ll短篇小說集

⑴ 世界著名短篇小說

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 莫泊桑的個人簡介

19世紀後半期法國優秀的批判現實主義作家。一生創作了6部長篇小說和356多篇中短篇小說， 他的文學成就以短篇小說最為突出，被譽為 「短篇小說之王」，對後世產生了極大影響。

莫泊桑出身於一個沒落貴族之家，母親醉心文藝，並有很深的文學修養，尤其喜愛詩歌，在其影響下，莫泊桑少年時代便憧憬作一名詩人。他13歲開始寫詩。

在魯昂讀中學時，他又受老師、詩人路易·布那影響，開始多種體裁的文學習作，後在福樓拜親自指導下練習寫作，參加了以左拉為首的自然主義作家集團的活動。1870年，莫泊桑參加了普法戰爭，退伍後，在工作之餘，依然從事文學寫作。

他以《羊脂球》（1880）入選《梅塘晚會》短篇小說集，一躍登上法國文壇，其創作盛期是80年代。10年間，他創作了6部長篇小說：《一生》（1883）、《俊友》（1885）、《溫 泉》（1886）、《 皮埃爾和若望》（1887）、《像死一般堅強》（1889）、《我們的心》（1890）。這些作品揭露了第三共和國的黑暗內幕：內閣要員從金融巨頭的利益出發，欺騙議會和民眾，發動掠奪非洲殖民地摩洛哥的帝國主義戰爭；抨擊了統治集團的腐朽、貪婪、爾虞我詐的荒淫無恥。莫泊桑還創作了350多部中短篇小說，在揭露上層統治者及其毒化下的社會風氣的同時，對被侮辱被損害的小人物寄予深切同情。

短篇的主題大致可歸納為三個方面：第一是諷刺虛榮心和拜金主義，如《項鏈》、《我的叔叔於勒》；第二是描寫勞動人民的悲慘遭遇，贊頌其正直、淳樸、寬厚的品格，如《歸來》；第三是描寫普法戰爭，反映法國人民愛國情緒，如《羊脂球》。

莫泊桑短篇小說布局結構的精巧。典型細節的選用、敘事抒情的手法以及行雲流水般的自然文筆，都給後世作家提供了楷模。

另外，他敏銳的觀察也是令人稱道的，自從他拜師福樓拜之後，每逢星期日就帶著新習作，從巴黎長途奔波到魯昂近郊的福樓拜的住處去，聆聽福樓拜對他前一周交上的習作的點評。福樓拜對他的要求非常嚴格，首先要求他敏銳透徹的觀察事物。莫泊桑遵從師教，逐漸善於「發現別人沒有發現過和沒有寫過的特點」，後來，當他在談到作家應該細致、敏銳的觀察事物時，說：「必須詳細的觀察你想要表達的一切東西，時間要長，而且要全神貫注，才能從其中發現迄今還沒有人看到與說過的那些方面。為了描寫燒的很旺的火或平地上的一棵樹，我們就需要站在這堆火或這棵樹的面前，一直到我們覺得它們不再跟別的火焰和別的樹木一樣為止。」

一次，福樓拜還建議莫泊桑做這樣的鍛煉：騎馬出去跑一圈，一兩個鍾頭之後回來，把自己所看到的一切記下來。莫泊桑按照這個辦法鍛煉自己的觀察力有一年之久。

⑶ 短篇小說ll一個家

門，是上帝最初為人間創造的傑作。而窗，只是附帶的小禮物。

——前言

天幕漸漸降臨，人間又回到最初的平靜。燈如期亮起來了，這是黑夜裡的太陽，照耀了那些依賴光線生存的黑眼睛。農村遠離城市，寧靜與喧囂形成了反差。正如白天與黑夜，黑白不分的世界，其實是兩個世界的寄生。

天上繁星閃，地下蟲豸叫。寧靜的夜晚，天使一般美麗的幻想似乎在這里誕生。上帝已經活到九百九十九億光年了，他覺得老是呆在天宮，活得也太乏味了。於是，趁月色正好，到人間走一趟，體察一下民情。

這是他第二次來人間。第一次來的時候，地球還是雜草橫生，人煙稀少，到處呈現自然美麗和諧的風景。這次他來，還是選擇到老地方，一個依山而居，依水而旁的地方。

路上，他遇見了一個正在田野上捉螢火蟲的小男孩。他感到很驚訝，問：「你在幹嘛？」小男孩看見一個白發蒼蒼，衣冠閃爍的老人，也感到很驚訝。他從來沒有看見老人這般的打扮。男孩小聲地回答：「我在捉螢火蟲啊。」

「你捉它們來幹嘛？」上帝不解地問。

「我是捉來學慣用的。家裡沒有電燈，煤油也買不起。」小男孩說。

上帝開始悲憫起來了，想不到人間還有這么貧苦人家。當初，他是白天來，不知道人間也有黑暗。因為自己在天宮，總是燈火輝煌。那次他臨走的時候，為一戶人家造了一扇木門，他希望人間的房子都有門，有門才像一個家庭。

「我可以幫你什麼嗎？」上帝問。

小男孩根本不知道他是上帝，他小時候常聽父親說，「這個世界，還不知道是否有上帝的佑護，但人還是要靠自己的。」

「你能幫我什麼嗎？我只需要一扇窗。」小男孩在書本里看過這樣一句話：「當上帝關閉了所有的門，他還會開啟一扇窗。」所以，小男孩常常憧憬著心中的那扇幸福又久遠的「窗」。

「我是上帝，你知道嗎？不要說是窗，就是樓房，只要我說一聲，它們就出現在你面前了。」

小男孩驚奇得後退了幾步，心裡納悶：他是上帝？我不會遇見鬼了吧。

上帝看著小男孩那般表情，笑著說：「我真的是上帝，我可以幫你忙，請相信我吧。」

「那好，我只要一扇窗就夠了。」於是，上帝把小男孩居住地那所坐北向南的房子，變成了兩個有窗的房子，一個面朝東，一個面朝西。

「你現在回去看看，你家的房子已經有窗了。」

「我說的窗不是這個意思啊。」小男孩說。

「那你要什麼窗呢？」上帝不解地問。

「我要的窗是面朝大海，春暖花開的窗。你明白嗎？」

「這個也不難啊。」上帝一邊回答小男孩，一邊用手指劃，頓時，朝東的那個窗口外面有一片花海，繁花似錦。朝西的那個窗口不遠的地方，出現了一個大海，浪濤翻滾。

「你欺負人，你不是上帝。」小男孩說完就跑開了，他不相信那是上帝，他要回家。

上帝站在那，望著遠去的背影，急壞了。他想：「人間怎麼了？我早已創造了門，現在又創造了窗，這還不夠嗎？」

上帝由此生氣起來了，他決定關閉起人間的門來。於是，他心情不好的時候，就關閉起「門」來；等心情好的時候，就為人間打開一扇窗。

仁慈的上帝啊，可憐的上帝啊，你永遠不懂得人間的愁與苦。或許，人間根本就與你無關。

⑷ 有哪些德國作家獲得過諾貝爾獎

德國的11位諾貝爾文學獎獲獎者。

1、特奧多爾·蒙森 Theodor Mommsen (1817-1903)。

2、魯道夫·奧依肯 RudolfEucken (1846-1926)。

3、保羅·海澤Paul Heyse (1830-1914)。

4、蓋爾哈特·豪普特里Gerhart Hauptmann (1862-1946)。

5、卡爾·弗里德里希·喬治·施皮特勒 Carl Friedrich Georg Spitteler (1845-1924)。

6、托馬斯·曼 Thomas Mann (1875-1955)。

7、赫爾曼.黑塞 Hermann Hesse (1877-1962)。

8、海因里希·伯爾 Heinrich Böll(1917-1985)。

9、艾里亞斯·卡耐基 Elias Canetti(1905-1994)。

10、君特·格拉斯 (Günter Grass)。

11、赫塔·繆勒 Herta Müller。

1953年出生在羅馬尼亞一個講德語的少數民族家庭，1987年她與丈夫遷居德國。1982年，穆勒發表了其「處女作」——一本名為《低地》Niederungen的短篇小說集。繆勒是歷史上第12位女性諾貝爾文學獎獲得者，進入21世紀後的第3位諾貝爾文學獎獲得者。