世界著名經典短篇小說

『壹』 世界上著名的短篇小說，一定要短

雨果： 克洛德.格
歐文： 鬼新郎
左拉： 陪襯人
都德： 三部大彌撒
哈代： 富於想像的婦人
海涅： 帕格尼尼
普希金： 黑桃皇後
莫泊桑： 蠻子大媽
梅里美： 伊爾的美神
狄更斯： 窮人的專利
果戈理： 舊式的地主
司各特： 流浪漢威利的故事
契科夫： 寶貝兒
高爾基： 切爾卡希
巴爾扎克： 不為人知的傑作
馬克.吐溫 田納西的新聞界
傑克.倫敦 變節者
屠格涅夫： 總管
歐. 亨利 愛的犧牲

『貳』 推薦世界經典短篇小說

那麼我推薦些日系推理短篇給你吧，至少本人覺得不錯。
一、小栗蟲太郎的《完全犯罪》，故事發生在中國，我很喜歡裡面的那個苗族軍官。還有裡面收錄的其他短篇都不錯，至少超級詭異；
二、大孤圭吉的《銀座幽靈》，一本書共22個短篇，我完全被作者那最純粹的本格推理之風所深深折服了；
三、海野十三的《三個人的雙胞胎》，一句話：「科學的謀殺、瑰麗的奇想」。
四、夢野久作的 《日本推理名作選》，本書收錄十餘則變格派大師夢野久作的精采短篇，其中〈妖鼓〉為其成名作。一具音色陰沈、具有百年歷史的奇鼓，始於一則幽怨詛咒，相傳聞者皆死！身為制鼓名人後代的音丸九彌，彷佛受到傳聞的魅惑，一步步走向咒怨砌成的死亡之井。情節融合了現實與虛幻的元素，在解謎之餘，令人驚嘆人性的幽黯離常遠比事件本身更加曲折難解。

『叄』 世界著名的短篇小說

世界著名的短篇小說 :

雨果： 克洛德.格
歐文： 鬼新郎
左拉： 陪襯人
都德： 三部大彌撒
哈代： 富於想像的婦人
海涅： 帕格尼尼
普希金： 黑桃皇後
莫泊桑： 蠻子大媽
梅里美： 伊爾的美神
狄更斯： 窮人的專利
果戈理： 舊式的地主
司各特： 流浪漢威利的故事
契科夫： 寶貝兒
高爾基： 切爾卡希
巴爾扎克： 不為人知的傑作
馬克.吐溫 田納西的新聞界
傑克.倫敦 變節者
屠格涅夫： 總管
歐. 亨利 愛的犧牲

『肆』 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.

『伍』 推薦外國一些著名中短篇小說家及其作品

奠泊桑，法國批判現實主義作家，著有300 篇短篇和長篇小說，代表作有《羊脂球》、《俊友》等，課文收有《項鏈》，《我的叔叔於勒》等。

莎士比亞，英國文藝復興時期偉大的劇作家和詩人。流傳劇本37 部，長詩兩首，十四行詩154 首，代表作品有《羅密歐與朱麗葉》、《哈姆雷特》、《奧賽羅》、《李爾王》等。

契訶夫，19 世紀末期俄國傑出的批判現實主義作家，舉世聞名的短篇小說巨匠和著名的劇作家，代表作有短篇小說《套中人》、《變色龍》、《哀傷》、《苦惱》、《萬卡》等，劇本《萬尼亞舅舅》、《伊凡諾夫》、《海鷗》、《櫻桃園》等。

高爾基，偉大的無產階級作家，前蘇聯社會主義文學奠基人。著有《高爾基全集》69 卷。其中著名的作品有自傳體三部曲《童年》、《在人間》、《我的大學》等，《母親》是他的代表作。

馬克·吐溫，美國傑出的批判現實主義作家，代表作有《鍍金時代》、《湯姆·索亞歷險記》、《哈克貝利·費恩歷險記》，晚年著有《敗壞了赫德萊保的人》。

歐·亨利，美國短篇小說家，著有《麥琪的禮物》、《警察與贊美詩》、《最後的藤葉》等。

伏契克，捷克斯洛伐克民族英雄、新聞記者、作家，著有《親愛的國家裡》、《絞刑架下的報告》。

安徒生，丹麥童話作家。著有《皇帝的新衣》、《夜鶯》、《丑小鴨》、《賣火柴的小女孩》、《影子》、《老房子》、《母親的故事》、《園丁和主人》等。

『陸』 國外知名短篇小說，經典的

莫泊桑《一家人》、《在一個春天的夜晚》、《戴麗葉春樓》，一八八二年有《菲菲小姐》、《一個兒子》、《修軟椅的女人》、《小狗皮埃羅》、《一個諾曼底佬》、《月光》、《遺囑》，一八八三年有《騎馬》、《在海上》、《兩個朋友》、《珠寶》、《米隆老爹》、《我的叔叔於勒》、《勛章到手了》、《繩子》，一八八四年有《燒傘記》、《項鏈》《幸福》、《遺產》、《衣櫃》

契科夫《柳樹》 《代表》 《胖子和瘦子》 《渴睡》《在催眠術表演會上》 《壞孩子》 《小職員之死》《變色龍》《我的「她」》 《跳來跳去的女人》 《演說家》 《凡卡》 《外科手術》 《裝在套子里的人》 《脖子上的安娜》 《乞丐》 《彩票》 《名貴的狗》 《帶閣樓的房子》 《出事》 《打賭》 《在流放地》 《夜鶯演唱會》 《農民》 《套中人》 《第六病室》 《醋栗》 《姚內奇》 《窩囊》 《渴睡》《草原》 《沒意思的故事》《柔弱的人》《敵人》
歐亨利《咖啡館里的世界公民》《財神和愛神》 《麥琪的禮物》(也稱作《賢人的禮物》) 《證券經紀人的浪漫故事》 《帶傢具出租的房間》 《包打聽》 《警察與贊美詩》 《愛的犧牲》 《姑娘》《醉翁之意》 《二十年後》《小熊約翰·湯姆的返祖現象》《叢林中的孩子》《鬧劇》《慈善事業數學講座》《幾位偵探》 《雙料騙子》《綠色門》 《婚姻手冊》《心與手》 《布萊克·比爾藏身記》 《索利托牧場的衛生學》 《蘋果之謎》 《吉米·海斯和繆里爾》 《催眠術家傑甫·彼得斯》 《最後一片葉子》《華而不實》《黃雀在後》《提線木偶》《五月是個結婚月》 《市政報告》 《沒有完的故事》《比綿塔薄餅》 《公主與美洲獅》《心理分析與摩天大樓》 托尼婭的紅玫瑰》 《我們選擇的道路》《虎口拔牙》《刎頸之交》《兩位感恩節的紳士》 《回合之間》 《汽車等待的時候》 《生活的波折》《女巫的麵包》 《信童傳情》 《菜單上的春天》 《迷夢》 《各取所需》 《聖羅薩里奧的兩位朋友》 《鍾擺》 《活期貸款》 《天窗室》 《第三樣配料》 《白鴿》

『柒』 能推薦一些好看的世界著名的短篇小說給我嗎

短篇是要多短呢？
博爾赫斯：小徑分叉的花園屬於短篇
斯蒂芬金：肖申克的救贖
阿莎加克里斯蒂：無人生還，東方快車謀殺案
東野圭吾的書也很有可讀性啊。
岩井俊二：情書
推薦的都是可讀性很強的小說，不會看著看著犯困的那種啊。但好像都不算短篇誒！但是都很有名，也許你都看過了啊，如果看過了就當我沒推薦過吧，哈哈哈哈哈。

『捌』 著名短篇小說

中國的外國的？

世界三大著名短篇小說家
三個人的短篇小說頗負盛名，對世界有很大的影響，他們三人出生的年月相似，皆是二十世紀末的資本主義露出許多破綻的時期。三人寫作風格也極為相似，但在相似中亦不乏他們三人特殊的風格，都是以諧謔的話語諷刺了資本主義的黑暗與腐朽，還有人們那些趨炎附勢與赤裸裸的金錢關系。
（1）莫泊桑 (Guy de Maupassant 1850--1893)
十九世紀法國著名的批判現實主義小說家。出生於沒落的貴族世家，1880年發表第一個中篇小說《羊脂球》，此後陸續寫了一大批思想性和藝術性完美結合的短篇小說，博得世界短篇小說巨匠的贊譽。他的創作廣泛而深刻地反映了十九世紀後半期的法國社會現實，無情地揭露了資產階級道德風尚的丑惡，對下層社會的「小人物」寄予同情。小說構思新穎，描寫生動，人物語言個性化，布局謀篇別具匠心。代表作有中篇小說《羊脂球》、《項鏈》等，長篇小說《一生》、《俊友》（又譯做《漂亮的朋友》等。
（2）契訶夫 ( Антон Павлович Чехов1860～1905)
十九世紀俄國批判現實主義作家、戲劇家和短篇小說藝術大師，他是俄國最後一個批判現實主義的作家。他的早期合作諷刺和揭露了俄國社會官場人物媚上欺下的丑惡面目，寫得諧趣橫生，發人深思。八十年代中期，他創作了既幽默又富於悲劇的短篇小說，反映了社會底層人民的被侮辱被損害的不幸生活，具有深刻的思想意義。代表作有短篇小說《變色龍》、《苦惱》、《萬卡》、《第六病室》、《套中人》等。
（3）歐·亨利 ( O.Henry 1862.9.11-1910 )
十九世紀末二十世紀初美國現實主義著名作家。一生經歷豐富，從事過葯房學徒、牧牛人、會計員、土地局辦事員、新聞記者、銀行出納員。曾被誣告罪入獄三年。後遷居紐約，專事寫作，他幾乎每周寫一篇短篇小說，供報刊發表。他一生創作了近三百篇短篇小說和一部長篇小說，對腐朽的資本主義制度、反人道的法律、虛偽的道德給予揭露和諷刺。代表作有長篇小說《白菜與皇帝》，短篇小說《麥琪的禮物》、《警察與贊美詩》等。