Story of the Month — My Aunt Myra

The night is moonlit... and our neighbor John is carrying me in his arms, an infant one month old... climbing the green hill on his way to the Silent Mansion.

He brings me in to my Aunt Myra... She was not my aunt in the literal sense... rather, we were both of the line of the Montad family... she from its wealthiest and most eminent branch... and I from its poorest and most wretched...

My mother died the hour I was born... and my father died yesterday, after charging our neighbor John to carry me to the Silent Mansion in the hope that Aunt Myra would take me to her bosom... and if she did not take pity on me and do so, then he was to carry me to an orphanage... any orphanage that would accept me... The neighbor buried my father, then carried me off to fulfill his last wish.

We entered the Silent Mansion... and I smiled at the scowling aunt... I was an angelic infant, and her heart softened toward me; she took me from his arms into her own, and thus I entered the paradise of wealth... and my father's bones found rest in their grave.

The three women gathered around me — and they were all the inhabitants of the mansion... my Aunt Myra, Mother Duncan, and the servant Gertrude... or the lady of the mansion... the governing stewardess... and the two old women's maid.

The Silent Mansion and three old women... is there not a story behind that...? Then let us go back a quarter of a century, to the day when Aunt Myra was twenty years old... Did I tell you that she was forty-five the day I entered the mansion at the age of one month...? And did I tell you that Mother Duncan was then fifty... and the servant Gertrude sixty?...

The Montad mansion on the green hill was flourishing a quarter of a century ago... housing a family of two parents and their beautiful young daughter... An Italian prince came forward to ask for the wealthy girl's hand, and she loved him, and the aristocrats of London grieved that their young men had let the beauty and the money slip away... The wedding night came, and the newspapers sang of the wealth and lavishness of the Montads... just as they sang of the bride's charm and her refined manners... Then the wedding did not take place, and no one knew why...

But the closest of friends learned that the bridegroom had been a counterfeit prince... who had caught the girl in his snares and then fled, because he sensed that the hand of justice had found him out... The bride fell gravely ill, and recovered only by a miracle... From that time on, the doors of the mansion were closed in the faces of visitors... and stillness settled over it, until the neighboring villagers gave it the name of "the Silent Mansion."

The shock had its violent effect on Myra... an effect that robbed her of all trust in men... She tore up every picture of a man in the mansion... dismissed all the men from her service... closed the doors of the mansion in the face of every man... Then, whenever she read of some incident of one man's betrayal... or another's thievery... or the baseness of a third... she would cut out the clippings and paste them into a notebook that with time grew enormous, entitled "The Tragedies of Life and Those Who Cause Them." The book held such incidents that, had a devout hermit read it, he would have cried out to his Lord to send down thunderbolts to annihilate all men and leave not a single one alive...

In the Silent Mansion I lived fourteen years, during which I never saw a man... Then my Aunt Myra sent me to a school where girls are prepared to enter the convent... not that I should become a nun, but so that I should see no man... And after four years I returned to the Silent Mansion.

My mirror told me that I was beautiful, and that I had a face the happy smile never left... And why not... Was I not the idol of three women who lavished on me such tenderness and affection as only mothers lavish... Was not all the happiness that wealth can provide provided to me...?

But then I tasted the pains of life... Aunt Myra died suddenly... She died... how cruel the word... How could this happen to her... and suddenly... while she seemed so full of vigor and motion...

The day before yesterday I had ordered them to bring out the piano from its place for me...

And when the sound of my playing rang through the halls of the mansion after some forty years of silence, my aunt came in and sat listening as if entranced... But she died that very night... She lay with a smile on her lips... I wonder, why did Mother Duncan shake her head and murmur, "Sleep in peace, for you did what you wished"? I could make no sense of that, but the Mother went down to the huts of the farmers living at the foot of the hill, and they summoned a priest... and the body was borne in stillness to the mansion's burial vault.

Morning came upon me... and the mansion was lonelier and more silent than was its wont... I was still in my bed when Mother Duncan came in to tell me that Aunt Myra had written her will long ago... and deposited it with her lawyer, Sam... Then she handed me the lawyer's address.

A smile of triumph hovered on her lips and stirred my curiosity, so I went off to the lawyer to satisfy that curiosity... and I was stunned when he read me the will. Its purport was... that my aunt possessed a million and a half pounds, besides the mansion and its treasures... and that she bequeathed me all she owned, on one condition only: that I never marry... If I preferred marriage, I was to leave the mansion at once and live in one of the huts standing at the foot of the green hill... and subsist on a meager allowance which the lawyer would hand me month by month.

I returned to the mansion with a whirlpool in my head... I entered, and there was Mother Duncan handing me a letter which contained the following:

My dear,

If you prefer marriage with poverty, then act on the advice of a woman who has known the world: 1 — Make your young man understand that you have no fortune, lest he covet it and your marriage fail. 2 — Search whether there is anything disgraceful in his past, for he who grows up on a thing grows old on it. 3 — Beware lest he be a drunkard, for wine is the root of all vices... You have all my good wishes.

Myra

And I murmured, the letter in my hand, as though its writer stood before me... I have no need of this, Aunt, for I shall follow in your footsteps.

But I was deluded... for never was the mansion darker... nor the days more tedious than they were then... What was I to do all day long... The great notebook and its tales of men... I had learned them by heart... The piano... its melodies made me feel flutterings in my heart that I had never known... The garden... the rustling of its trees whispered mockingly... A year... ten years... twenty... sixty... and after that, a gray-haired old crone with millions of pounds...

No, I shall not follow in your footsteps, Aunt... never...

I took up my pen... and chose from among my schoolmates three who used to talk of their brothers in front of me... and I wrote inviting them to spend a week as my guests...

And they came... I had decorated the mansion and brought its treasures out of their chests... and ordered the loveliest gowns from the most skillful of makers... All this while I laughed inwardly at Mother Duncan, who kept shaking her head with the shake of one who is sorry... one who knows...

The companions came... and astonishment overcame them at the splendor in which I lived... They roamed and frolicked like a herd of gazelles... then they departed, after each one had invited me to spend a week with her.

I waited a little, then went to visit the first companion... and I saw her brother... a handsome, charming young man... and all the incidents of the great notebook were erased from my imagination... and I pictured my aunt as unjust and harsh... mistaken in her judgment of men.

Yes... this young man of innocent features could not be of the breed my aunt had known... He loves me... and for myself.

It was the fourth night of my happiness when, unable to sleep, I went out of my room into the garden... and heard whispering... She was saying to her brother... Be more attentive to her... And he was answering... Are you certain that she is the sole heiress... or will she turn out a losing bargain...? In the morning I was bidding the family farewell.

At my second schoolmate's I alighted... Oh, what happened there will not happen here... for the family is abundantly wealthy... and rich... That face so full of charm... radiant with wit...

Five days went by... Yes, my aunt's judgment on men is not universal... nor should it be... Here is distinction... here is nobility... Then suddenly a friend of my young man appeared and, half in jest and half in earnest, went on inviting him to a red night of revelry... My young man extricated himself and changed the subject... And when his companion went out and walked beside him, I heard — with my ear that can hear the creeping of ants — the friend reproaching him... then reassuring him that the guest was leaving the day after tomorrow... and that patience was the wiser course.

The guest departed the very next day... not to her third schoolmate, but to her Silent Mansion... Is it not, in its silence and its loneliness, purer than all she had seen... And was not Aunt Myra, with her sixty years, an expert in the affairs of men?

I climbed the green hill, and to my astonishment part of the mansion lay in ruin... I hurried on, and there was Mother Duncan telling me that a fire had broken out and had all but devoured the mansion whole, had not a noble officer been passing by; he rushed up, summoned the farmers, and risked his life until he had saved the mansion... He had suffered severe burns, and the doctor had ordered that he stay here so that he might attend him until he recovered.

I was vexed... I could no longer bear the sight of a man... those treacherous wolves... But thanks was a duty... And so I went in to thank him. His head and arms were bandaged, and scarcely anything of his face showed but two black eyes in which nobility shone beside intense pain.

A whole month passed... He rarely speaks... and yet how different he is from the others... a ripe culture... abundant courtesy... modesty and dignity... everything that could be loved... He is waiting for the doctor to permit his departure... or until he himself is able to go... But is it true that I am going to lose him... How swiftly the hours pass at his side... and how delightful they are, our two spirits soaring and leaving the bodies behind, having nothing to do with them.

At last... I will not let him go... and to the devil with the whole fortune... I went to the lawyer and told him so... I shall live with my young man on the bread of bare subsistence if need be... and we shall be happy together.

The lawyer heard my story and smiled... then he took from his safe an envelope, broke its seal, and read what was inside.

To the lawyer Sam:

When my beloved Gloria comes to you to tell you that she has chosen marriage, sacrificing the whole fortune for the sake of the one she loves — then no doubt she has acted on my advice and chosen the man worthy of her... Tell her then that all I own is hers... and that I intended by my will nothing but to warn her, lest her foot should slip.

I flew with joy and went climbing the green hill on wings... Mother Duncan met me with her gloating face and cried... He is gone... He will not accept so dear a price for his good deed... I told him of Aunt Myra's will and of the misery awaiting you if you married him and lost everything.

I nearly slapped her... I rushed to his room... and collapsed onto the bed... and caught sight of a paper, which I hastened to read...

I do not wish to yoke your fortune to mine and blot out your happiness. I owe you the most blissful hours I have tasted in my life; so remember always that you have a devoted servant, who is

Rudolph

And I fell to sobbing, my heart shattered into pieces... Nothing brought me back to my senses but a knocking on the mansion's outer door... It was the villagers who had helped him put out the fire, carrying him... They had found him unconscious from the pain of his wounds while he was trying to flee from my path.

An hour, and the doctor came out of his room; I went in, and there he was, smiling at me... for the first time!

(From the English, freely adapted)