by Stefan Zweig
Fortunately she’s rarely alone with him. Usually there are two or three other women present, and she feels more secure. At difficult moments she glances at them out of the corner of her eye to see if they are coping better, and can’t help picking up all sorts of little tricks from them: how to feign indignation or brightly look away when somebody goes a bit too far, and especially how to call a halt when things are really getting too close for comfort. But she’s soaking up the atmosphere now even when she’s not with the men, especially in her conversations with the little Mannheim girl, who talks about the most ticklish subjects with a frankness that’s new to Christine. A chemistry student, intelligent and shrewd, high-spirited, sensual but able to exercise self-control at the last moment, her sharp black eyes take in everything. From her Christine learns about all the affairs going on in the hotel. That the little thing with the garish makeup and the peroxided hair is not at all the daughter of the French banker as she makes out but his paramour, that they may have separate rooms, but at night … She’s heard it herself from next door … And that the American had something going with the German movie star on the boat, three American women were in competition for him, and that the German major is a homosexual, the elevator boy told the upstairs maid all about it. Just nineteen years old to Christine’s twenty-eight, she runs down the entire scandal sheet in a casual, conversational tone of voice, with no hint of outrage, as though these were quite natural things, just a matter of course. And Christine, afraid that any overt astonishment might betray her inexperience, listens with curiosity, occasionally glancing at the spirited girl with a strange kind of admiration. That slender little body, she thinks, must already have done all sorts of things I know nothing about, or she wouldn’t be talking that way, so naturally and sure of herself. Just thinking about all those things makes Christine uncomfortable. Her skin burns sometimes as though she were soaking up warmth through a thousand tiny new pores, and on the dance floor her head spins. “What’s wrong with me?” she asks herself. She has begun to find out who she is, and, having discovered this new world, to discover herself.
Another three days, four days, an entire mad week has flashed by. Sitting at dinner in his smoking jacket, Anthony says peevishly to his wife, “I’ve had it now with all this being late. The first time, well, it can happen to anyone. But to gallivant around all day, making you sit and wait, that’s just bad manners. What on earth is she thinking?” Claire tries to mollify him: “My God, what do you expect. They’re all that way nowadays, forget it, it’s the postwar generation, all they know is being young and having fun.”
But Anthony throws down his fork irascibly. “Confound this eternal fun. I was young once too and I cut loose, but I never permitted myself bad manners, not that it was even a possibility. The two hours in the day when that Little Miss Niece of yours deigns to grant us the honor of her presence, she’s got to be on time. And another thing I insist on—will you just tell her, give her a good talking to!—is that she stop bringing that crowd of kids to our table every evening. What do I care about the thick-necked German with his prison buzz cut and his Kaiser Wilhelm whiskers or the Jewish civil service candidate with his ironic quips or the flapper from Mannheim who looks like she just stepped out of some nightclub. It’s such a merry-go-round that I can’t even read my paper. How did I end up associating with these brats? Tonight, though, I insist on peace and quiet, and if anybody from that noisy bunch sits at my table I’m going to start smashing things.” Claire doesn’t argue—that can’t help when blue veins are pulsing on his brow—but what’s really annoying is that she has to admit he’s right. She herself was the one who pushed Christine into the social whirl to start with, and it was fun to see how smartly and gracefully the girl modeled the outfits. From her own youth she still has a confused memory of how delightful it was that first time when she dressed in style and lunched at the Sacher with her patron. But these last two days Christine has simply gone too far. She’s like a drunkard, aware of nothing but herself and her own state of exaltation, never noticing how the old man’s head nods in the evening, not even paying attention when her aunt admonishes her, “Come on, it’s getting late.” She’s startled out of her frenzy for no more than a second. “Yes, of course, Aunt, I’ve promised just this last dance, just this one.” But a moment later she’s forgotten everything, she doesn’t even notice that her uncle, tired of waiting, has gotten up from the table without saying good night, doesn’t consider that he might be angry; how could anyone ever be angry and aggrieved in this wonderful world. In her giddiness, unable to imagine that everyone isn’t burning with enthusiasm, isn’t in a fever of high spirits, of passionate delight, she’s lost her sense of balance. She’s discovered herself for the first time in twenty-eight years, and the discovery is so intoxicating that she’s forgetting everyone else.
Now she bursts feverishly into the dining room, unceremoniously tearing off her gloves as she goes (who could find fault here?), merrily greets the two young Americans in English as she goes by (she’s picked up all sorts of things), and spins like a top across the room to her aunt, whom she hugs from behind, kissing her cheeks. Then a small surprise: “Oh, you’re so far along? I’m sorry!…I was just saying to those two, Percy and Edwin, that they wouldn’t make it to the hotel in forty minutes in their shabby Ford no matter how hard they tried! But they didn’t believe me…Yes, waiter, go ahead and serve, both courses, so I can catch up…So, yes, the engineer drove, he’s a great driver, but I noticed right away that the old jalopy wouldn’t go over eighty, with Lord Elkins’s Rolls-Royce it’s something else again, and what a ride…To tell the truth it might also have been because I tried taking the wheel, with Edwin next to me of course…It’s easy, all that black magic… And I’ll take you for a drive, Uncle, you’ll be the first, won’t you, you’ve got the guts… But Uncle, what’s the matter? You’re not mad at me because I’m a little late, are you?…Honestly, it wasn’t my fault, I told them they wouldn’t make it in forty minutes…But you can’t trust anybody but yourself…This vol-au-vent is excellent, and am I thirsty!… Oh, it’s easy to forget how nice it is here with you. Tomorrow morning they’re off again to Landeck, but I said I wouldn’t be going, I have to go out walking with you again, but you know the action just never stops…”
All this is like the crackling of flames in dry wood. Not until Christine begins to flag does she notice that her spirited monologue is being met with a cold, hard silence. Her uncle is staring at the fruit basket as though the oranges interested him more than Christine’s chatter; her aunt is toying nervously with her silverware. Neither says a word. “You’re not annoyed with me, Uncle, not seriously?” Christine asks uneasily. “No,” he says gruffly, “but finish up.” It sounds so angry that Claire is embarrassed to see Christine instantly crestfallen, like a slapped child. She doesn’t dare to look up. She meekly puts the partly cut apple on her plate; her mouth quivers. Her aunt steps in quickly to distract her. She turns to Christine and asks, “So what do you hear from Mary? Do you have good news from home? I’ve been wanting to ask you.” But Christine grows paler yet, she trembles, her teeth even chatter. It hadn’t crossed her mind! She hasn’t received a single piece of mail in the entire week she’s been here, and she didn’t even notice. Or actually she’d sometimes wonder about it for a moment and think she ought to write, but then some flurry of activity would always intervene. Now everything she’s been neglecting comes home to her, like a blow to the heart. “I can’t explain it, but there’s nothing from home. Maybe something got lost?” Her aunt’s expression too has become sharp and severe. “Peculiar,” she says, “very peculiar! But maybe it’s because you’re Miss van Boolen here and the mail for Hoflehner is still with the desk clerk. Have you checked with him?” “No,” says Christine in a small, stricken voice. She remembers clearly, she’d been going to ask three or four times, every day actually, but there was always something going on and she always forgot. “Excuse me, Aunt, just a moment!” she says, jumping up. �
��I’ll go see.”
Anthony lets the newspaper fall. He was listening to all of it. He looks after her angrily. “What did I tell you! Her mother desperately ill, she told us herself, and she doesn’t even care, just goes about playing the flapper all day long. Now you see I was right.” “Really unbelievable,” Christine’s aunt says with a sigh, “she knows how it is with Mary and she hasn’t troubled her head about it once in eight days. And at the beginning she was so touchingly worried about her mother, told me with tears in her eyes how terrible it was to leave her there by herself. Incredible how she’s changed.”
Christine is back, her steps halting now, confused and ashamed. She looks fragile in the wide armchair. She feels like cringing, as though to avoid a well-deserved blow. In fact the desk clerk had three unclaimed letters and two cards. Fuchsthaler has been sending complete news every day with touching care, and she—it falls like a stone on her conscience—she scrawled just a single quick card in pencil from Celerina. Not once has she looked at her honest and dependable friend’s beautifully crosshatched, tenderly drawn map, or even taken his little gift out of the suitcase. Wanting to forget her former, other, Hoflehner self, she’s wound up forgetting everything she left behind, her mother, her sister, her friend. “Well,” her aunt says, seeing the unopened letters trembling in Christine’s hand, “aren’t you going to read them?” “Yes,” Christine murmurs. Obediently she tears open the envelopes and skims through Fuchsthaler’s clear, clean lines without looking at the dates. “Today things are somewhat better, thank God,” says one. The other reads, “Since I gave you my word of honor, verehrte Fräulein, that I would frankly inform you as to the condition of your sehr verehrte Frau mother, I must unfortunately report that yesterday we were not unconcerned. The commotion over your departure gave rise to a state of excitement that is not without risk …” She turns the pages quickly. “The injection has had a certain calming effect, and we are again hoping for the best, though the danger of a recurrence has not been entirely eliminated.” “Well,” Christine’s aunt asks, noticing her agitation, “how’s your mother?” “Fine, fine,” says Christine out of sheer embarrassment, “I mean, Mother has been having troubles again, but they’ve passed, and she sends her best, and best regards too from my sister.” She doesn’t believe what she’s saying. Why hasn’t Mother written, even a line, she thinks nervously. I wonder if I shouldn’t send a wire or try to phone the post office, my substitute must certainly know what’s going on. But I’ve got to write immediately, it’s really disgraceful that I haven’t. She doesn’t dare look up for fear of finding her aunt’s eyes watching her. “Yes, it’ll be good if you write them a regular letter,” says her aunt, as if she’d guessed her thoughts. “And send the warmest regards from the two of us. By the way, we’re going straight up to our room, not to the lounge this time. All the late nights are taxing Anthony too much. Yesterday he couldn’t get to sleep, and after all he’s here for a rest too.” Christine senses the underlying reproach and feels cold shock tightening about her heart. She approaches the old man shamefacedly. “Please, Uncle, don’t be angry with me. I had no idea I was tiring you out.” Still irked but touched by her humility, he gives a growl of concession. “Oh, well, we old folks always sleep badly. I enjoy being in the thick of things once in a while, but not every day. And anyway you don’t need us now, you’ve got plenty of company.”
“No, absolutely not, I’m going with you.” Carefully she helps the old man into the elevator and is so warm and solicitous that her aunt’s displeasure gradually softens. “You’ve got to understand, Christl, nobody wants to stop you from having fun,” she says as they glide up the two stories, “but it can only do you good to get a decent night’s sleep. Otherwise you’ll get overtired and that’s not why you’re on vacation. It can’t hurt to take a break. Just stay quietly in your room this time and write some letters. Frankly, it doesn’t look right for you to be running around by yourself with those people all the time, and I’m not too wild about most of them anyway. I’d rather see you with General Elkins than with that young whatever he is. Believe me, you’ll be better off staying in your room tonight.”
“I will, I promise, Aunt,” says Christine humbly. “I know you’re right. It was just that … I don’t know … these days have been making my head spin, it might also be the air and all. But I’m happy to have a chance to think things over calmly for once and write some letters. I’m going to my room now, you can count on it. Good night!”
As she unlocks the door to her room, Christine thinks: She’s right, and she only has my best interests at heart. I really shouldn’t have let myself get carried away like that, what’s the point of rushing about, there’s still time, eight days, nine days, and what could happen to me if I wire for extra sick days, I’ve never taken a vacation and never missed a day in all my years of work. They’ll believe me at the head office, and the substitute will be only too pleased. It’s so quiet in this beautiful room, you can’t hear a sound from downstairs, you can collect your thoughts for once, mull it all over. And I have to read the books Lord Elkins lent me. No, first the letters, that’s why I’m up here, to write my letters. It’s disgraceful, eight days without a word to my mother or my sister or that nice Fuchsthaler. I ought to send a card to the secretary too, it’s only right, and I promised my sister’s children I’d send them one. And I made another promise, what was it—God, I’m completely confused, what promises have I been making to whom—right, I told the engineer I’d go with him on that outing tomorrow morning. No, I can’t be alone with him, not with him, and also—tomorrow I have to be with my aunt and uncle, no, I’m not going to be alone with him again…But in that case I should really call it off, I should take a quick run down so he won’t be kept waiting for nothing tomorrow…No, I promised my aunt I’d stay here…Anyway I can call down to the desk clerk and he’ll tell him…The telephone, that’s the best way. No, forget that…How would it look if they wind up thinking I’m sick or confined to quarters here and then they all make fun of me. Better to send a note, ha, I’d rather do that, I’ll include the other letters so the desk clerk can mail them tomorrow morning… Where on earth is the letter paper?…Can you believe it, the folder is empty, how can that happen in a posh hotel like this…Just cleaned out…Well, I can ring, the maid will bring some right up…But can you still ring after nine? Who knows, they might all be asleep already, and maybe it would even look funny to ring at night just for a few sheets of paper…Better to run down myself and get some from the library…If only I don’t run into Edwin on the way…My aunt’s right, I shouldn’t let him get so close…I wonder if he goes as far with other women as he did in the car this afternoon…All down my knee, I don’t know how I could have permitted it…I should have moved away and refused to put up with it…I’ve only known him for a few days. But I couldn’t move a muscle… Terrible how you suddenly go all weak, lose all your willpower, when a man touches you like that…I never could have imagined how your strength just gives out…Are other women like that, I wonder…They never say so, they talk so brazenly, tell you such wild stories…I should have done something, otherwise he’ll wind up thinking I’ll let anyone touch me that way…Or think I want them to…Ghastly what that was like—I shivered down to my toes…If he did that to a really young girl, I bet she’d lose her head completely—and when he suddenly squeezed my arm as we rounded the curves, terrible the way he…He has such slender fingers, I’ve never seen nails like that on a man, as immaculate as a woman’s, yet it’s like a vise when he grabs you…I wonder if he really does that with everyone…Probably so…I’ll have to watch for that the next time I see him dancing…It’s awful that I’m so ignorant, everybody else my age knows the ropes—they’d be able to get some respect…Wait, what was Carla saying, that the doors here open and close all night long…I’d better bolt mine right now…If only they were honest with you, didn’t beat around the bush like that, if only I knew what the others do, whether they get so upset and mixed up too…Not
hing like this ever happened to me! No, there was that time two years ago, when that elegant gentleman spoke to me on the Währinger Strasse, he looked much the same, standing so straight and tall… There would have been no harm in it in the end, I could have had dinner with him as he proposed…That’s how people get to know each other…But I was worried I’d be late getting home…I’ve had that silly worry all my life and I’ve shown consideration for everyone, everyone…And time goes by and you start to get crow’s feet…The rest of them were smarter, they understood things better…Really, would any other girl be sitting here alone in this room, with the lights blazing downstairs and all the fun going on…Just because my uncle is tired…Nobody else would be on the sidelines this early… What time is it in fact…Just nine o’clock, only nine…I certainly won’t be able to sleep, forget it…I feel so horribly hot suddenly…Yes, open the window…That’s nice, the cold on my bare shoulders…I should take care I don’t get a chill… Bah, always this stupid worrying, always so cautious and careful…Where has it gotten me…The air feels wonderful through this thin dress, it’s like having nothing on…Why did I put it on, anyway, who am I wearing it for, this beautiful dress…Nobody can see me in it if I’m sitting around in this room…Maybe I should take a quick run downstairs?…I do have to get some letter paper, or I could even write the letters down there in the library…It couldn’t do any harm…Brr, it’s gotten cold, I’d better close the window, it’s freezing in here now…And I’m going to be sitting in that empty armchair?…Nonsense, I’ll run downstairs and warm up fast down there…But what if Elkins sees me or somebody else does and tomorrow my aunt finds out? Bah…I’ll just say I went down to give the letters to the desk clerk…There’s nothing she can say to that…I won’t stay down there, I’ll just write the letters, both of them, then come straight back up…Where’s my coat? No, no coat, I’m coming right back, just the flowers…But they came from Elkins…Oh, never mind, they look nice…Maybe I should look in on my aunt just to be on the safe side, to be sure she’s asleep…Nonsense, no need for that…I’m not a schoolgirl anymore…Always this stupid worrying! I don’t need permission to run down for three minutes. So…