Free The Post Office Girl by Stefan Zweig Page A

and-white cutout, sprinkled with small, uncertainly flickering stars.
    Unaccustomed to this dramatic transition, this vast unfolding palette, Christine gazes at it numbly. She’s like someone used to nothing more than fiddle and pipes hearing the roar of a full orchestra for the first time: the sudden revelation of natural majesty is too much for her senses. She clutches the rail in awe, gazing with such concentration and losing herself somuch in the view that she forgets herself, forgets the time. But luckily the ever-considerate hotel has a timekeeper, the relentless gong that reminds the guests of their responsibility to ready themselves for their extravagant meals. The first metallic swell gives Christine a start. Her aunt was quite clear that she was to be on time for dinner.
    But which of these splendid new dresses should she choose? She lays them out again side by side on the bed, glistening like dragonflies. The dark one glints seductively from the shadows. Finally she decides on the ivory-colored one for today, on the grounds that it’s the most modest of the three. She picks it up carefully, amazed at how light it is in her hand, no heavier than a handkerchief or a glove. She quickly strips off the sweater, the heavy Russia leather shoes, the thick socks, everything stiff and heavy, impatient for the new lightness. It’s all so delicate, so soft and weightless. Just handling these sumptuous new underthings makes her fingers tremble, the feel of them is wonderful. Quickly she takes off the stiff old linen underthings ; the yielding new fabric is a warm, delicate froth on her skin. She has an impulse to turn on the light to look at herself, but then takes her hand from the switch; better to put off the pleasure. Perhaps this luxuriously sheer fabric only feels so filmy, so delicate in the dark, under the light its spell will evaporate. After the underthings, the stockings, then the dress. Carefully (it’s her aunt’s, after all) she puts on the smooth silk, and it’s marvelous, streaming freely down from her shoulders like a glittering cascade of warm water and clinging to her obediently , you can’t feel it on you, it’s like being dressed in the breeze. But go on, go on, don’t get lost in delectation too soon, finish quickly so you can see! The shoes now, a few quick movements , a couple of steps: done, thank goodness! And now—her heart thumps—the first look in the mirror.
    Her hand flips the switch and the bulb lights up. The room that had faded away is again dazzlingly bright; the flowered wallpaper, the carefully polished furniture is there again, the elegant new world is back. She’s too nervous to bring herself within range of the mirror right away. A sidelong peek from a sharp angle shows only a strip of landscape beyond the balcony and a little of the room. She lacks the final bit of courage for the real test. Won’t she look even more ridiculous in the borrowed dress, won’t everyone, won’t she herself see the fraud for what it is? She edges toward the mirror as though humility might make the judge more lenient. She’s close now, eyes still downcast, still afraid to look. Again the sound of the gong comes from downstairs: no more time to waste! She holds her breath with sudden courage like someone about to take a leap, then determinedly lifts her eyes. Lifts her eyes and is startled, even falls back a step. Who is that? Who is that slender, elegant woman, her upper body bent backward, her mouth open, her eyes searching, looking at her with an unmistakable expression of frank surprise? Is that her? Impossible! She doesn’t say it, doesn’t pronounce the word consciously, but it has made her lips move. And, amazingly, the lips of the reflected figure move too.
    She catches her breath in surprise. Not even in a dream has she ever dared to imagine herself as so lovely, so young, so smart. The red, sharply defined mouth, the finely drawn eyebrows , the bare and gleaming neck beneath the