最经典世界短篇小说

⑴ 世界著名短篇小说

THE GIFT OF THE
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, 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 gray cat walking a gray fence in a gray 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 honor 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 color 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: "Mne. 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 knew 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 prayer 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. O all who give and receive gifts, such as they are wisest. Everywhere they are wisest. They are the magi.

⑵ 世界文坛三大“短篇小说之王”分别是哪三位呢

三大“短篇小说之王”分别是：莫泊桑、契诃夫和欧·亨利。
1. 欧·亨利
欧·亨利是美国短篇小说家，被誉为美国现代短篇小说的创始人，与世界三大短篇小说巨匠之一的契诃夫和莫泊桑齐名。他的经典作品包括《麦琪的礼物》、《警察与赞美诗》、《最后一片叶子》和《二十年后》等。欧·亨利的作品被认为是美国生活的缩影，他被誉为曼哈顿桂冠散文作家和美国现代短篇小说之父。
2. 莫泊桑
居伊·德·莫泊桑是19世纪后半叶法国杰出的批判现实主义作家，与契诃夫和欧·亨利并称为“世界三大短篇小说巨匠”，其中莫泊桑被誉为“世界短篇小说之王”。他的创作包括六部长篇小说和三百五十九篇中短篇小说，以及三部游记。代表作品有《项链》、《漂亮朋友》、《羊脂球》和《我的叔叔于勒》等。
3. 契诃夫
契诃夫是俄国19世纪末期的批判现实主义作家，20世纪世界现代戏剧的奠基人之一，与法国作家莫泊桑和美国作家欧·亨利并称为“世界三大短篇小说家”。他的早期作品包括《变色龙》和《外科手术》等。契诃夫的作品以其深刻的社会洞察和精湛的艺术技巧而著称。

⑶ 世界最著名的100篇短篇小说

世界最著名的100篇短篇小说如下。

《无所不知先生》毛姆。

毛姆的这篇不仅有趣，用极为有限的篇幅塑造的这个无所不知先生，最后的反转也相当可爱。

《音乐迷杨科》显克维奇。

经典之作，全本唯一泪目篇章。前面极力铺陈杨科对音乐之爱，之后病榻上那句询问才显得那么有力。

“妈妈，在天堂那里，上帝会给我一把真正的小提琴吗？”

《厕中成佛》川端康成。

这篇可谓是全篇最有趣之首。文末的转折让人捧腹。

《投水就助业》菊池宽。

第一次看菊池宽的文章，读起来非常舒适，悬念营造的很好，而且呼应的极好，老太太不理解自杀者为什么不感激她，等她自杀时，她或许仍未感觉到，但读者已经恍然大悟了。高明的写法。

《父》芥川龙之介。

这篇上学的时候做过阅读题。极其短小精悍，结尾的几个字真见功力，没有那“能势素来孝敬”这几个字，讽刺力要差很多。对车上高潮场面的描写更是一绝，不写能势说话时的表情，留白之处令人拍手叫绝。

《本尼 欧战 迈尔逊的女儿贝拉》。

对战争后遗症的本尼的刻画入木三分。

《弄假成真的死者》布扎蒂。

构思精巧，棺材合上的一刹那给予人以思考，人的社会存在或许比生命机理上的存在更为重要。

《看不见的珍藏》茨威格。

茨威格不用多说。

《饥饿艺术家》卡夫卡。

卡夫卡的自我写照。

《没有归还的一天》帕皮尼。

构思神奇，结局痛心。

谁不愿意在垂垂老矣的时候享受片刻青春年华呢。

《二十六个和一个》高尔基。

《马铁奥大义灭亲》。

梅里美不愧为短篇小说大手，马铁奥因为儿子的背叛行为大义灭亲，看起来震撼不已。

《穿墙记》埃梅。

生动有趣，夹在墙里的杜蒂耶先生。

《圣母的杂耍艺人》法郎士。

杂耍艺人信仰之后，如何为自己的信仰做出最大的努力，就是拿自己最热爱的东西奉献给上帝。看完之后我仍不理解什么是宗教，但我懂了什么叫虔诚。

《情人的形象》波德莱尔。

几个男人讨论关于自己和女人相处的故事，大段语言很生动，并不沉闷。

《骑桶者》卡夫卡。

《掘墓人》里尔克。

少女爱上掘墓人。

《俄罗斯人的性格》。

变脸的士兵回家的遭遇。

《清兵卫和葫芦》志贺直哉。

日本人独有的幽默。

《大卫斯旺》霍桑。

大卫斯旺在湖边经历了爱神 财神 死神的考验，却毫无察觉。我们身边有擦肩而过多少神奇的事情呢。

《西西里柠檬》皮兰德娄。

少女沉沦记，不需要去叙述少女怎样怎样，她出场几面，简单几句就刻画出人物立场来，西西里柠檬真是酸涩，如同人生一样。密库乔用尽全力将苔莱季娜送到上流社会，自己却被抛弃。

《最好的顾客》特罗亚。

悬念营造的很好，结尾略感无力。

《时来运转》德吕翁。

富人要一个穷人每天替他去赌场输钱，因为他相信，总有一天会时来运转，结果果真如此，穷人赚了远胜于他亏空的大钱。还算有趣。

《马车》果戈里。

讽刺很深，地主谄媚军官 。

《陪衬人》。

《老厨师》。

《产品质量》。

《敞开的窗户》。

《厨房杀人案》。

《加拉维拉斯显驰名的跳蛙》。

《九个里面挑哪个》。

《美女还是老虎》。

《雅阁逃亡记》。