Muse - The Proposal 2

"My father never acknowledged me in public. Apparently, the gods punished him for his adultery by depriving him of a suitable, legitimate and male heir. Before I became a duke, I travelled through Europe as a bohemian and visited courts as a musician until I joined the army, but you already knew that."

She raised an eyebrow. "Have you charmed many noblewomen as a minstrel?"

"Or noblemen. Sometimes, when it was necessary to close a deal. It was always a risky affair, best avoided. I preferred to be the jester. To be honest, I still am."

I took her hand, and she allowed me to lead her to the next work. "How so, dear Countess. Can you imagine being seduced by a handsome troubadour?"

With a smile, her gaze wandered. "My dear Duke, while I may be an example of virtue to many, I am not innocent and naïve. I told you I enjoyed affairs before marriage and my first had a similar career to yours. In retrospect, a useful experience, though I shed many tears." With a hushed smile, she looked at me. "The role of jester suits you, but it is a role. Despite your refusal to conduct yourself as a duke, you know the proper way to behave. Where did you learn that?"

"My complicated family tree interests you more than the surrounding art?" I nodded at the next painting. A landscape with a regal tree full of summer leaves. Up close, the ripening fruits were rotting corpses of hanged people.

"A noble family tree is never simple," she said, and studied the work. "For how else would nobility spend its time if it wasn't concerned with succession?" She grimaced at the painting and turned to face me. "These works haven't asked me to spend a month carrying out every assignment I am given. I'm supposed to get to know you, am I not? Not only who you are, but also where you're coming from. Which includes the story of your childhood, I'd say."

I gave in. She wanted to know who I was, and I had promised to tell her. "All right, but the short version. It will be long enough already. Sit down." I gestured the lounge chairs in the middle of the room. A side table carrying a candle holder, glasses, and a bottle of wine separated the chairs. She took a seat. I poured the wine, lit the candles, turned down the gaslight, and sat down next to her in the remaining chair. Shrouded in twilight, the room became my personal confession booth.

"My story starts with a little boy. He found the best hiding place there is. He is playing hide and seek with Anna. They arrived a week ago, and this room has a wardrobe full of clothes. Anna can never find him here, hidden under the hanging dresses. It's dark in the closet, but not too dark. He can peep through slits in the door. Portes persiennes is what his mother calls it. Like Anna, he has to learn many languages. Sometimes the boy is sad because he has no other friends. They often travel to a new palace, with new children who use new strange words. Anna is fun to play with, but she can be mean, saying she is higher than him. Which is nonsense, because he is older and taller. It's because of her father, she says. He does all kinds of important things.

"The boy doesn't really believe Anna. Her father only talks to people. And he is mean to the boy. He understands why Anna loves him, though. Her father is also strict with her, but not mean. He always smiles when he sees her. Even when she is naughty and he scolds her, his eyes keep smiling, and he gives her presents and sweets. The boy has no father to give him presents. His father died before he was born. But he loves his mother and sometimes she gives him sweets.

"The door of the room opens. Is it Anna? He looks through the slits in the door in silence. No. He can only see a skirt. It's a lady. The skirt slips from her body and he holds his breath in fright. The lady undresses. She is going to change, she will find him when she opens the closet!"

I was nine years old again. The naked woman moved before my mind's eye. "She doesn't open the closet. With her back to him, she puts on a blindfold. Dressed only in her stockings and shoes, she kneels on the bed, stretches out her arms in front of her, grabs the posts of the bed and waits. She shivers, even though it isn't cold. The boy looks on in amazement. You're not allowed to wear your shoes on the bed! And the blindfold, is she playing a game? But the biggest surprise is how he feels. Strangely warm and excited, like cleaning his pecker when bits of lint from his underpants stick to it."

I no longer experienced the excitement. I knew how it had ended with the woman and it made me sad.

"He knows. You mustn't feel this. The door of the room opens again. Someone else enters and locks the door. Not Anna. The heavy steps of a man. A man who shouldn't be here, not while the woman is naked! The boy gasps and quickly covers his mouth. They didn't hear him. The man is angry with the woman, even though the boy doesn't understand Italian. Probably because she is naked and wearing shoes on the bed. She doesn't move, and the man unbuckles his belt. The little boy knows only too well what it means. He shudders in silence as the man delivers his punishment, working her buttocks with the belt while she endures and counts the blows. Many, many blows that leave fire-red swollen welts. Tears burn in the little boy's eyes. He recognised her voice, counting. He wants to storm out of the closet, hit the man and save the woman. At the same time, his strange excitement grows stronger. It makes his pecker hard. Because despite the pain, his mother enjoys the punishment Anna's father deals out."

The memory faded, and I looked at Milena. The flickering candles provided the only movement in her face. Her wide eyes and heavy breathing betrayed her: fear mixed with excitement. Like me in that distant past.

"The earliest memory of my parents sharing their love for each other. It didn't end with punishment, of course. More of the game they played followed, ending in heady lovemaking before they fell asleep, allowing me to escape unseen." I smiled without joy. "What you'd call a formative experience."

Milena didn't respond to my sarcasm and just nodded. I paused with a sip of wine.

"And then?" she said and leant towards me. The story had struck a chord in her I hoped to play. Unfortunately, the rest of my story would spoil the mood considerably.

"I was angry with my father, but I didn't hate him. I didn't even know he was my father. For me, he was the Duke Von Anhalt Bernburg, who employed my mother as a lady-in-waiting for his wife. Besides my anger, there was the strange feeling that I had entered a dark, forbidden forest with hidden treasures.

"I, or rather Anna and I, never talked about it with our parents. But the games we played changed dramatically after we hid in the closet together. We watched our parents satisfy their dark desires with rope and knots. After that, I was no longer the fictional hero who saved his beloved from barbarian pirates. I became the barbarian who kidnapped and tied her up. Our own version of the game our parents played. Sometimes she was the brave heroine who escaped and took revenge on the barbarian. We both knew which role we enjoyed most. We also knew such games were taboo. Anna and I had an upbringing that kept us far from stupid. We were still children, but you couldn't call us innocent anymore."

I could not suppress a smile. After all this time, these were pleasant memories, only tarnished by what followed. "Eventually her father caught us and the consequences were disastrous for all concerned." I paused again and looked at my silent audience. "Is my story boring you? You're so quiet."

Her strained gaze disappeared. She leaned back in her chair and sipped her glass. "Please, Damian, you're a better judge of character than that. Tell me more." Despite the wine, she sounded hoarse.

I dived back into the past. "When Waldemar caught us, I was twelve. Fortunately not yet able to render Anna pregnant. He sent her to a convent full of strict nuns. Their mission was to educate this sheep that strayed from the path, in the norms and values befitting a young noble lady. They were reasonably successful, although the strict punishments the nuns applied had an unintended side effect." Did it sound familiar to Milena? She avoided my gaze.

"What happened to you?" she said.

"The Duke banished my mother and I from his court the same day." A day of punishment, harsh words and tense silences. "No doubt this would have happened eventually, for though I had my mother's darker complexion and hair, I had my father's eyes and build. The misconduct towards his daughter was a good excuse to get rid of us. We moved into my now-deceased grandparents' retreat. A small, dilapidated estate on the Swiss coast of Lake Maggiore. It suited her mood. She loved the duke, but she also loved me, the cause of this scandal. A mental chasm she bridged with alcohol abuse and laudanum."

I would never forget her reproaches soaked in cheap brandy. Nor would I forget her regrets when she sobered up. But don't drunk people tell the truth?

"Did you know that the duke was your father by then?" Milena asked softly.

Sombrely, I nodded. "My mother confessed it before she died. When I looked in the mirror, I could hardly deny that truth." I left out the story of her diary, in which she had journaled her affair with Waldemar. Or how my mother chose to confess. Details of no concern to my agreement with Milena.

"It was also a time when I learnt to hate my father, but not the hate that calls for revenge."

"You must have been lonely."

"It wasn't all doom and gloom," I said. I recalled the erotic books I found, which may have inspired my mother. "The small chateau had an extensive library where I spent a lot of time, and a notary from neighbouring Locarno helped me with running the estate. That responsibility was good for my self-confidence and necessary, because in the years that followed, my mother became mentally unstable.

"She finally solved her heartbreak when I was sixteen. The local doctor diagnosed an accident, but we all knew what really happened. After her funeral, I conceded the estate to the tenants who maintained us during those last years. I wanted to get away from it all. To visit cities I had read about in books. In Venice, I met a group of Romani and joined their company."

"Your time as a traveller." Milena hesitated with a sigh. "I can imagine. I seriously considered running away, following my minstrel, but I didn't dare."

How many times had she denied herself what she longed for? Often enough to be with me now. I would have had no trouble keeping her amused for a month with painting and a few sensual allusions. It would absolve me from the obligation to tell the entire story. But I had promised Milena the truth, although I lacked the courage to assess why I took such a risk. I wanted her to know who she was dealing with before she made her decision.

"The leader of the group showed me what a father could be, or rather, should be. His family accepted me as a member. They taught me how to perform and live on the road. In return, with my knowledge of noble etiquette, I arranged engagements at country houses and chateaus of the elite. A happy period, in which I could leave all misery behind me. Temporarily, that is. For my mother's lineage, though unimportant to me, had its disadvantages.

"The North German Federation drafted me. I could choose between serving my king in his army or going to prison. So I served. I trusted diplomats and politicians who, since the fall of Napoleon, had played the Concert of Europe to keep the peace. It was a vain hope. I fought in two wars during my time in the army. According to the treaties we won, but in reality there were only losers."

Milena nodded. This was the topic we stranded on yesterday.

"Chivalry, honesty, respect for the enemy. Fairy tales that die first on a modern battlefield. After that, many of my fellow soldiers followed. With the luck of fools, I survived my time in the army. As a reward, I received a series of medals that I didn't care for and memories I rather forget."

There they were again, white gold stars reflected in my glass, sacrificed at the foundation of the German Empire. Their uniforms soaked in the colour of red wine and no longer of any significance. I looked up at Milena and read compassion in her eyes. Compassion I did not deserve.

"Eventually, I fell during a battle in the Franco-German war. In the field hospital, high-ranking officers visited us, the brave sons who had fought for the glory of the fatherland. Dressed in neat uniforms, they talked about sacrifice and winning the war. It was there that my grudge against my father became a desire for revenge. Never again would I be a victim. With enough money and a distinguished title, I could gain that freedom, apparently."

The hatred that had driven me returned, like a ghost from the past. The need to avenge myself on those who defined and directed my life, like a storm-driven ship across the churning sea. I would be the storm instead of the ship that I was.

"You finally succeeded." Milena gestured at the room shrouded in darkness.

I sighed and nodded. "Both the money and the title were handed to me on a golden platter. Duke Von Anhalt Bernburg arrived in Paris as ambassador to the newly founded German Empire. After my recovery, I re-joined the diplomatic core. He never saw me. I was one of the many lieutenants stationed in Paris as part of the German occupying army.

"Anna did, however. She had left the convent and shaped herself after the mould society demanded; a respectable and beautiful young lady of high noble birth, ready to wed a nobleman and produce his offspring. Paris, with all its high born notables, was the place to market her." I shook my head. "Anna's pose was false. We realised that as soon as we saw each other. Years of foreplay were not as easy to erase as her parents had hoped."

Milena frowned. "Did she actually know that you were her half-brother?" Like a stern judge, she sat up straight, attentive to the plea of the accused. The defendant studied the floor, ashamed.

"She didn't, and I wasn't going to tell her. With little effort, I seduced her. Paris in those days was a sketch in charcoal. Life is always celebrated more exuberantly when death held sway. In the anarchy of a city scarred by war, you could host the most uninhibited and wild parties. I smuggled her from the embassy without a chaperone, enjoyed her in every way I could imagine. If my intention had been to love her, as she loved me..." My speech faltered. The spacious room turned warm and stuffy.

"But it wasn't like that. She was my half-sister and I was out for revenge. I advised her to keep a diary so we would never forget our time together. While she was in love, I pretended to be. I promised to propose to her. To abduct her if her father refused to give permission, knowing that he could or would never agree to our marriage."

Calm and collected, Milena gazed at me. "All that time you spent with her..." She searched for words, selecting them with care. "Did you never hesitate to carry out your plan?" She was a judge with compassion for the accused. Were there perhaps indications of a good conscience despite the crime? I shook my head. Milena should not think my crimes had occurred in a fit of insanity.

"I was blind, full of hatred that I passed off to Anna as passion. I used what love I had left to play my part with conviction."

Milena shivered. "Revenge you sacrificed Anna for."

I averted my gaze to the floor and nodded. The verdict was clear. Why did I tell her this story? What did it matter to Milena? I wasn't that idiot anymore. But I had been him. "I had prepared it all perfectly. During the private meeting I requested, he recognised me, of course. I pretended to be a timid romantic idiot, in love with his daughter. Even though she was above my station, I would make her an honourable woman. What loving father would deny his daughter this happiness? He chuckled and asked if my mother told me why he couldn't allow it."

Despite everything, the satisfaction of seeing him tumble from his pedestal remained. A painful pleasure, now that I knew its price. "I brought Anna's diary, filled with the debauchery we enjoyed, and read from it. One of the more explicit accounts. His grin froze before evaporating." I looked at my hands as if they were holding the diary.

"Now I had his attention; I had shaken him to the core. Time to offer my genuine proposal. I wanted recognition as his long-lost bastard, so he wouldn't have to worry about me abducting his daughter. I wanted a large sum of money, as a Swiss bank deposit. In return, he'd have the diary. I would leave the rest of the inheritance to his daughter and they wouldn't hear from me again. Furious and wordless, he signed papers I had prepared, and I left him with her diary. I had sold my hatred. I got my revenge later." The accused was too ashamed to look his judge in the eye. I didn't need to see Milena to know her verdict. Her snorted breath told me enough.

"After visiting her father, I met with Anna. I showed her the letter, in which he acknowledged me as his son. The proof that doomed our love before it ever began. I concealed the fact I had known all along.

"It was the moment the love for her father turned to hatred. His ultimate demise was the diary. Trapped like Narcissus by the pond, not by his own reflection, but by images of fulfilled dark desires combined with the beauty of his now-deceased wife. The memoirs of his daughter."

An agonising silence followed until I looked up at Milena. "With which you at least followed in your father's footsteps, if not surpassed him in criminal behaviour," she said, her face white with barely contained outrage. The verdict was more than justified. A confession is admitting guild, not its exoneration. After guilt comes punishment.

I slumped forward in my chair. "I had become the one I hated. He had used my mother like I used my half-sister. It was even worse, because it hadn't just been revenge. I had enjoyed Anna's journey from innocent pride to guilty pleasure. I gained freedom and wealth, but could no longer face myself in the mirror.

"Was it so easy to get carried away by hatred and revenge, lust and jealousy, gluttony, avarice, and laziness? Are they seven traits everyone shares, but no one dares to acknowledge? If so, you can manipulate people with desire and sin, especially those in power. They serve as examples, as you say, and are vulnerable when they give in to their urges. Maybe I could use that vulnerability to prevent another war.

"With this insight, I carried on. I used my father's money to buy this estate, and I had myself appointed caretaker of the accompanying sanatorium in the park. Pyrmont is a popular health resort, but special guests know this castle as the House of Seven Sins. A place where you can duly satisfy every desire. What you do here remains a secret, but keeping your secret sometimes comes at an extra charge. Information, a signature, a seal, a vote in parliament."

"And your half-sister? Did you ever think of her again?" Milena laughed derisively. "You were obviously indebted to her for your wonderful insight."

I endured her outraged stare. I deserved it. "There is no excuse for what I did to her. I know this. Back then, I started out making up excuses for my transgressions. Yes, what I had done to her was criminal, but wasn't she a victim of her origins rather than of me? Wasn't it also what she deserved? Hadn't she been a haughty brat who scorned everyone around her? A spoiled child, never satisfied even though our father worshipped her? Gave her the affection he had withheld from me? Besides, Anna was a necessary sacrifice in my crusade to avoid war. That warped reasoning was in tatters when I met her again after his death. Events had driven him to madness, and he committed suicide.