TheCollectedStoriesofStefanZweig - (EPUB全文下载)

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THE COLLECTED STORIES OFSTEFAN ZWEIGTranslated from the German by
Anthea Bell

PUSHKIN PRESSLONDON
CONTENTS
Title Page
Forgotten Dreams
In the Snow
The Miracles of Life
The Star Above the Forest
A Summer Novella
The Governess
Twilight
A Story Told in Twilight
Wondrak [unfinished]
Compulsion
Moonbeam Alley
Amok
Fantastic Night
Letter from an Unknown Woman
The Invisible Collection
Twenty-Four Hours in the Life of a Woman
Downfall of the Heart
Incident on Lake Geneva
Mendel the Bibliophile
Leporella
Did He Do It?
The Debt Paid Late
Also Available from Pushkin Press
About the Publisher
Copyright
FORGOTTEN DREAMS
 
T
HE VILLA LAY CLOSE TO THE SEA.
The quiet avenues, lined with pine trees, breathed out the rich strength of salty sea air, and a slight breeze constantly played around the orange trees, now and then removing a colourful bloom from flowering shrubs as if with careful fingers. The sunlit distance, where attractive houses built on hillsides gleamed like white pearls, a lighthouse miles away rose steeply and straight as a candle—the whole scene shone, its contours sharp and clearly outlined, and was set in the deep azure of the sky like a bright mosaic. The waves of the sea, marked by only the few white specks that were the distant sails of isolated ships, lapped against the tiered terrace on which the villa stood; the ground then rose on and on to the green of a broad, shady garden and merged with the rest of the park, a scene drowsy and still, as if under some fairy-tale enchantment.Outside the sleeping house on which the morning heat lay heavily, a narrow gravel path ran like a white line to the cool viewing point. The waves tossed wildly beneath it, and here and there shimmering spray rose, sparkling in rainbow colours as brightly as diamonds in the strong sunlight. There the shining rays of the sun broke on the small groups of Vistulian pines standing close together, as if in intimate conversation, they also fell on a Japanese parasol with amusing pictures on it in bright, glaring colours, now open wide.A woman was leaning back in a soft basket chair in the shade of this parasol, her beautiful form comfortably lounging in the yielding weave of the wicker. One slender hand, wearing no rings, dangled down as if forgotten, petting the gleaming, silky coat of a dog with gentle, pleasing movements, while the other hand held a book on which her dark eyes, with their black lashes and the suggestion of a smile in them, were concentrating ............

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