Grace in Wonderland - Chapter 29

29. A Midsummer Night’s Dream

“A Midsummer Night’s Dream” is a comedy written by the great Ingrintian playwright Shakespeare, who would not trade his works even for Indus. In the verdant season when the countryside flourished in green, it was also the most frequently performed play in Ingrint.

Though people who pretended to be cultured often claimed to prefer Shakespeare’s tragedies, the truth was that the social elite genuinely enjoyed comedies. After all, these plays were meant to bring joy and delight.

Of course, in public, they would recite lines such as, “Life is full of sound and fury, signifying nothing,” with anguished expressions. It simply made them appear more intellectual.

Today, A Midsummer Night’s Dream was being performed at Bath’s Assembly Room. As the story of magical love unfolding in a mystical, strange forest, it was highly anticipated by the young men and women who had traveled to Bath in search of marriage prospects.

There were, however, those who stood apart from such expectations: married couples entangled in daily squabbles, elderly patrons wishing for longevity and health rather than love, and Richard Spencer.

Richard Spencer, the Young Earl, harbored a deep wariness of emotions like love. Unlike his twin brother Lancelot Spencer, who basked in their mother’s affection as if it were a fur coat, Richard had grown up cast out and exposed.

For children, parents are absolute. They cannot choose or change them, and this lack of choice renders parents even more trustworthy and reliable than deities during that stage of life.

But the inability to choose or change is also where unhappiness begins. It is like a wall that remains unmarred no matter how much you claw at it or a door that will not budge regardless of how hard you push. That is where misfortune takes root.

Some children, such as Lancelot Spencer, experienced a childhood overflowing with abundance. The unwavering smiles of a mother who only had eyes for him and the sycophantic praise of maids and nannies influenced by her led to a state of contentment that required no sustenance.

Other children, like Richard Spencer, suffered from an emotional hunger that persisted despite the immense wealth and prestigious title they stood to inherit. The indifferent gaze of a neglectful mother and the subtle disregard of maids and nannies influenced by her made Richard lonely.

Richard Spencer was a clever child. At some point, he began to cleanly cut away and discard the things he had to give up. In doing so, he managed to address much of his hunger and thirst.

What he discarded wasn’t much: the desire to be loved, the yearning for empathy, and the wish to confide in others. These were the entirety of the emotions Richard erased and cast away. After completing this lengthy task, he finally headed to Grentabridge, feeling unburdened.

Avoidance and evasion made life more comfortable. Not expecting anything from others became the ultimate tool for self-love, as it meant he no longer had to relinquish parts of himself to hopes and expectations.

In that sense, A Midsummer Night’s Dream held no appeal for Richard Spencer. He couldn’t empathize with Hermia’s feelings as she defied her father’s orders to elope with Lysander out of love.

And what about Demetrius, chasing after a woman who ran away with another man? That was even more incomprehensible. One might stop someone from coming, but preventing someone from leaving was against common sense. The logical choice was to let them go without making a fuss, rather than following them into the forest in such a humiliating manner.

Would the fate of a woman who defied her father and chose love truly end as a comedy? Certainly not. Her honor would plummet, leaving a disgraceful conclusion, just like Annabel Gurton, Grace Gurton’s mother.

And if a man brought back a woman who had run off with another and married her, could their life afterward be normal? Absolutely not. Endless days of doubt and insecurity over whether she still loved her former lover or remained in contact with him would surely follow.

Why people acted impulsively and ruined things without considering realistic consequences was beyond Richard Spencer’s understanding. He also couldn’t comprehend why people enjoyed plays that fostered such reckless sentiments.

Before him stood four individuals who embodied such incomprehensible folly.

“Miss Gurton, there’s a play being performed at the Assembly Room tonight. Would you accompany me?”

When Theresius Wilford invited Grace Gurton to the play, Eleanor d’Estrée felt waves crashing against her heart.

Eleanor d’Estrée was a woman who wanted, hoped for, and yearned for love. This was because, until she arrived in Ingrint, she had led a life far removed from love. It was akin to the feeling of missing out on a sold-out dress.

Richard Spencer was not the only one whose marriage had been predetermined at birth. Eleanor, too, was a victim of such a detestable betrothal.

From the moment she was born, she was bound to a man from a barbaric island rather than a fellow Gallian. Because of this, she couldn’t even dream of love. Eleanor believed she might be the only woman in Gallia who had never experienced proper love before marriage.

Unlike the free-spirited Gallia, Ingrint was conservatively stifling. In Ingrint, if an unmarried woman engaged in romance, her value was said to plummet into the gutters. For this reason, Eleanor had to remain as chaste as a maiden offered as a sacrifice to a sea monster across the ocean.

Learning Ingrintian also didn’t sit well with her. The more she studied it, the more provincial and coarse she found the language.

If one were to name the most elegant and refined language in the world, it would undoubtedly be Gallian. Unlike the melodic and song-like quality of her native tongue, Ingrintian was rough and uncouth. Eleanor even pitied the people of Ingrint for living their lives speaking such an uncivilized language.

Thus, she neglected her Ingrintian studies. Having started learning Ingrintian alongside Gallian, her progress in the former had long stagnated.

Still, she thought it didn’t matter. Gallian, her mother tongue, was the cultural lingua franca of the continent. Richard Spencer, her future husband, would have needed to learn Gallian for the sake of education and refinement. In the worst case, they could simply converse in Gallian, a conclusion Eleanor reached on her own.

Regardless, Eleanor, despite her poor command of Ingrintian, was deeply interested in a romantic play performed in the Ingrintian language. Although she knew it couldn’t compare to Molière, a playwright revered in Gallia, her low expectations for Ingrintian culture left her unconcerned.

Moreover, when she saw an Ingrintian man kneeling on one knee to invite someone to the play, she began eagerly anticipating the evening. The scene itself was irresistibly romantic.

A man lowering himself willingly to invite a woman of low status who even stuttered when she spoke—how utterly Gallian! It was a scene more theatrical than the play itself. Eleanor opened her dull eyes wide and waited for Grace Gurton’s response.

“I-I…”

Finally, Grace Gurton opened her mouth. Eleanor, Lancelot, and Theresius all focused their gazes on her small, pink lips.

In contrast, Richard looked only into the distance. He thought the situation was unbearably childish.

“I-if it’s a place where I’m allowed to go…”

Hearing those words, Richard sighed softly. Why had he assumed Grace Gurton would outright refuse?

Theresius Wilford was a hypocrite. From a broader perspective, Richard Spencer wasn’t all that different. But Richard drew a clear distinction between himself and Theresius. Theresius acted out of obsession with success, while Richard acted out of a sense of noble responsibility and duty.

“Th-then… I’ll go.”

As soon as the words left her lips, Eleanor’s previously lifeless eyes began to fill with vitality. She then, forgetting her betrothal to Richard Spencer, blurted out words of agreement.

“I also prefer watching plays.”

Lancelot Spencer chimed in as if to solidify the arrangement, “Then we’ll plan to attend the play together tonight. Richard doesn’t seem interested, so I’ll inform the Assembly Room that only the four of us will be attending.”

Theresius rose, overwhelmed with gratitude. “Thank you so much for sparing your precious time, Miss Gurton.”

How insufferable.

Richard wanted to expose the true nature of the hypocritical Theresius, who was grinning slyly, baring his teeth. However, mindful of appearances, he suppressed the urge. Instead, he called over one of the attendants circulating the hall offering hot spring water and drank deeply. The lukewarm taste of the water was utterly revolting.