This book collects three of Zweig's early literary works, namely "Letter from a Strange Woman", "Stories of a Hazy Night" and "The Burning Secret". "Letter from a Strange Woman" records a woman's passionate confession at the end of her life in the form of a letter. It tells the story of her love for a man since childhood and her lifelong unrequited love, and expresses the pathos and determination of a secret love.

Stefan Zweig

Austrian novelist, playwright and biographer. He established his own writing style with delicate and emotional psychological descriptions, making his works widely praised around the world. Thomas Mann praised him for having "gained a wide reputation for his works in German, unparalleled by his works in English and French". Zweig's representative works include "Letter from a Strange Woman", "Twenty-Four Hours in a Woman's Life", "The Anxiety of the Soul", etc.

This book collects three of Zweig's early literary works, namely "Letter from a Strange Woman", "Stories of a Hazy Night" and "The Burning Secret". "Letter from a Strange Woman" records a woman's passionate confession at the end of her life in the form of a letter. It tells the story of her love for a man since childhood and her lifelong unrequited love, and expresses the pathos and determination of a secret love.

1. Authoritative translation by famous writers: The translators Gao Gaofu and Han Yaocheng are two representative figures in translating Zweig’s works in China. This book is a literal translation of Zweig’s works from German to Chinese, which is faithful to the author’s expression, restores the original appearance of the work, and perfectly presents it. Zweig's writing characteristics of being "good at understanding women's hearts".

2. Zweig’s popular classic novel: The movie and drama of the same name are still popular, and Gorky evaluated it as “an astonishing masterpiece.”?

3. Zweig His precise and delicate language touches everyone who has love in his heart: Zweig is good at describing the inner world of characters, using unexpected angles and exquisite language to directly touch the soul of every person he has ever loved. .

This letter is about twenty pages long. It is written in the handwriting of a strange woman. It is written in a flying and sloppy way. It is more like a manuscript than a letter. He involuntarily pinched the envelope again to see if any attachments had fallen inside. But the envelope was empty. There was no sender's address or signature on either the envelope or the letter paper. "Strange," he thought, taking the letter in his hand again. "You, you who are strangers to me!" This sentence was written on the top of the letter as a title and as a title. His eyes stopped in surprise: did this refer to him, or to an imaginary protagonist? Suddenly, his curiosity aroused and he began to read:

My child passed away yesterday. In order to save this young and delicate life, I fought with death for three days and three nights, and he died. The flu, my poor body was burning hot, and I sat by his bedside for forty hours. I soaked a towel in cold water and put it on his burning forehead. I held his twitching little hands day and night. On the third night I collapsed. I couldn't raise my eyes anymore, my eyelids were closed, and even I didn't know it. I sat on a hard chair and slept for three or four hours, during which time death took his life. The poor, lovable child was lying there now, in his own little bed, just as he had been when he died, with only his eyes, his clever black eyes, closed, His hands were folded on his white shirt, and four candles were lit high at the four corners of the bed. I didn't dare to look or move, because when the candlelight flickered, his face and closed mouth were blurred, and it looked as if his cheeks were squirming. I would think that he was not dead, that he was still alive. He would wake up and say sweet and childish words to me with his silver bell-like voice. But I know that he is dead, and I don't want to look at the bed again, so as not to have hope again or be disappointed again. I know, I know, my child died yesterday - you are all I have in this world now, only you, and you know nothing about me, and you don't feel it at all at the moment, playing or being With whom are you having fun and flirting? I only have you now, only you who I have never met before, and you who I have always loved.