The Art of Melancholia

The End *TEASER*

The day after my father died, my mother and I had breakfast in her apartments but neither of us could eat much of anything as we avoided the conversation we needed to have while not yet in our mourning dress. 

"We must discuss your  inheritance," said my mother as she dabbed her red eyes with her handkerchief. Her hair was loose, messy, and un-powdered and she did not change our of her chamber robe and chemise. "It's complicated." 

I hadn't thought of it. What happened to my father's patrimony did not much concern me. All my life I stood to inherit nothing and when my brother returned, which I was quite sure of, he would inherit everything as I had planned. I only needed to wait. There was no reason that I, a second son, should've inherited anything. As long as I could stay in Varlemont, with the income my father once allowed me, I would be content. My brother would stay there with me, I thought, as I saw no reason he would want to return back to Calais anyway. 

"I assume you've heard from your brother," she said while her hands fussed with the handkerchief in her hands. 

"No," I said barely eating any of the bread on my plate. 

"No?" she titled her head.

"No," I said my eyes cast down. As far as she knew, or so I thought, I had no knowledge of how to write him. "have you?"

"Oh," she said as cast her eyes down. She hesitated in thought before she started laughing and covered her face with her hands, "of course."

"What?"

"Nothing," she said as she placed her hands back on her silverware, "but you should write to him about his father. He should know."

"But I don't know-"

"You know," she said as she looked me in the eyes, "I've assumed you both have been writing," she sighed, "seems not." 

"I can write to him," I said quiet, "he should come back soon enough."

"He isn't coming back," she said after a stifled laugh, "or is he inheriting anything as you well know."

"But he must," I said, "it's his right."

"A right a forfeited when he decided to abandon us," she said pointedly, "the whole Court knows it. He has proven himself that he he does want, no, deserve it. You are the Comte d'Artois now." 

"No I am not," I said, "the Court will not approve of it. I am the youngest."

"The Court must approve it," she said, "we don't even truly know where he is. He could be in Spain or England and we wouldn't even know of it ! No, the Court will approve of it. His Majesty does not look favorably on disloyal sons. That's against the State, against Our Lord even, and give our...situation His Majesty will approve of it, he must, because if not your father's heritage will be claimed by the crown and leave us destitute." She furrowed her brows as she cut into a pastry which caused a sharp scrape but her face softened when she saw mine. She reached over the table to take hold of my hands and spoke again in a sweeter, kinder voice, "but don't worry yourself too much about it. Catherine's family will not allow that to happen." 

"But he will come back," I said, "he will - this is his home."

"No, no I don't believe so," she said as she shook her head, "he seems quite content to make home elsewhere."

She tried to eat again but gave up and called her maid over to clear the dishes. She thought to herself as she rested her head in the palm of her hand. She tucked a few loose strands of hair behind her ears before speaking again, "since you are still in your minority I will have to be the guardian of your estate for now." 

"Will he not be angry?" I said, "I know he will come back - he will. You can write to him and explain this all to him. He hasn't abandoned us. If you write to him about our situation and forgive -"

"Forgive? Forgive who? Him?" she said, "I will not do that. Not while he keeps that woman of his."

"Why not?"

"As you well know a marriage without your father's consent is in no way proper," she said, "for one he is of no age to choose for himself. Secondly, he agreed to marry Catherine long before he told me about that woman, from a family we know nothing of, and with only modest fortune. I refused him and, of course, he got upset and stormed out of here and didn't speak to me for weeks. But if he even thought of it even a little he would know Catherine was the best prospect for him. He almost ruined our family by disgracing her if the Rohan's refused you, which they almost did, but that has not blotted out the stain of it and now...this."

"He didn't tell me that."

"I'm sure." 

"I  think he loves her," I muttered.

She leaned in across the table as if she was telling me a secret. "But it's quite convenient for him, do you not think? That this great love of his just so happens to be a sole heiress? Out of the realm? With no near relatives to object?"

"I don't know what you mean."

She laughed. "I don't know either."

Less than a minute went by before her eyes began to fill with tears, "it's all my fault."

Pained, I took her hands. "No, no it's not your fault. I should've stopped him. He told me, the night before he left and - I should've told you Maman - I should've told you. He told me he couldn't live anymore and I should've stopped him. I should've told you - but it will be alright. We don't need to worry about any of this right now. He is going to come back - I promise. He - he will because now..." I stopped myself.

"When?"

I didn't say anything.

"When?" she said, "When did he say he will come back?"

"He didn't say anything specific-"

"and, in all these months, have you received anything from him? A single word?"

"No but-" 

"And did he tell you anything before about these plans of his? Anything about this great love match he has created for himself?"

I suppose my face answered for me.

"And why wouldn't he?" she said as she looked hard into my face, "unless he knows he's in the wrong."