欧亨利短篇小说选中英对照
Ⅰ 欧亨利的小说中英文对照
欧亨利短篇小说全集.txt下载: http://bn7fze.miaomiaoshuwu.com/file/22215238-410628117 点击普通下载即可^_^
Ⅱ 欧亨利 短篇小说
1、《麦琪的礼物》
《麦琪的礼物》是欧·亨利创作的短篇小说，讲述的是一个圣诞节里发生在社会下层的小家庭中的故事。男主人公吉姆是一位薪金仅够维持生活的小职员，女主人公德拉是一位贤惠善良的主妇。
他们的生活贫穷，但吉姆和德拉各自拥有一样极珍贵的宝物。吉姆有祖传的一块金表，德拉有一头美丽的瀑布般的秀发。
为了能在圣诞节送给对方一件礼物，吉姆卖掉了他的金表为德拉买了一套“纯玳瑁做的，边上镶着珠宝”的梳子；
德拉卖掉了自己的长发为吉姆买了一条白金表链。他们都为对方舍弃了自己最宝贵的东西，而换来的礼物却因此变得毫无作用了。
2、《警察与赞美诗》
《警察与赞美诗》是美国作家欧·亨利的短篇小说。该短篇小说讲述的是一个穷困潦倒，无家可归的流浪汉苏比，因为寒冬想去监狱熬过，所以故意犯罪，去饭店吃霸王餐，扰乱治安，偷他人的伞，调戏妇女等，然而这些都没有让他如愿进监狱；
最后，当他在教堂里被赞美诗所感动，想要从新开始，改邪归正的时候，警察却将他送进了监狱。该小说展示了当时美国下层人民无以为生的悲惨命运。
“警察”和“赞美诗”在标题中虽然是形式上对等排列，但作为支配人类生存选择的两股力量是不对等的。在警察与赞美诗的二元对立中，以“警察”为代表的国家政权永远支配着和控制着以“赞美诗为代表的精神力量。
3、《最后一片叶子》
《最后一片叶子》是美国作家欧·亨利的短篇小说作品。该作品描写一位老画家为患肺炎而奄奄一息的穷学生画最后一片常春藤叶的故事。
琼西在寒冷的十一月患上了严重的肺炎，并且其病情越来越重。作为画家的她，将生命的希望寄托在窗外最后一片藤叶上，以为藤叶落下之时，就是她生命结束之时。
于是，她失去了活下去的勇气和信念。作为她的朋友苏很伤心，便将琼西的想法告诉了老画家贝尔曼，这个老画家是个脾气火爆，爱取笑人的酒鬼，终日与酒为伴。
画了近四十年的画，一事无成，每天都说要创作出一篇惊世之作，却始终只是空谈。但是他对这两位年青的画家却是照顾有佳。他听到了此事后，便骂了一通，但仍无计可施。
然而令人惊奇的事发生了：尽管屋外的风刮得那样厉害，而锯齿形的叶子边缘已经枯萎发黄，但它仍然长在高高的藤枝上。
琼西看到最后一片叶子仍然挂在树上，叶子经过凛冽的寒风依然可以存留下来， 自己为什么不能？于是又重拾生的信念，顽强地活了下来。
可是故事并不是到此就结束了，真相才刚刚打开：原来是年过六旬的贝尔曼，在一个风雨交加的夜晚，为了画上最后一片藤叶，因着凉，染上了肺炎。在他生命的最后时刻，他终于完成了令人震撼的杰作。
4、《二十年后》
《二十年后》是美国作家欧·亨利的短篇小说作品。一对在纽约一起长大、情同兄弟的朋友鲍勃和吉米·威尔斯，他们在鲍勃即将启程去西部冒险的时候，约定20年后在同样的时间、地点再次见面。
20年来，他们谁也不曾忘记过这个约定。鲍勃从西部不远万里来赴约，支撑他的是只要对方还记得这次约定，那无论做什么都是值得的。对于鲍勃来说，吉米永远都是最忠实、最令他信任的朋友。
然而，20年后再见面时，等待他们的不是重逢的喜悦，命运却把他们分别放在了法律天平的两端，鲍勃是警方正在通缉的要犯，而吉米却是接到命令努力追捕“狡猾的鲍勃”的警察。
对于吉米来说，究竟是继续保持对挚友的忠诚，还是履行自己作为警察的职责，他最终选择了后者。
该小说通过这两个青年20年后重逢之际所发生的意外变化，反映了美国19世纪后半期到第一次世界大战前美国社会生活各方面的深刻变迁。
5、《红毛酋长的赎金》
《红毛酋长的赎金》，欧亨利的短篇小说作品，文章讲述了一个绑架的故事。
“我”与比尔在一个名叫顶峰镇的地方，绑架了这个镇上有名望的居民埃比尼泽多塞特的独子，“我们”原想靠他去敲诈埃比尼泽；
然而“我们”万万没想到，这个孩子捉弄人，一开始，“我们”三个扮印第安人玩，后来这个孩子越来越嚣张，越来越捉弄人，还把其中一个人弄伤了，让比尔差点成了精神崩溃者。
最后“我”把勒索信送到埃比尼泽的家，可后来“我们”却被埃比尼泽给敲诈，实在是因为“我们”无法忍受着个孩子，最后的结果，“我们”把孩子送回去，并且给了他父亲250元。
Ⅲ 欧亨利的小说“the furnished room"简介
the furnished room讲的是一个男子苦苦寻找自己所爱的人，五个月之后终于丧失希望，在一家旅馆放开煤气自杀，而一个星期以前，正是在那间房子里，他的爱人用同样的方式自杀了。
体会：可以说，这是一篇以嗅觉为核心构筑的小说，核心就在那片突然出现、百寻不见、又突然消失了的木樨香味。之所以选择气味作为线索，或许就因为气味的这种特性：即便你如此真切地嗅到了它，但只要不是目之所见、手之所触，它依然是一片飘渺的虚空，并没有一个实体，因此也无法被证实曾经存在过。就好像一个人投入这座大城市（指纽约），一颗沙粒投入这片无底的流沙，这阵香味投入带家具出现的房间中，也找寻不见、终于消失了。
作家试图用这个邋里邋遢、乱七八糟、污秽难辨的房间来映射那个大城市，所有的人似乎都已沦于堕落，污秽不堪而又冷酷无情。他对这间房间、房间里面的每一件物事、以及房间外面的环境，都作了摄像镜头式的详尽描绘，但真正使我们——也使人物，那个找寻者——进入他所预想的氛围，却是房间里陈腐霉臭的混杂气味。是的，其实气味也可以具有如此鲜明的形象，有质感的气味所描绘的形象，有时候比任何视觉、听觉或者触觉更加真切。（不由得我又要想起古龙小说《楚留香系列·血海飘香》里面关于黑暗山洞里不断变化的气味的神来之笔。）
沉重的、腐臭的气味塑造了象征着大城市的房间，与轻盈的、花香的气味形成鲜明对照。既然那个女孩子已经在这个大城市的某个地方失踪了，那么这阵木樨香味最后也在这个房间的某个角落里消失了。在找寻者从房东那里听到说，那个女孩子并没有住过这个房间——因此说明他试图在这个房间里找寻香味的来源，与他试图在这个大城市找寻那个女孩子一样，将会“一无所获”——之后，这个房间本身就成为了他枉然徒劳的一种象征。最后的希望破灭了，于是他自杀了。
当找寻者在小说开篇走进这个房间的时候，作者便已告诉我们，他已经徒劳无功地寻找了5个月。不仅在身体上疲惫不堪，而且在精神上萎靡颓唐。尽管如此，我们知道，他仍然抱有至少一线希望：他预付了一个星期的房钱，——他不是住进来寻死的；并且他仍然没有放弃寻找，还是把那个“挂在唇边曾一千次向人打听过的问题问了出来”。支撑他继续这漫长的、毫无希望的路途的，是他“曾深深爱过她”，因此到了后来，屡受失望的打击之后疲惫不堪的身体和精神渐渐趋于麻木，找寻则几乎变成了一种本能的惯性。因此，当他忽然之间在房间里嗅到了这阵木樨香味——她的味道时，他的内心才真正被激发出来。于是他发出那样的呼唤；于是我那样地热泪盈眶——或许也是因为在惯性中渐渐麻木的心被忽然唤起？
木樨香味的来源是否是真实的、亦或只是出自找寻者的幻觉，很重要么？其实并不。香味的来源可以被解释为那个女孩子“曾经居住在那里”——这是小说在出其不意的结尾中告诉我们的，当我们知道了这个事实以后，这种解释就不难做出了，因为我们本来也就和找寻者一样，都在疑心她的存在、希冀她的存在。但我们也知道她是死了，“用煤气自杀”，——好吧，又是一种气味，或许是死亡的气味，它一定会掩盖掉她的香味，这是毫无疑问的。那么又如何解释找寻者还能够嗅到这阵香味，并且“那样分明，那样浓郁，那样强烈，简直就像是一个有血有肉的来客”呢？和我一样充满着感伤情调的读者自会认为，对情人而言，这种微妙的沟通是完全可能的，况且他已经找寻了她那么久，因此把自己的全部心神都贯注在了她的身上。
然而他在这屋子里所要找寻的——也是我们在这篇小说里所要找寻的，实在并不是一个“来源”——一个原因、一个源头，而是顺着这条线索想要找到一点她的踪迹——一个结果、一个去处。倘若找寻者已经知悉那个女孩子的死亡，或者对于她的失踪死心塌地了，那么他寻找她曾经生活过的蛛丝马迹，以期能够从中获得一丝安慰，倒还是可能的；但很明显，他尚未放弃找到她的希望。他相信，“她离家出走之后，一定流落在这个沿海大城市的某个地方”，正如他感觉这阵香气是那么明确地存在于这间房间里。因此，在这个房间里找寻香味来源的过程，其实是他在这个大城市里找寻女孩子过程的一个重复、一个浓缩（最后，也正如现实中的找寻一样，一无所获）。
作者叙述了这样一个故事，当然，他还可以用其他方式叙述的，比方说，一开始就告诉我们，女孩子曾经在同一个房间里住过、并且已经用煤气自杀了，从而使我们由于早已预知了结局，从而对找寻者的命运抱有更为深切的反讽的同情。但作者选择把这个消息暂且按下不表，直到小说结尾处才突然转向，这个安排所造成的效果的确分外强烈。——有时候，与讲述什么样的故事同样重要的，是故事如何被讲述出来。借助这个安排，作者没有作出任何额外的评论，而我们就顺着他的讲述幻想出了一个意味深长的结尾。小说在某种程度上可以被视作是作者的幻想与读者的幻想的合谋，当作者借助某些巧妙的安排调动起读者的幻想、并由此获致某些特殊的效果时，读者也能在这种幻觉的合谋中获得他们那一份享受。
只是这个意味深长的结尾，是要有足够的人物——其性格、尤其是心理状态，和情节——尤其是内在的心理变化作为铺垫的，如果没有这样的铺垫，结尾处的突转容易变成一个缺乏内在逻辑统一性的巧合，一个作者的小技巧，造成一些特别的效果——但不容易打动我们这些世故累累的读者的内心。现在，既然我已经在他两处呼唤时被击中落下眼泪，那么于结尾处所看到的就不仅仅是对一个残酷无情的大城市之揭示的最终完成了，而更是整个“找寻”过程的完成——在大城市中找到了女孩子的下落、在房间里找到了香味的来源（并以此证实找寻者对于她曾经存在的感觉）。如此，这难道不是一个真正的结尾么？
每当我把一篇小说再读一遍，而依然忍不住泪盈满眶的时候，我总在想：在我们当中，有多少人曾经幻想过自己心中的那阵木樨香味？有多少人曾经孜孜不倦地追寻过它？又有多少人曾经于某一瞬间被莫名地触动，这种感觉是那样强烈、不容置疑，——她就在那里！于是那样大声地唤出心中的那个存在、对于这个存在的召唤作出过回应呢？
Ⅳ 求欧亨利得中英介绍
原名威廉·西德尼·波特（William Sydney Porter），是美国最著名的短篇小说家之一，曾被评论界誉 为曼哈顿桂冠散文作家和美国现代短篇小说之父。他出身于美国北卡罗来纳州格林斯波罗镇一个医师家庭。 他的一生富于传奇性，当过药房学徒、牧牛人、会计员、土地局办事员、新闻记者、银行出纳员。当银行出 纳员时，因银行短缺了一笔现金，为避免审讯，离家流亡中美的洪都拉斯。后因回家探视病危的妻子被捕入 狱，并在监狱医务室任药剂师。他在银行工作时，曾有过写作的经历，担任监狱医务室的药剂师后开始认真 写作。1901年提前获释后，迁居纽约，专门从事写作。 欧·亨利善于描写美国社会尤其是纽约百姓的生活。他的作品构思新颖，语言诙谐，结局常常出人意 外；又因描写了众多的人物，富于生活情趣，被誉为“美国生活的幽默网络全书”。代表作有小说集《白菜 与国王》、《四百万》、《命运之路》等。其中一些名篇如《爱的牺牲》、《警察与赞美诗》、《带家具出 租的房间》、《麦琪的礼物》、《最后一片藤叶》等使他获得了世界声誉。
欧·亨利晚年开始酗酒，身体情况恶化。1907年他再次结婚，但和妻子不和，一年后即离婚。他的经济情况也不好，为了缓解生活压力，他不得不以很快速度创作小说来换取稿费，这也导致了他的作品的质量参差不齐。1910年欧·亨利因肝硬化去世。
O. Henry (1862-1910) - pseudonym of William Sydney Porter
Prolific American short-story writer, a master of surprise endings, who wrote about the life of ordinary people in New York City. Typical for O. Henry's stories is a twist of plot which turns on an ironic or coincidental circumstance. Although some critics were not so enthusiastic about his work, the public loved it.
O. Henry was born William Sydney Porter in Greenboro, North Carolina. His father, Algernon Sidney Porter, was a physician. When William was three, his mother died, and he was raised by his parental grandmother and paternal aunt. William was an avid reader, but at the age of fifteen he left school, and then worked in a drug store and on a Texas ranch. He continued to Houston, where he had a number of jobs, including that of bank clerk. After moving in 1882 to Texas, he worked on a ranch in LaSalle County for two years. In 1887 he married Athol Estes Roach; they had one daughter and one son.
In 1894 Porter started a humorous weekly The Rolling Stone. It was at this time that he began heavy drinking. When the weekly failed, he joined the Houston Post as a reporter and columnist. In 1894 cash was found to have gone missing from the First National Bank in Austin, where Porter had worked as a bank teller. When he was called back to Austin to stand trial, Porter fled to Honras to avoid trial. Little is known about Porter's stay in Central America. It is said, that he met one Al Jennings, and rambled in South America and Mexico on the proceeds of Jenning's robbery. After hearing news that his wife was dying, he returned in 1897 to Austin. In 1897 he was convicted of embezzling money, although there has been much debate over his actual guilt. Porter entered in 1898 a penitentiary at Columbus, Ohio.
In 1907 O. Henry married Sara Lindsay Coleman, also born in Greensboro. The marriage was not happy, and they separated a year later. O. Henry died of cirrhosis of the liver on June 5, 1910, in New York. Three more collections, SIXES AND SEVENS (1911), ROLLING STONES (1912) and WAIFS AND STRAYS (1917), appeared posthumously. In 1918 the O. Henry Memorial Awards were established to be given annually to the best magazine stories, the winners and leading contenders to be published in an annual volume
Ⅳ 书虫系列二级的《欧亨利短篇小说集》所对应的中文是那几篇
3是《失忆症患者》，讲一个律师的故事
5是《纪念品》，讲跳舞演员和她丈夫的事
4不知道
你为啥放着正经的不看，非得看换了名字改编的呢？
Ⅵ 欧亨利短篇小说txt
链接:
《欧·亨利短篇小说精选》精选了欧·亨利最优秀的二十九篇短篇小说。
Ⅶ 急求欧亨利的中英双语介绍
原名威廉·西德尼·波特（William Sydney Porter），是美国最著名的短篇小说家之一，曾被评论界誉 为曼哈顿桂冠散文作家和美国现代短篇小说之父。他出身于美国北卡罗来纳州格林斯波罗镇一个医师家庭。 他的一生富于传奇性，当过药房学徒、牧牛人、会计员、土地局办事员、新闻记者、银行出纳员。当银行出 纳员时，因银行短缺了一笔现金，为避免审讯，离家流亡中美的洪都拉斯。后因回家探视病危的妻子被捕入 狱，并在监狱医务室任药剂师。他在银行工作时，曾有过写作的经历，担任监狱医务室的药剂师后开始认真 写作。1901年提前获释后，迁居纽约，专门从事写作。 欧·亨利善于描写美国社会尤其是纽约百姓的生活。他的作品构思新颖，语言诙谐，结局常常出人意 外；又因描写了众多的人物，富于生活情趣，被誉为“美国生活的幽默网络全书”。代表作有小说集《白菜 与国王》、《四百万》、《命运之路》等。其中一些名篇如《爱的牺牲》、《警察与赞美诗》、《带家具出 租的房间》、《麦琪的礼物》、《最后一片藤叶》等使他获得了世界声誉。
欧·亨利晚年开始酗酒，身体情况恶化。1907年他再次结婚，但和妻子不和，一年后即离婚。他的经济情况也不好，为了缓解生活压力，他不得不以很快速度创作小说来换取稿费，这也导致了他的作品的质量参差不齐。1910年欧·亨利因肝硬化去世。
O. Henry (1862-1910) - pseudonym of William Sydney Porter
Prolific American short-story writer, a master of surprise endings, who wrote about the life of ordinary people in New York City. Typical for O. Henry's stories is a twist of plot which turns on an ironic or coincidental circumstance. Although some critics were not so enthusiastic about his work, the public loved it.
O. Henry was born William Sydney Porter in Greenboro, North Carolina. His father, Algernon Sidney Porter, was a physician. When William was three, his mother died, and he was raised by his parental grandmother and paternal aunt. William was an avid reader, but at the age of fifteen he left school, and then worked in a drug store and on a Texas ranch. He continued to Houston, where he had a number of jobs, including that of bank clerk. After moving in 1882 to Texas, he worked on a ranch in LaSalle County for two years. In 1887 he married Athol Estes Roach; they had one daughter and one son.
In 1894 Porter started a humorous weekly The Rolling Stone. It was at this time that he began heavy drinking. When the weekly failed, he joined the Houston Post as a reporter and columnist. In 1894 cash was found to have gone missing from the First National Bank in Austin, where Porter had worked as a bank teller. When he was called back to Austin to stand trial, Porter fled to Honras to avoid trial. Little is known about Porter's stay in Central America. It is said, that he met one Al Jennings, and rambled in South America and Mexico on the proceeds of Jenning's robbery. After hearing news that his wife was dying, he returned in 1897 to Austin. In 1897 he was convicted of embezzling money, although there has been much debate over his actual guilt. Porter entered in 1898 a penitentiary at Columbus, Ohio.
In 1907 O. Henry married Sara Lindsay Coleman, also born in Greensboro. The marriage was not happy, and they separated a year later. O. Henry died of cirrhosis of the liver on June 5, 1910, in New York. Three more collections, SIXES AND SEVENS (1911), ROLLING STONES (1912) and WAIFS AND STRAYS (1917), appeared posthumously. In 1918 the O. Henry Memorial Awards were established to be given annually to the best magazine stories, the winners and leading contenders to be published in an annual volume.
Ⅷ 欧亨利的短篇小说片名 用英文怎么翻译
尽力了 乔治亚的规定
艺术品与牧场烈马
找不到……
《人生的波澜》The Whirligig Of Life
《酒吧里的世界公民》A Cosmopolite in a Cafe
《歌声与警察》The Cop and the Anthem
《浪子回头》The Gentle Grafter
《公主与美洲狮》 The Princess and the Puma
《艺术品与牧场烈马》Hygeia at the Solito
《人生道路的选择》The Road We Take
《感恩节的两位绅士》Two Thanksgiving Day Gentlemen
《乔治亚的规定》Babes In The Jungle
——————————
有中文翻译的只有如下几篇：
"Girl" “姑娘”
“Next To Reading Matter”“醉翁之意”
After Twenty Years 二十年以后
The Atavism Of John Tom Little Bear 小熊约翰·汤姆的返祖现象
Babes In The Jungle 丛林中的孩子
Between Rounds 闹剧
The Chair Of Philanthromathematics 慈善事业数学讲座
Conscience In Art 艺术良心
The Cop and the Anthem 警察与赞美诗
A Cosmopolite in a Cafe 咖啡馆里的世界公民
The Detective Detector 几位侦探
A Double-dyed Deceiver 双料骗子
The Furnished Room 带家具出租的房间
The Gift of the Magi 麦琪的礼物
The Green Door 绿色门
The Handbook of Hymen 婚姻手册
Hearts and Hands 心与手
The Hiding of Black Bill 布莱克·比尔藏身记
Hygeia at the Solito 索利托牧场的卫生学
Jimmy Hayes And Muriel 吉米·海斯和缪里尔
Jeff Peters As A Personal Magnet 催眠术家杰甫·彼得斯
The Last Leaf 最后一片叶子
Lost on Dress Parade 华而不实
Mammon and the Archer 爱神与财神
The Man Higher Up 黄雀在后
The Marionettes 提线木偶
The Marry Month of May 五月是个结婚月
A Municipal Report 市政报告
The Pimienta Pancakes 比绵塔薄饼
The Princess and the Puma 公主与美洲狮
Psyche And The Pskyscraper 心理分析与摩天大楼
The Red Roses of Tonia 托尼娅的红玫瑰
The Roads We Take 我们选择的道路
The Romance of a Busy Broker 证券经纪人的浪漫故事
A Service of Love 爱的牺牲
Shearing The Wolf 虎口拔牙
Telemachus, Friend 刎颈之交
Two Thanksgiving Day Gentlemen 两位感恩节的绅士
An Unfinished Story 没说完的故事
While The Auto Waits 汽车等待的时候
The Whirligig of Life 生活的波折
Withes' Loaves 女巫的面包
以上就是有公开发表的翻译版本的文章
schools and schools不在之列
欧亨利短篇小说集里也没有。
就像《百年孤独》一样，也没合法的翻译版本，貌似马尔克斯没有卖给中国它所有作品的翻译版权。
schools and schools可能也是这样。
这个阿，很难找...可以看英文原版阿，读起来可能会很麻烦。
写论文，知道大意就可以了。
参考资料：http://ke..com/view/88041.htm
http://tieba..com/f?kz=69139525
这里都有，以后就方便了哦
Ⅸ 求欧亨利的英文短篇小说，越全越好
One dollar and eighty-seven cents. That was all. And sixty cents of it was in pennies. Pennies saved one and two at a time by bulldozing the grocer and the vegetable man and the butcher until one's cheeks burned with the silent imputation of parsimony that such close dealing implied. Three times Della counted it. One dollar and eighty-seven cents. And the next day would be Christmas.
There was clearly nothing to do but flop down on the shabby little couch and howl. So Della did it. Which instigates the moral reflection that life is made up of sobs, sniffles, and smiles, with sniffles predominating.
While the mistress of the home is graally subsiding from the first stage to the second, take a look at the home. A furnished flat at $8 per week. It did not exactly beggar description, but it certainly had that word on the lookout for the mendicancy squad. In the vestibule below was a letter-box into which no letter would go, and an electric button from which no mortal finger could coax a ring. Also appertaining thereunto was a card bearing the name "Mr. James Dillingham Young." The "Dillingham" had been flung to the breeze ring a former period of prosperity when its possessor was being paid $30 per week. Now, when the income was shrunk to $20, the letters of "Dillingham" looked blurred, as though they were thinking seriously of contracting to a modest and unassuming D. But whenever Mr. James Dillingham Young came home and reached his flat above he was called "Jim" and greatly hugged by Mrs. James Dillingham Young, already introced to you as Della. Which is all very good.
Della finished her cry and attended to her cheeks with the powder rag. She stood by the window and looked out lly at a grey cat walking a grey fence in a grey backyard. Tomorrow would be Christmas Day, and she had only $1.87 with which to buy Jim a present. She had been saving every penny she could for months, with this result. Twenty dollars a week doesn't go far. Expenses had been greater than she had calculated. They always are. Only $1.87 to buy a present for Jim. Her Jim. Many a happy hour she had spent planning for something nice for him. Something fine and rare and sterling-- something just a little bit near to being worthy of the honour of being owned by Jim.
There was a pier-glass between the windows of the room. Perhaps you have seen a pier-glass in an $8 flat. A very thin and very agile person may, by observing his reflection in a rapid sequence of longitudinal strips, obtain a fairly accurate conception of his looks. Della, being slender, had mastered the art.
Suddenly she whirled from the window and stood before the glass. Her eyes were shining brilliantly, but her face had lost its colour within twenty seconds. Rapidly she pulled down her hair and let it fall to its full length.
Now, there were two possessions of the James Dillingham Youngs in which they both took a mighty pride. One was Jim's gold watch that had been his father's and his grandfather's. The other was Della's hair. Had the Queen of Sheba lived in the flat across the airshaft, Della would have let her hair hang out the window some day to dry just to depreciate Her Majesty's jewels and gifts. Had King Solomon been the janitor, with all his treasures piled up in the basement, Jim would have pulled out his watch every time he passed, just to see him pluck at his beard from envy.
So now Della's beautiful hair fell about her, rippling and shining like a cascade of brown waters. It reached below her knee and made itself almost a garment for her. And then she did it up again nervously and quickly. Once she faltered for a minute and stood still while a tear or two splashed on the worn red carpet.
On went her old brown jacket; on went her old brown hat. With a whirl of skirts and with the brilliant sparkle still in her eyes, she fluttered out the door and down the stairs to the street.
Where she stopped the sign read: "Mme. Sofronie. Hair Goods of All Kinds." One flight up Della ran, and collected herself, panting. Madame, large, too white, chilly, hardly looked the "Sofronie."
"Will you buy my hair?" asked Della.
"I buy hair," said Madame. "Take yer hat off and let's have a sight at the looks of it."
Down rippled the brown cascade. "Twenty dollars," said Madame, lifting the mass with a practised hand.
"Give it to me quick," said Della.
Oh, and the next two hours tripped by on rosy wings. Forget the hashed metaphor. She was ransacking the stores for Jim's present.
She found it at last. It surely had been made for Jim and no one else. There was no other like it in any of the stores, and she had turned all of them inside out. It was a platinum fob chain simple and chaste in design, properly proclaiming its value by substance alone and not by meretricious ornamentation--as all good things should do. It was even worthy of The Watch. As soon as she saw it she that it must be Jim's. It was like him. Quietness and value-- the description applied to both. Twenty-one dollars they took from her for it, and she hurried home with the 87 cents. With that chain on his watch Jim might be properly anxious about the time in any company. Grand as the watch was, he sometimes looked at it on the sly on account of the old leather strap that he used in place of a chain.
When Della reached home her intoxication gave way a little to prudence and reason. She got out her curling irons and lighted the gas and went to work repairing the ravages made by generosity added to love. Which is always a tremendous task, dear friends--a mammoth task.
Within forty minutes her head was covered with tiny, close-lying curls that made her look wonderfully like a truant schoolboy. She looked at her reflection in the mirror long, carefully, and critically.
"If Jim doesn't kill me," she said to herself, "before he takes a second look at me, he'll say I look like a Coney Island chorus girl. But what could I do--oh! what could I do with a dollar and eighty- seven cents?"
At 7 o'clock the coffee was made and the frying-pan was on the back of the stove hot and ready to cook the chops.
Jim was never late. Della doubled the fob chain in her hand and sat on the corner of the table near the door that he always entered. Then she heard his step on the stair away down on the first flight, and she turned white for just a moment. She had a habit for saying little silent prayers about the simplest everyday things, and now she whispered: "Please God, make him think I am still pretty."
The door opened and Jim stepped in and closed it. He looked thin and very serious. Poor fellow, he was only twenty-two--and to be burdened with a family! He needed a new overcoat and he was without gloves.
Jim stopped inside the door, as immovable as a setter at the scent of quail. His eyes were fixed upon Della, and there was an expression in them that she could not read, and it terrified her. It was not anger, nor surprise, nor disapproval, nor horror, nor any of the sentiments that she had been prepared for. He simply stared at her fixedly with that peculiar expression on his face.
Della wriggled off the table and went for him.
"Jim, darling," she cried, "don't look at me that way. I had my hair cut off and sold because I couldn't have lived through Christmas without giving you a present. It'll grow out again--you won't mind, will you? I just had to do it. My hair grows awfully fast. Say 'Merry Christmas!' Jim, and let's be happy. You don't know what a nice--what a beautiful, nice gift I've got for you."
"You've cut off your hair?" asked Jim, laboriously, as if he had not arrived at that patent fact yet even after the hardest mental labor.
"Cut it off and sold it," said Della. "Don't you like me just as well, anyhow? I'm me without my hair, ain't I?"
Jim looked about the room curiously.
"You say your hair is gone?" he said, with an air almost of idiocy.
"You needn't look for it," said Della. "It's sold, I tell you--sold and gone, too. It's Christmas Eve, boy. Be good to me, for it went for you. Maybe the hairs of my head were numbered," she went on with sudden serious sweetness, "but nobody could ever count my love for you. Shall I put the chops on, Jim?"
Out of his trance Jim seemed quickly to wake. He enfolded his Della. For ten seconds let us regard with discreet scrutiny some inconsequential object in the other direction. Eight dollars a week or a million a year--what is the difference? A mathematician or a wit would give you the wrong answer. The magi brought valuable gifts, but that was not among them. This dark assertion will be illuminated later on.
Jim drew a package from his overcoat pocket and threw it upon the table.
"Don't make any mistake, Dell," he said, "about me. I don't think there's anything in the way of a haircut or a shave or a shampoo that could make me like my girl any less. But if you'll unwrap that package you may see why you had me going a while at first."
White fingers and nimble tore at the string and paper. And then an ecstatic scream of joy; and then, alas! a quick feminine change to hysterical tears and wails, necessitating the immediate employment of all the comforting powers of the lord of the flat.
For there lay The Combs--the set of combs, side and back, that Della had worshipped long in a Broadway window. Beautiful combs, pure tortoise shell, with jewelled rims--just the shade to wear in the beautiful vanished hair. They were expensive combs, she knew, and her heart had simply craved and yearned over them without the least hope of possession. And now, they were hers, but the tresses that should have adorned the coveted adornments were gone.
But she hugged them to her bosom, and at length she was able to look up with dim eyes and a smile and say: "My hair grows so fast, Jim!"
And them Della leaped up like a little singed cat and cried, "Oh, oh!"
Jim had not yet seen his beautiful present. She held it out to him eagerly upon her open palm. The ll precious metal seemed to flash with a reflection of her bright and ardent spirit.
"Isn't it a dandy, Jim? I hunted all over town to find it. You'll have to look at the time a hundred times a day now. Give me your watch. I want to see how it looks on it."
Instead of obeying, Jim tumbled down on the couch and put his hands under the back of his head and smiled.
"Dell," said he, "let's put our Christmas presents away and keep 'em a while. They're too nice to use just at present. I sold the watch to get the money to buy your combs. And now suppose you put the chops on."
The magi, as you know, were wise men--wonderfully wise men--who brought gifts to the Babe in the manger. They invented the art of giving Christmas presents. Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones, possibly bearing the privilege of exchange in case of plication. And here I have lamely related to you the uneventful chronicle of two foolish children in a flat who most unwisely sacrificed for each other the greatest treasures of their house. But in a last word to the wise of these days let it be said that of all who give gifts these two were the wisest. Of all who give and receive gifts, such as they are wisest. Everywhere they are wisest. They are the magi.
http://www.readbookonline.net/stories/Henry/108/ 欧亨利的全在里面了，只要你能找到题目就行，给分吧，楼主