulties, but I can do it. We are different people.”

“You’ve never woken up having seizures at dawn. You’ve never hoped that you could just die today and have your obituary reported tomorrow rather than thinking about newspaper articles with reactions coming out the day after the salon.”

Eugene Lamour was smiling. He acted like someone who had lost his mind. Mecklenburg was worried but also thought he was definitely sick. If he was having such difficulties in his professional life, this person should go to the hospital and seek medical help. And he also thought those Frenchmen who kept making Eugene Lamour say such things were excessive.

“Even if I come to Bavaria, the people who will chase me will write articles whether I go to Africa or Asia, and when years pass and I’m about to be forgotten, they’ll bring up my name. They’ll do it even when I die.”

“Wouldn’t that be glorious?”

Eugene Lamour ignored that question and stubbornly continued speaking.

“If there’s nowhere on earth for me to escape, there’s only one place to go, but have the names of politicians who went to hell been forgotten from everyone’s memory after their death? For me to escape from your malice, I have no choice but to turn back time and return to before I submitted to the salon. In other words, there’s no way. So whether I die or live, I’m dead, and whether I live or die, I’m alive, and I continue to be dismantled by you people. Can such a person open a newspaper?”

Mecklenburg couldn’t really understand what he was saying. Like speaking in a foreign language he was hearing for the first time, Eugene Lamour’s utterances bounced off his heart.

“I painted before you people knew of my existence, and I melted all the canvases I’ve made so far into new paintings again, and I melted the world that expanded as much as my life into paintings again. I merely maintained the artistic world I had upheld since the early days of my artistic activities—that’s all, so thinking that my attempt a month ago was thanks to criticism is excessive. I’m afraid that if you believe I accepted criticism, you’ll do the same thing to other painters. People like you fiercely attack young celebrities in noble marriages and eventually separate the two from fate. By the same principle, you are using pen and words to separate me from free aesthetic expression.”

Eugene Lamour was much calmer than before and no longer angry. It seemed my momentary thought that he had lost his mind was a misjudgment. Mecklenburg was somewhat relieved. But that was a misjudgment. Eugene Lamour pointed at Burnel Geret as if asking for a fight.

“Let’s gradually see the end. I trust you’re not someone unserious enough to leave in the middle of a conversation. From now on, please let Count Burnel Geret answer. If you’re a person who is mature in character, you’ll know this too. Any act in life cannot be created without your own strengths and weaknesses. Right?”

Mecklenburg felt a headache. He asked Hohenzollern beside him.

“…Isn’t he sarcastically repeating what Count Geret said before he announced his retirement, just changing the expression? Is it just me hearing it that way?”

Hohenzollern didn’t answer. Eugene Lamour waited for Burnel Geret’s response, but Geret just stood at attention and looked at Eugene Lamour with sharp eyes. Finally, Eugene Lamour opened his mouth.

“Some people criticize bringing gold as luxurious, while others praise gold as being like the sun. Whose words should we listen to? A person with thin ears can’t accomplish their own work or others’ work and is no different from someone who builds a house for one season that will collapse with one gust of wind. Who exactly should sit on the donkey’s back? If criticism came in about your poetry saying it was incoherent and weak, would you change it overnight into strong and resolute work? The changed work may look solid at first glance, but it’s as fleeting as ice placed in the middle of summer sunlight. Rather, in terms of strength, sincere poetry that appears weak but swears truth to God is more sacred and tenacious. Exchanging constructive discussion and accepting criticism is different from being swayed like reeds by everyone’s words. But you people in this place seem to want me to be swayed by criticism.”

Perhaps thinking that Burnel Geret was being attacked because of his words, the critic finally sat down with an ashen complexion. It was visible that he was in a bad mood because his opinion wasn’t accepted. Lamour continued speaking as if he didn’t exist, so Mecklenburg thought Lamour’s personality wasn’t particularly good.

“Count Geret. Think from your position. Is being swayed by criticism proper etiquette toward poetry appreciators who believed in your sincerity? Before that, is it right for yourself? If I paint academic works because I want to paint them, is that wrong, but if I paint them according to your lectures, is that good?”

“Count Lamour! I have a question!”

Eugene Lamour waved his hand at the journalist’s question and waited until the audience became quiet. He spoke looking only at Burnel Geret, whose eyes were bloodshot. He wiggled his finger.

“Until the end, you disparaged me as not being an artist, so for my final dignity, this time I’ll defend myself ‘as an artist.’ Most people who appreciate paintings like talking about paintings, not talking about me more. They can ask about my life to help appreciate paintings, and since that might be a reasonable request from appreciators, I have faithfully answered questions whenever I personally attend salons. For example, when asked if my wife’s death was the reason for painting this picture, I answer yes. But the purpose of their questions lies entirely in appreciating the work or simple curiosity arising from the work, not in writing scoops for money, judging guilt or innocence, or shaking my character for entertainment. To them, I am a painter who paints unusual pictures and the owner of paintings, not a celebrity who produces scoops.”

“Count Lamour!”

Every time his words ended, journalists’ shouts and flashes poured in. Eugene Lamour continued speaking to Burnel Geret with a peaceful face as if he couldn’t hear their voices.

“Most appreciators listen carefully to the stories I tell as a painter standing next to paintings and explaining, but they ultimately know how to project their own lives onto paintings and give birth to new works. Even if I painted from my wife’s death, they project a friend’s death, or the end of an old era, or the dismantling of human rights consciousness. Some interpret death as a new beginning. Conversely, when I painted emphasizing the light and shadow of the industrial revolution, appreciators sometimes overlap the influence their illness had on their lives. Though it became quite different from my intention, I think it’s very glorious. I think this is exactly healthy reconstruction and a way to pioneer the infinite possibilities of painting. They don’t say nonsense like Eugene Lamour went crazy from his wife’s death and developed an adolescent ego or became a drug addict after looking at paintings. They don’t say nonsense that I’m having a bad influence on society. Your appreciation has also become quite different from my intention like the previous ones, and I consider this an insult. Where does this difference come from?”

Eugene Lamour held the amplification artifact toward the audience.

“Wow.”

Hohenzollern, who had been looking grim the whole time, briefly smiled—though he still looked grim. On the other hand, Burnel Geret just widened his eyes and remained silent. Burnel Geret was no longer listening to Eugene Lamour’s words, and clearly he was swept up in anger and not in a state to accept external information.

Unlike Hohenzollern, Mecklenburg sighed with an ambiguous feeling that was neither this nor that. He could understand some parts, but generally everything sounded like chasing clouds.

“I’ve often been called eccentric since I was young. I also heard from my teacher that my mental world was so unique that no means other than painting could release my madness. He said that proper paintings, that is, academic paintings, could sublimate my madness in the right direction.”

I had read such stories in Eugene Lamour’s interviews. I didn’t know he was actually this strange a person though. Mecklenburg almost nodded his head because he felt pleased. Eugene Lamour turned his head and spoke calmly to the audience.

“And after changing my painting style, I began to hear more earnestly that I was crazy. My perspective was clearly deviated from normal, so people with universal perspectives like themselves found it interesting and uncomfortable. But I was never greatly upset by evaluations that spoke of my mind in that way. Instead, I felt deep freshness every time. If you’re human, you know how to distinguish what is praise, criticism, and personal insult, even with the same words. You can also distinguish writing that wears the mask of objective criticism but is actually desperate to insult me as a painter in every single word. Such lowly blasphemous criticism easily catches the eye because it enjoys sensational popularity from the public or certain groups. Count Geret, all differences come from the presence or absence of human respect. Did you know that I could distinguish all of this?”

“…”

“You evaluated me as having dementia because you thought my painting style was very barbaric and a blasphemy against art. You people are obsessed with purposes external to the work, and because that purpose is more precious than human dignity, you look for things to criticize me for through my work. That’s because you don’t treat me as a person but regard me as a celebrity who could have a bad influence on the art world.”

“Count Lamour, I have a question. Then the work—”

When it seemed journalists’ words would pour out again, Eugene Lamour held up his open hand. His gaze was directed at Geret.

“The moment it passed through your brain, my work moved a certain distance from the intention with which I held the brush, and all your judgments, speculations, and utterances reflect your depth. Because you don’t feel self-reproach for revealing your own bottom, I must retire.”

“…”

“You must be pleased to break my brush. You must know this clearly. I am quitting painting not because I want to die at your hands. I’m not quitting because I don’t want to paint, but because…”

Eugene Lamour trailed off, then regained his composure and spoke again.

“All paintings will only be traded up to what was painted yesterday, and after that I will not reveal my paintings anywhere. There will be no next painting. Even if there is, I won’t put it on the market. I won’t exhibit it anywhere. But you will go home and write criticism again, won’t you? As I have always done, I want to respect you, so I hope you will also maintain at least basic human decency from now on. That is what I wish to implore from you as a fellow citizen of our homeland France.”

Mecklenburg was so busy observing Eugene Lamour’s expression that he didn’t see Burnel Geret’s face. But Eugene Lamour seemed to have caught everything and shook his head.

“You seem to dislike even that I regard you as a fellow citizen. To you, I was not a fellow citizen but a celebrity, so it wouldn’t make sense.”

Eugene Lamour looked around at the audience and let out a laugh. Unlike when he started the press conference, his face looked relieved.

“I won’t reverse my retirement, but I hope we can meet tomorrow in good spirits. Even if we won’t meet through works, let’s remain that way in each other’s memories. That is my final wish.”

Burnel Geret stared at Eugene Lamour for a long time. He turned around and left his seat. In the end, Burnel Geret neither agreed with nor accepted Eugene Lamour’s words. Perhaps it couldn’t be helped since the emotional rift ran so deep. Eugene Lamour, who had been quietly watching Burnel Geret’s retreating figure, also disappeared into the opposite hallway without answering the journalists’ barrage of questions.

Mecklenburg was not satisfied that Eugene Lamour had tried to treat Burnel Geret well until the end. He was pleased about the massive financial loss inflicted, but Mecklenburg wouldn’t have stopped there.

He didn’t know what opinion Hohenzollern had, but Mecklenburg spoke first to his rude junior.

“I wish Count Eugene Lamour had hated that person instead.”

“He would have eventually.”

Hearing Ascanien’s voice from behind, Mecklenburg hastily turned around.

“…! When did you arrive?”

“Just now.”

Ascanien stood casually with his hands thrust into his pockets, his complexion much better than before. Hohenzollern’s eyes crinkled as he looked at him, but he said nothing. Knowing that Ascanien hadn’t been emanating good energy the whole time, Mecklenburg asked carefully.

“Perhaps Atropos…”

“No… It’s not that, I just came back from resting. Elias.”

Ascanien looked at Hohenzollern with a face asking for clarification. Hohenzollern would be able to tell whether Ascanien was different from usual or not. Hohenzollern answered rudely.

“It’s nothing Senior needs to know about. You don’t need to worry about it.”

“Wait, Count Hohenzollern. I’d like you to use appropriate language.”

When Mecklenburg made a stern expression and scolded him, Ascanien immediately raised his voice.

“So, then. Where did Count Eugene Lamour go?”

“…He’s probably in the waiting room. He’d need to pack his things.”

But Count Lamour hadn’t gone to the hallway where Mecklenburg himself was. The moment that thought occurred to him and Mecklenburg opened his mouth, Ascanien shook his head.

“The secretaries will pack for him. Given Count Lamour’s personality, he wouldn’t have returned to the waiting room. He’s probably planning to exit through the back gate via the left hallway. Let’s go!”

Since he suddenly started running without much explanation, Mecklenburg reached out and shouted.

“Go?! Where?!”

“Didn’t you know we came to provide security?”

“…?! You only said you’d let me meet Eugene Lamour, you didn’t tell me about that!”

Then Hohenzollern beside him made a disgusted face and covered his ears.

“Ugh, really…”

“What’s been wrong with Count Hohenzollern since earlier?”

“It’s not since earlier. I’m truly sorry to have to say this, but your voice is too loud, Senior.”

“…”

Dumbfounded, Mecklenburg looked Hohenzollern up and down and ran after Ascanien.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Team. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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