世界著名经典短篇小说

『壹』 世界上著名的短篇小说，一定要短

雨果： 克洛德.格
欧文： 鬼新郎
左拉： 陪衬人
都德： 三部大弥撒
哈代： 富于想象的妇人
海涅： 帕格尼尼
普希金： 黑桃皇后
莫泊桑： 蛮子大妈
梅里美： 伊尔的美神
狄更斯： 穷人的专利
果戈理： 旧式的地主
司各特： 流浪汉威利的故事
契科夫： 宝贝儿
高尔基： 切尔卡希
巴尔扎克： 不为人知的杰作
马克.吐温 田纳西的新闻界
杰克.伦敦 变节者
屠格涅夫： 总管
欧. 亨利 爱的牺牲

『贰』 推荐世界经典短篇小说

那么我推荐些日系推理短篇给你吧，至少本人觉得不错。
一、小栗虫太郎的《完全犯罪》，故事发生在中国，我很喜欢里面的那个苗族军官。还有里面收录的其他短篇都不错，至少超级诡异；
二、大孤圭吉的《银座幽灵》，一本书共22个短篇，我完全被作者那最纯粹的本格推理之风所深深折服了；
三、海野十三的《三个人的双胞胎》，一句话：“科学的谋杀、瑰丽的奇想”。
四、梦野久作的 《日本推理名作选》，本书收录十余则变格派大师梦野久作的精采短篇，其中〈妖鼓〉为其成名作。一具音色阴沈、具有百年历史的奇鼓，始於一则幽怨诅咒，相传闻者皆死！身为制鼓名人后代的音丸九弥，彷佛受到传闻的魅惑，一步步走向咒怨砌成的死亡之井。情节融合了现实与虚幻的元素，在解谜之余，令人惊叹人性的幽黯离常远比事件本身更加曲折难解。

『叁』 世界著名的短篇小说

世界著名的短篇小说 :

雨果： 克洛德.格
欧文： 鬼新郎
左拉： 陪衬人
都德： 三部大弥撒
哈代： 富于想象的妇人
海涅： 帕格尼尼
普希金： 黑桃皇后
莫泊桑： 蛮子大妈
梅里美： 伊尔的美神
狄更斯： 穷人的专利
果戈理： 旧式的地主
司各特： 流浪汉威利的故事
契科夫： 宝贝儿
高尔基： 切尔卡希
巴尔扎克： 不为人知的杰作
马克.吐温 田纳西的新闻界
杰克.伦敦 变节者
屠格涅夫： 总管
欧. 亨利 爱的牺牲

『肆』 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.

『伍』 推荐外国一些著名中短篇小说家及其作品

奠泊桑，法国批判现实主义作家，著有300 篇短篇和长篇小说，代表作有《羊脂球》、《俊友》等，课文收有《项链》，《我的叔叔于勒》等。

莎士比亚，英国文艺复兴时期伟大的剧作家和诗人。流传剧本37 部，长诗两首，十四行诗154 首，代表作品有《罗密欧与朱丽叶》、《哈姆雷特》、《奥赛罗》、《李尔王》等。

契诃夫，19 世纪末期俄国杰出的批判现实主义作家，举世闻名的短篇小说巨匠和著名的剧作家，代表作有短篇小说《套中人》、《变色龙》、《哀伤》、《苦恼》、《万卡》等，剧本《万尼亚舅舅》、《伊凡诺夫》、《海鸥》、《樱桃园》等。

高尔基，伟大的无产阶级作家，前苏联社会主义文学奠基人。著有《高尔基全集》69 卷。其中著名的作品有自传体三部曲《童年》、《在人间》、《我的大学》等，《母亲》是他的代表作。

马克·吐温，美国杰出的批判现实主义作家，代表作有《镀金时代》、《汤姆·索亚历险记》、《哈克贝利·费恩历险记》，晚年著有《败坏了赫德莱保的人》。

欧·亨利，美国短篇小说家，著有《麦琪的礼物》、《警察与赞美诗》、《最后的藤叶》等。

伏契克，捷克斯洛伐克民族英雄、新闻记者、作家，著有《亲爱的国家里》、《绞刑架下的报告》。

安徒生，丹麦童话作家。著有《皇帝的新衣》、《夜莺》、《丑小鸭》、《卖火柴的小女孩》、《影子》、《老房子》、《母亲的故事》、《园丁和主人》等。

『陆』 国外知名短篇小说，经典的

莫泊桑《一家人》、《在一个春天的夜晚》、《戴丽叶春楼》，一八八二年有《菲菲小姐》、《一个儿子》、《修软椅的女人》、《小狗皮埃罗》、《一个诺曼底佬》、《月光》、《遗嘱》，一八八三年有《骑马》、《在海上》、《两个朋友》、《珠宝》、《米隆老爹》、《我的叔叔于勒》、《勋章到手了》、《绳子》，一八八四年有《烧伞记》、《项链》《幸福》、《遗产》、《衣柜》

契科夫《柳树》 《代表》 《胖子和瘦子》 《渴睡》《在催眠术表演会上》 《坏孩子》 《小职员之死》《变色龙》《我的“她”》 《跳来跳去的女人》 《演说家》 《凡卡》 《外科手术》 《装在套子里的人》 《脖子上的安娜》 《乞丐》 《彩票》 《名贵的狗》 《带阁楼的房子》 《出事》 《打赌》 《在流放地》 《夜莺演唱会》 《农民》 《套中人》 《第六病室》 《醋栗》 《姚内奇》 《窝囊》 《渴睡》《草原》 《没意思的故事》《柔弱的人》《敌人》
欧亨利《咖啡馆里的世界公民》《财神和爱神》 《麦琪的礼物》(也称作《贤人的礼物》) 《证券经纪人的浪漫故事》 《带家具出租的房间》 《包打听》 《警察与赞美诗》 《爱的牺牲》 《姑娘》《醉翁之意》 《二十年后》《小熊约翰·汤姆的返祖现象》《丛林中的孩子》《闹剧》《慈善事业数学讲座》《几位侦探》 《双料骗子》《绿色门》 《婚姻手册》《心与手》 《布莱克·比尔藏身记》 《索利托牧场的卫生学》 《苹果之谜》 《吉米·海斯和缪里尔》 《催眠术家杰甫·彼得斯》 《最后一片叶子》《华而不实》《黄雀在后》《提线木偶》《五月是个结婚月》 《市政报告》 《没有完的故事》《比绵塔薄饼》 《公主与美洲狮》《心理分析与摩天大楼》 托尼娅的红玫瑰》 《我们选择的道路》《虎口拔牙》《刎颈之交》《两位感恩节的绅士》 《回合之间》 《汽车等待的时候》 《生活的波折》《女巫的面包》 《信童传情》 《菜单上的春天》 《迷梦》 《各取所需》 《圣罗萨里奥的两位朋友》 《钟摆》 《活期贷款》 《天窗室》 《第三样配料》 《白鸽》

『柒』 能推荐一些好看的世界著名的短篇小说给我吗

短篇是要多短呢？
博尔赫斯：小径分叉的花园属于短篇
斯蒂芬金：肖申克的救赎
阿莎加克里斯蒂：无人生还，东方快车谋杀案
东野圭吾的书也很有可读性啊。
岩井俊二：情书
推荐的都是可读性很强的小说，不会看着看着犯困的那种啊。但好像都不算短篇诶！但是都很有名，也许你都看过了啊，如果看过了就当我没推荐过吧，哈哈哈哈哈。

『捌』 著名短篇小说

中国的外国的？

世界三大著名短篇小说家
三个人的短篇小说颇负盛名，对世界有很大的影响，他们三人出生的年月相似，皆是二十世纪末的资本主义露出许多破绽的时期。三人写作风格也极为相似，但在相似中亦不乏他们三人特殊的风格，都是以谐谑的话语讽刺了资本主义的黑暗与腐朽，还有人们那些趋炎附势与赤裸裸的金钱关系。
（1）莫泊桑 (Guy de Maupassant 1850--1893)
十九世纪法国著名的批判现实主义小说家。出生于没落的贵族世家，1880年发表第一个中篇小说《羊脂球》，此后陆续写了一大批思想性和艺术性完美结合的短篇小说，博得世界短篇小说巨匠的赞誉。他的创作广泛而深刻地反映了十九世纪后半期的法国社会现实，无情地揭露了资产阶级道德风尚的丑恶，对下层社会的“小人物”寄予同情。小说构思新颖，描写生动，人物语言个性化，布局谋篇别具匠心。代表作有中篇小说《羊脂球》、《项链》等，长篇小说《一生》、《俊友》（又译做《漂亮的朋友》等。
（2）契诃夫 ( Антон Павлович Чехов1860～1905)
十九世纪俄国批判现实主义作家、戏剧家和短篇小说艺术大师，他是俄国最后一个批判现实主义的作家。他的早期合作讽刺和揭露了俄国社会官场人物媚上欺下的丑恶面目，写得谐趣横生，发人深思。八十年代中期，他创作了既幽默又富于悲剧的短篇小说，反映了社会底层人民的被侮辱被损害的不幸生活，具有深刻的思想意义。代表作有短篇小说《变色龙》、《苦恼》、《万卡》、《第六病室》、《套中人》等。
（3）欧·亨利 ( O.Henry 1862.9.11-1910 )
十九世纪末二十世纪初美国现实主义著名作家。一生经历丰富，从事过药房学徒、牧牛人、会计员、土地局办事员、新闻记者、银行出纳员。曾被诬告罪入狱三年。后迁居纽约，专事写作，他几乎每周写一篇短篇小说，供报刊发表。他一生创作了近三百篇短篇小说和一部长篇小说，对腐朽的资本主义制度、反人道的法律、虚伪的道德给予揭露和讽刺。代表作有长篇小说《白菜与皇帝》，短篇小说《麦琪的礼物》、《警察与赞美诗》等。