世界著名短篇小说

世界著名短篇小说有
《羊脂球》
“短篇小说大师”之称的法国作家【莫泊桑】先生创作的小说。《羊脂球》是他的成名作，也是他的代表作之一。故事以羊脂球的悲惨遭遇反衬了资本主义下的丑恶肮脏的灵魂。他们虚伪的面具下藏的都是腐朽的内脏和污秽的思想。
2.《项链》
【莫泊桑】作于1884年。故事讲述了小公务员的妻子玛蒂尔德为参加一次晚会，向朋友借了一串钻石项链，来炫耀自己的美丽。不料，项链在回家途中不慎丢失。她只得借钱买了新项链还给朋友。为了偿还债务，她节衣缩食，为别人打短工，整整劳苦了十年。最后，得知所借的项链原是一串假钻石项链。
本文以项链本身为线索，通过借项链、丢项链、还项链的线索自然地带领读者走进女主人公玛蒂尔德的生活及其内心世界，深刻领略19世纪的法国小人物无法决定自身命运的悲剧现实。
3.《变色龙》
是俄国作家【契诃夫】早期创作的一篇讽刺小说。在这篇著名的小说里，他以精湛的艺术手法，塑造了一个专横跋扈、欺下媚上、见风使舵的沙皇专制制度走狗奥楚蔑洛夫的典型形象，具有广泛的艺术概括性。小说的名字起得十分巧妙。变色龙本是一种蜥蜴类的四脚爬行动物，能够根据四周物体的颜色改变自己的肤色，以防其它动物的侵害。作者
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世界著名短篇小说有
《羊脂球》
“短篇小说大师”之称的法国作家【莫泊桑】先生创作的小说。《羊脂球》是他的成名作，也是他的代表作之一。故事以羊脂球的悲惨遭遇反衬了资本主义下的丑恶肮脏的灵魂。他们虚伪的面具下藏的都是腐朽的内脏和污秽的思想。
2.《项链》
【莫泊桑】作于1884年。故事讲述了小公务员的妻子玛蒂尔德为参加一次晚会，向朋友借了一串钻石项链，来炫耀自己的美丽。不料，项链在回家途中不慎丢失。她只得借钱买了新项链还给朋友。为了偿还债务，她节衣缩食，为别人打短工，整整劳苦了十年。最后，得知所借的项链原是一串假钻石项链。
本文以项链本身为线索，通过借项链、丢项链、还项链的线索自然地带领读者走进女主人公玛蒂尔德的生活及其内心世界，深刻领略19世纪的法国小人物无法决定自身命运的悲剧现实。
3.《变色龙》
是俄国作家【契诃夫】早期创作的一篇讽刺小说。在这篇著名的小说里，他以精湛的艺术手法，塑造了一个专横跋扈、欺下媚上、见风使舵的沙皇专制制度走狗奥楚蔑洛夫的典型形象，具有广泛的艺术概括性。小说的名字起得十分巧妙。变色龙本是一种蜥蜴类的四脚爬行动物，能够根据四周物体的颜色改变自己的肤色，以防其它动物的侵害。作者在这里是只取其“变色”的特性，用以概括社会上的一种人。
4.《装在套子里的人》
是【契诃夫】最杰出的短篇小说之一。安东·巴甫洛维奇·契诃夫生活和创作的年代，正是俄国农奴制度崩溃、资本主义迅速发展、沙皇专制制度极端反动和无产阶级革命逐渐兴起的时期。
在《装在套子里的人》中，契诃夫塑造了一个性格孤僻，胆小怕事，恐惧变革，想做一个纯粹的现行制度的“守法良民”别里科夫。别里科夫的世界观就是害怕出乱子，害怕改变既有的一切，但是他所作所为，在客观上却起着为沙皇专制助纣为虐的作用。他辖制着大家，并不是靠暴力等手段，而是给众人精神上的压抑，让大家“透不出气”。可以说是专制制度毒化了他的思想、心灵，使他惧怕一切变革，顽固僵化，他是沙皇专制制度的维护者，但更是受害者。因而可以说别里科夫成为了，害怕新事物，维护旧事物反对变革，阻碍社会发展的人的代名词。
5.《一碗清汤荞麦面》（日本栗良平著小说）
《一碗清汤荞麦面》，是一个感人至深的故事，在日本企业内部和政府部门也广为流传，不论是首相、总统、议员、著名企业家，还是企业员工、普通百姓，无不为这个故事深深感染，因为在它朴实的语言下，蕴藏着触动灵魂的人格力量和人性光辉。
6.《麦琪的礼物》
是美国著名文学家【欧·亨利】写的一篇短篇小说，它通过写在圣诞节前一天，一对小夫妻互赠礼物，结果阴差阳错，两人珍贵的礼物都变成了无用的东西，而他们却得到了比任何实物都宝贵的东西——爱。德拉将一头长发卖掉给丈夫祖传的金表配了表链，而丈夫吉姆却卖掉金表给德拉买了全套的梳子。悲剧式的情节让特定时代背景下夫妻之间的爱更加深刻。
7.《罗生门》
是芥川龙之介早期发表的短篇小说，情节取材于日本古典故事集《今昔物语》，“藤暮时分，罗生门下，一个家奴正在等侯着雨停”。当他茫然不知所措，仿若于生死未决时，偶遇以拔死人头发为生的一老妪，走投无路的家奴邪恶大发，决心弃苦从恶，剥下老妪的衣服逃离了罗生门——情节简单，人物稀少，短短的篇幅，小小的场面。时间、地点、人物、结局全都展现在读者的面前。作品虽以旧题材创作的历史小说，却被赋予了一定的寓意，描写了社会最底层顽强挣扎着继续生存的民众，而并非单纯意义上的历史小说。
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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 gradually 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 during 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 introduced 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 dully 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 dull 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 duplication. 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.

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