中学必读经典英文短篇小说《Beneath an umbrella》赏析
BENEATH AN UMBRELLABy Nathaniel Hawthorne Pleasant is a rainy winter's day,within doors!The best study for such a da y,or the best amusement,-call it which you will,-is a book of travels,describi ng scenes the most unlike that sombre one,which is mistily presented throu gh the windows.I have experienced,that fancy is then most successful in im parting distinct shapes and vivid colors to the objects which the author has s pread upon his page,and that his words become magic spells to summon up a thousand varied pictures.Strange landscapes glimmer through the familiar walls of the room,and outlandish figures thrust themselves almost within the sacred precincts of the hearth.Small as my chamber is,it has space enough to contain the ocean-like circumference of an Arabian desert,its parched sa nds tracked by the long line of a caravan,with the camels patiently journeyi ng through the heavy sunshine.Though my ceiling be not lofty,yet I can pil e up the mountains of Central Asia beneath it,till their summits shine far ab ove the clouds of the middle atmosphere.And,with my humble means,a w ealth that is not taxable,I can transport hither the magnificent merchandise of an Oriental bazaar,and call a crowd of purchasers from distant countries, to pay a fair profit for the precious articles which are displayed on all sides. True it is,however,that amid the bustle of traffic,or whatever else may see m to be going on around me,the rain-drops will occasionally be heard to pa tter against my window-panes,which look forth upon one of the quietest str eets in a New England town.After a time,too,the visions vanish,and will n ot appear again at my bidding.Then,it being nightfall,a gloomy sense of un reality depresses my spirits,and impels me to venture out,before the clock shall strike bedtime,to satisfy myself that the world is not entirely made up of such shadowy materials,as have busied me throughout the day.A dreame r may dwell so long among fantasies,that the things without him will seem as unreal as those within.When eve has fairly set in,therefore,I sally forth,tightly buttoning my sha ggy overcoat,and hoisting my umbrella,the silken dome of which immediatel y resounds with the heavy drumming of the invisible rain-drops.Pausing on t he lowest doorstep,I contrast the warmth and cheerfulness of my deserted fi reside with the drear obscurity and chill discomfort into which I am about to plunge.Now come fearful auguries,innumerable as the drops of rain.Did n ot my manhood cry shame upon me,I should turn back within doors,resum e my elbow-chair,my slippers,and my book,pass such an evening of sluggis h enjoyment as the day has been,and go to bed inglorious.The same shiver ing reluctance,no doubt,has quelled,for a moment,the adventurous spirit o f many a traveller,when his feet,which were destined to measure the earth around,were leaving their last tracks in the home-paths.In my own case,poor human nature may be allowed a few misgivings.I l ook upward,and discern no sky,not even an unfathomable void,but only a black,impenetrable nothingness,as though heaven and all its lights were blot ted from the system of the universe.It is as if nature were dead,and the w orld had put on black,and the clouds were weeping for her.With their tears upon my cheek,I turn my eyes earthward,but find little consolation here b elow.A lamp is burning dimly at the distant corner,and throws just enough of light along the street,to show,and exaggerate by so faintly showing,the perils and difficulties which beset my path.Yonder dingily white remnant of a huge snow-bank,-which will yet cumber the sidewalk till the latter days of March,-over or through that wintry waste I must stride onward.Beyond,lies a certain Slough of Despond,a concoction of mud and liquid filth,ankle-deep, leg-deep,neck-deep,-in a word,of unknown bottom,on which the lamplight does not even glimmer,but which I have occasionally watched,in the gradu al growth of its horrors,from morn till nightfall.Should I flounder into its de pths,farewell to upper earth!And hark!how roughly resounds the roaring of a stream,the turbulent career of which is partially reddened by the gleamof the lamp,but elsewhere brawls noisily through the densest gloom.O,sho uld I be swept away in fording that impetuous and unclean torrent,the coro ner will have a job with an unfortunate gentleman,who would fain end his t roubles anywhere but in a mud-puddle!Pshaw!I will linger not another instant at arm's length from these dim ter rors,which grow more obscurely formidable,the longer I delay to grapple wit h them.Now for the onset!And to!with little damage,save a dash of rain in the face and breast,a splash of mud high up the pantaloons,and the left boot full of ice-cold water,behold me at the corner of the street.The lamp throws down a circle of red light around me;and twinkling onward from co rner to corner,I discern other beacons marshalling my way to a brighter sce ne.But this is alone some and dreary spot.The tall edifices bid gloomy defi ance to the storm,with their blinds all closed,even as a man winks when h e faces a spattering gust.How loudly tinkles the collected rain down the tin spouts!The puffs of wind are boisterous,and seem to assail me from variou s quarters at once.I have often observed that this corner is a haunt and loit ering-place for those winds which have no work to do upon the deep,dashi ng ships against our iron-bound shores;nor in the forest,tearing up the sylv an giants with half a rood of soil at their vast roots.Here they amuse thems elves with lesser freaks of mischief.See,at this moment,how they assail yon der poor woman,who is passing just within the verge of the lamplight!One blast struggles for her umbrella,and turns it wrong side outward;another w hisks the cape of her cloak across her eyes;while a third takes most unwarr antable liberties with the lower part of her attire.Happily,the good dame is no gossamer,but a figure of rotundity and fleshly substance;else would the se aerial tormentors whirl her aloft,like a witch upon a broomstick,and set her down,doubtless,in the filthiest kennel hereabout.From hence I tread upon firm pavements into the centre of the town.Her e there is almost as brilliant an illumination as when some great victory has been won,either on the battle-field or at the polls.Two rows of shops,withwindows down nearly to the ground,cast a glow from side to side,while t he black night hangs overhead like a canopy,and thus keeps the splendor fr om diffusing itself away.The wet sidewalks gleam with a broad sheet of red light.The rain-drops glitter,as if the sky were pouring down rubies.The spou ts gush with fire.Methinks the scene is an emblem of the deceptive glare, which mortals throw around their footsteps in the moral world,thus bedazzli ng themselves,till they forget the impenetrable obscurity that hems them in, and that can be dispelled only by radiance from above.And after all,it is a cheerless scene,and cheerless are the wanderers in it.Here comes one wh o has so long been familiar with tempestuous weather that he takes the blus ter of the storm for a friendly greeting,as if it should say,"How fare ye,br other?"He is a retired sea-captain,wrapped in some nameless garment of th e pea-jacket order,and is now laying his course towards the Marine Insuranc e Office,there to spin yarns of gale and shipwreck,with a crew of old sead ogs like himself.The blast will put in its word among their hoarse voices,an d be understood by all of them.Next I meet an unhappy slipshod gentleman, with a cloak flung hastily over his shoulders,running a race with boisterous winds,and striving to glide between the drops of rain.Some domestic emer gency or other has blown this miserable man from his warm fireside in ques t of a doctor!See that little vagabond,-how carelessly he has taken his stand right underneath a spout,while staring at some object of curiosity in a sho p-window!Surely the rain is his native element;he must have fallen with it from the clouds,as frogs are supposed to do.Here is a picture,and a pretty one.A young man and a girl,both envelop ed in cloaks,and huddled underneath the scanty protection of a cotton umbr ella.She wears rubber overshoes;but he is in his dancing-pumps;and they a re on their way,no doubt,to sonic cotillon-party,or subscription-ball at a do llar a head,refreshments included.Thus they struggle against the gloomy tem pest,lured onward by a vision of festal splendor.But,ah!a most lamentable disaster.Bewildered by the red,blue,and yellow meteors,in an apothecary's window,they have stepped upon a slippery remnant of ice,and are precipi tated into a confluence of swollen floods,at the corner of two streets.Luckl ess lovers!Were it my nature to be other than a looker-on in life,I would a ttempt your rescue.Since that may not be,I vow,should you be drowned,t o weave such a pathetic story of your fate,as shall call forth tears to drown you both anew.Do ye touch bottom,my young friends?Yes;they emerge li ke a water-nymph and a river deity,and paddle hand in hand out of the de pths of the dark pool.They hurry homeward,dripping,disconsolate,abashed, but with love too warm to be chilled by the cold water.They have stood a test which proves too strong for many.Faithful,though over head and ears in trouble!Onward I go,deriving a sympathetic joy or sorrow from the varied aspect of mortal affairs,even as my figure catches a gleam from the lighted window s,or is blackened by an interval of darkness.Not that mine is altogether a c hameleon spirit,with no hue of its own.Now I pass into a more retired stre et,where the dwellings of wealth and poverty are intermingled,presenting a range of strongly contrasted pictures.Here,too,may be found the golden m ean.Through yonder casement I discern a family circle,-the grandmother,the parents,and the children,-all flickering,shadow-like,in the glow of a wood-fir e.Bluster,fierce blast,and beat,thou wintry rain,against the window-panes! Ye cannot damp the enjoyment of that fireside.Surely my fate is hard,that I should be wandering homeless here,taking to my bosom night,and storm, and solitude,instead of wife and children.Peace,murmurer!Doubt not that darker guests are sitting round the hearth,though the warm blaze hides all but blissful images.Well;here is still a brighter scene.A stately mansion,illu minated for a ball,with cut-glass chandeliers and alabaster lamps in every ro om,and sunny landscapes hanging round the walls.See!a coach has stopped, whence emerges a slender beauty,who,canopied by two umbrellas,glides within the portal,and vanishes amid lightsome thrills of music.Will she ever feel the night-wind and the rain?Perhaps,-perhaps!And will Death and Sorrow ever enter that proud mansion?As surely as the dancers will be gay wit hin its halls to-night.Such thoughts sadden,yet satisfy my heart;for they te ach me that the poor man,in his mean,weather-beaten hovel,without a fir e to cheer him,may call the rich his brother,brethren by Sorrow,who must be an inmate of both their households,-brethren by Death,who will lead th em,both to other homes.Onward,still onward,I plunge into the night.Now have I reached the utm ost limits of the town,where the last lamp struggles feebly with the darknes s,like the farthest star that stands sentinel on the borders of uncreated spac e.It is strange what sensations of sublimity may spring from a very humble source.Such are suggested by this hollow roar of a subterranean cataract,w here the mighty stream of a kennel precipitates itself beneath an iron grate, and is seen no more on earth.Listen awhile to its voice of mystery;and fan cy will magnify it,till you start and smile at the illusion.And now another s ound,-the rumbling of wheels,-as the mail-coach,outward bound,rolls heavily off the pavements,and splashes through the mud and water of the road.Al l night long,the poor passengers will be tossed to and fro between drowsy watch and troubled sleep,and will dream of their own quiet beds,and awak e to find themselves still jolting onward.Happier my lot,who will straightway hie me to my familiar room,and toast myself comfortably before the fire, musing,and fitfully dozing,and fancying a strangeness in such sights as all m ay see.But first let me gaze at this solitary figure,who comes hitherward wi th a tin lantern,which throws the circular pattern of its punched holes on t he ground about him.He passes fearlessly into the unknown gloom,whither I will not follow him.This figure shall supply me with a moral,wherewith,for lack of a more ap propriate one,I may wind up my sketch.He fears not to tread the dreary p ath before him,because his lantern,which was kindled at the fireside of his home,will light him back to that same fireside again.And thus we,night-wa nderers through a stormy and dismal world,if we bear the lamp of Faith,enkindled at a celestial fire,it will surely lead us home to that Heaven whence its radiance was borrowed.。
伞的孩子读后感
伞的孩子读后感【中英文实用版】"The Umbrella Child," a heartwarming tale that touches upon the essence of love, resilience, and the beauty of life"s simple pleasures.It"s a story that resonates deeply, reminding us of the power of human connection and the importance of embracing every moment, come rain or shine.《伞的孩子》是一本温馨的故事，它触及了爱的本质、坚韧以及生活中简单乐趣的美丽。
这个故事深入人心，提醒着我们人类连接的力量，以及无论风雨，都要珍惜每一刻的重要性。
As I delved into the pages of this narrative, I found myself captivated by the protagonist"s unwavering spirit, their ability to find joy amidst adversity, and how a simple umbrella became a symbol of hope and protection.当我深入阅读这个故事时，我被主人公坚定不移的精神所吸引，他们在逆境中寻找快乐的能力，以及一把简单的伞如何成为希望和保护的象征。
The narrative weaves a delicate tapestry of emotions, illustrating that even in the darkest of times, a glimmer of light can guide us through the shadows.It"s a poignant reminder that sometimes, it"s the smallest things in life that bring the greatest comfort.这部叙事编织了一幅情感细腻的画卷，说明即使在最黑暗的时刻，一束微光也能引导我们穿越阴影。
【精编范文】莫泊桑伞赏析-实用word文档 (8页)
本文部分内容来自网络整理，本司不为其真实性负责，如有异议或侵权请及时联系，本司将立即删除！== 本文为word格式，下载后可方便编辑和修改！ ==莫泊桑伞赏析篇一：莫泊桑中短篇小说精选_雨伞写给迦宓意·吴迪诺别萨尔太太是个勤俭节约的妇人。
她是非常清楚一个铜子儿的价值的，并且为了攒零钱她有着一脑袋的办事原则。
她的女佣人想要从那些经手购买的食品上面刮点儿油水不用说得费很大劲；她丈夫别萨尔先生也要费尽艰难的周折，才能在皮夹子里留点儿零花钱。
然而他们家境却是非常富有的，而且就只有他们夫妻二人。
不过别萨尔太太看见那些白的小银元一个一个从她家里流走就感到一种特别的悲伤。
那几乎就像在她心上捅了一刀，所以每逢她家需买大件物品的时候，即使是必需品，她总要难过一两天。
别萨尔不住地向他的妻子说道：“你手法应该放宽大一些，我们家的零星收入足够花销的。
”她答道：“天灾人祸，谁也说不准。
多攒点钱总比多花些好。
”那是一个四十来岁的矮妇人，手脚勤快，喜欢干净，脸上略带皱纹，并且经常会发脾气。
她丈夫因为她使他忍受的种种节约总是觉得心里不平衡。
其中有几宗事情特别使他感到痛苦，因为那都是伤了他的自尊心的。
他是陆军部的一个主任科员，一直住在部里不回家，主要原因是服从他妻子的命令，借此少付来回路费。
然而两年以来，他永远拿着那把打满了补丁的雨伞使得同事们笑话。
他终于被他们的冷嘲热讽惹恼了，只得逼着他妻子给他买了一把新伞。
她替他买了一把八个半金法郎的雨伞，那是某家大百货商店做广告的商品。
部里同事们看见那是别人已不再使用的过时雨伞，因此又开始取笑他，别萨尔先生只好忍着一肚子闷气受着煎熬。
那把伞一点也不结实。
不到半年就坏了，在他的部里，大家都把这件事当成笑柄。
有人并且把这件事编成了一段顺溜，从早到晚，从那座大建筑物的楼上到楼下，大家都听见有人在吟颂。
别萨尔气极了，吩咐他妻子买一把价值二十金法郎的薄绸子的新伞，并且要她开了发票回来做证明。
umbrellahat短文
umbrellahat短文摘要：1.了解umbrellahat短文的背景和含义2.分析umbrellahat短文的写作风格和特点3.总结umbrellahat短文的主题和核心观点4.给出如何运用umbrellahat短文的建议正文：umbrellahat短文是一篇富有创意和想象力的文学作品。
它以独特的视角和幽默的风格，探讨了人们在日常生活中可能会遇到的困境和挑战。
通过分析umbrellahat短文的写作风格和特点，我们可以了解到作者对于生活琐事的敏锐观察和深刻思考。
首先，umbrellahat短文的写作风格独具匠心。
作者运用夸张、拟人等手法，将雨伞这一日常用品赋予了生命和情感。
在短文中，雨伞不仅是一种实用的工具，更是一个具有个性和灵魂的角色。
这种写法使得短文更具可读性和趣味性，让人忍俊不禁。
其次，umbrellahat短文以平凡的事物为切入点，反映出了人们在生活中的一些普遍现象。
例如，短文中提到的“人们总是忽略身边的美好事物，却为了一些遥不可及的东西拼命追求”的观点，就引发了读者的共鸣。
这种写作手法使得短文具有较高的实用性，让人们不仅能够在阅读中获得乐趣，还能从中得到启示。
此外，umbrellahat短文的主题深入人心。
它告诉读者，生活中的美好往往隐藏在平凡之中，只要用心去发现，就能体会到生活中的点点滴滴。
与此同时，短文还提醒人们要学会珍惜眼前人，不要等到失去后才后悔莫及。
综上所述，umbrellahat短文以其独特的写作风格、深刻的思想内涵和实用的启示，成为了一篇值得品味的佳作。
如何运用umbrellahat短文呢？以下是一些建议：1.欣赏umbrellahat短文的独特魅力，感受作者的创意和想象力。
2.学会关注生活中的细节，发现身边的美好事物。
3.珍惜与亲人、朋友相处的时光，关心他们的生活和感受。
4.在面对困境和挑战时，保持乐观的心态，相信一切都会迎刃而解。
5.将umbrellahat短文的精神运用到实际生活中，让自己的生活更加充实和美好。
中学必读契科夫经典短篇英文小说《The bet》赏析
THE BETBY ANTON P.CHEKHOVIIt was a dark autumn night.The old banker was pacing from corner to corn er of his study,recalling to his mind the party he gave in the autumn fifteen years before.There were many clever people at the party and much interes ting conversation.They talked among other things of capital punishment.The guests,among them not a few scholars and journalists,for the most part dis approved of capital punishment.They found it obsolete as a means of punish ment,unfitted to a Christian State and immoral.Some of them thought that capital punishment should be replaced universally by life-imprisonment."I don't agree with you,"said the host."I myself have experienced neither ca pital punishment nor life-imprisonment,but if one may judge a priori,then in my opinion capital punishment is more moral and more humane than impris onment.Execution kills instantly,life-imprisonment kills by degrees.Who is th e more humane executioner,one who kills you in a few seconds or one who draws the life out of you incessantly,for years?""They're both equally immoral,"remarked one of the guests,"because their p urpose is the same,to take away life.The State is not God.It has no right to take away that which it cannot give back,if it should so desire."Among the company was a lawyer,a young man of about twenty-five.On be ing asked his opinion,he said:"Capital punishment and life-imprisonment are equally immoral;but if I wereoffered the choice between them,I would certainly choose the second.It's b etter to live somehow than not to live at all."There ensued a lively discussion.The banker who was then younger and mor e nervous suddenly lost his temper,banged his fist on the table,and turning to the young lawyer,cried out:"It's a lie.I bet you two millions you wouldn't stick in a cell even for five y ears.""If you mean it seriously,"replied the lawyer,"then I bet I'll stay not five bu t fifteen.""Fifteen!Done!"cried the banker."Gentlemen,I stake two millions.""Agreed.You stake two millions,I my freedom,"said the lawyer.So this wild,ridiculous bet came to pass.The banker,who at that time had too many millions to count,spoiled and capricious,was beside himself with r apture.During supper he said to the lawyer jokingly:"Come to your senses,young roan,before it's too late.Two millions are noth ing to me,but you stand to lose three or four of the best years of your life.I say three or four,because you'll never stick it out any longer.Don't forget either,you unhappy man,that voluntary is much heavier than enforced impr isonment.The idea that you have the right to free yourself at any moment will poison the whole of your life in the cell.I pity you."And now the banker,pacing from corner to corner,recalled all this and aske d himself:"Why did I make this bet?What's the good?The lawyer loses fifteen years o f his life and I throw away two millions.Will it convince people that capital punishment is worse or better than imprisonment for life?No,no!all stuff a nd rubbish.On my part,it was the caprice of a well-fed man;on the lawyer 's pure greed of gold."He recollected further what happened after the evening party.It was decided that the lawyer must undergo his imprisonment under the strictest observati on,in a garden wing of the banker's house.It was agreed that during the p eriod he would be deprived of the right to cross the threshold,to see living people,to hear human voices,and to receive letters and newspapers.He w as permitted to have a musical instrument,to read books,to write letters,to drink wine and smoke tobacco.By the agreement he could communicate,bu t only in silence,with the outside world through a little window specially co nstructed for this purpose.Everything necessary,books,music,wine,he could receive in any quantity by sending a note through the window.The agreem ent provided for all the minutest details,which made the confinement strictly solitary,and it obliged the lawyer to remain exactly fifteen years from twelv e o'clock of November14th,1870,to twelve o'clock of November14th,1885. The least attempt on his part to violate the conditions,to escape if only for two minutes before the time freed the banker from the obligation to pay hi m the two millions.During the first year of imprisonment,the lawyer,as far as it was possible t o judge from his short notes,suffered terribly from loneliness and boredom. From his wing day and night came the sound of the piano.He rejected wine and tobacco."Wine,"he wrote,"excites desires,and desires are the chief fo es of a prisoner;besides,nothing is more boring than to drink good wine al one,"and tobacco spoils the air in his room.During the first year the lawyerwas sent books of a light character;novels with a complicated love interest, stories of crime and fantasy,comedies,and so on.In the second year the piano was heard no longer and the lawyer asked onl y for classics.In the fifth year,music was heard again,and the prisoner aske d for wine.Those who watched him said that during the whole of that year he was only eating,drinking,and lying on his bed.He yawned often and ta lked angrily to himself.Books he did not read.Sometimes at nights he would sit down to write.He would write for a long time and tear it all up in the morning.More than once he was heard to weep.In the second half of the sixth year,the prisoner began zealously to study la nguages,philosophy,and history.He fell on these subjects so hungrily that th e banker hardly had time to get books enough for him.In the space of four years about six hundred volumes were bought at his request.It was while t hat passion lasted that the banker received the following letter from the pris oner:"My dear gaoler,I am writing these lines in six languages.Show them to experts.Let them read them.If they do not find one single mistake,I be g you to give orders to have a gun fired off in the garden.By the noise I s hall know that my efforts have not been in vain.The geniuses of all ages an d countries speak in different languages;but in them all burns the same fla me.Oh,if you knew my heavenly happiness now that I can understand them! "The prisoner's desire was fulfilled.Two shots were fired in the garden by t he banker's order.Later on,after the tenth year,the lawyer sat immovable before his table and read only the New Testament.The banker found it strange that a man who in four years had mastered six hundred erudite volumes,should have spent nearly a year in reading one book,easy to understand and by no means thic k.The New Testament was then replaced by the history of religions and theology.During the last two years of his confinement the prisoner read an extraordin ary amount,quite haphazard.Now he would apply himself to the natural scie nces,then he would read Byron or Shakespeare.Notes used to come from hi m in which he asked to be sent at the same time a book on chemistry,a t ext-book of medicine,a novel,and some treatise on philosophy or theology. He read as though he were swimming in the sea among broken pieces of wr eckage,and in his desire to save his life was eagerly grasping one piece afte r another.IIThe banker recalled all this,and thought:"To-morrow at twelve o'clock he receives his freedom.Under the agreement, I shall have to pay him two millions.If I pay,it's all over with me.I am rui ned for ever…"Fifteen years before he had too many millions to count,but now he was afr aid to ask himself which he had more of,money or debts.Gambling on the Stock-Exchange,risky speculation,and the recklessness of which he could not rid himself even in old age,had gradually brought his business to decay;an d the fearless,self-confident,proud man of business had become an ordinary banker,trembling at every rise and fall in the market."That cursed bet,"murmured the old man clutching his head in despair…"W hy didn't the man die?He's only forty years old.He will take away my last f arthing,marry,enjoy life,gamble on the Exchange,and I will look on like anenvious beggar and hear the same words from him every day:'I'm obliged t o you for the happiness of my life.Let me help you.'No,it's too much!The only escape from bankruptcy and disgrace—is that the man should die."The clock had just struck three.The banker was listening.In the house every one was asleep,and one could hear only the frozen trees whining outside t he windows.Trying to make no sound,he took out of his safe the key of th e door which had not been opened for fifteen years,put on his overcoat,an d went out of the house.The garden was dark and cold.It was raining.A d amp,penetrating wind howled in the garden and gave the trees no rest.Tho ugh he strained his eyes,the banker could see neither the ground,nor the white statues,nor the garden wing,nor the trees.Approaching the garden wi ng,he called the watchman twice.There was no answer.Evidently the watch man had taken shelter from the bad weather and was now asleep somewher e in the kitchen or the greenhouse."If I have the courage to fulfil my intention,"thought the old man,"the susp icion will fall on the watchman first of all."In the darkness he groped for the steps and the door and entered the hall of the garden-wing,then poked his way into a narrow passage and struck a match.Not a soul was there.Some one's bed,with no bedclothes on it,sto od there,and an iron stove loomed dark in the corner.The seals on the do or that led into the prisoner's room were unbroken.When the match went out,the old man,trembling from agitation,peeped in to the little window.In the prisoner's room a candle was burning dimly.The prisoner himself sat by the table.Only his back,the hair on his head and his hands were visible.Open books were strewn about on the table,the two chairs,and on the ca rpet near the table.Five minutes passed and the prisoner never once stirred.Fifteen years'confin ement had taught him to sit motionless.The banker tapped on the window with his finger,but the prisoner made no movement in reply.Then the bank er cautiously tore the seals from the door and put the key into the lock.Th e rusty lock gave a hoarse groan and the door creaked.The banker expected instantly to hear a cry of surprise and the sound of steps.Three minutes p assed and it was as quiet inside as it had been before.He made up his min d to enter.Before the table sat a man,unlike an ordinary human being.It was a skeleto n,with tight-drawn skin,with long curly hair like a woman's,and a shaggy b eard.The colour of his face was yellow,of an earthy shade;the cheeks were sunken,the back long and narrow,and the hand upon which he leaned his hairy head was so lean and skinny that it was painful to look upon.His hai r was already silvering with grey,and no one who glanced at the senile ema ciation of the face would have believed that he was only forty years old.On the table,before his bended head,lay a sheet of paper on which somethin g was written in a tiny hand."Poor devil,"thought the banker,"he's asleep and probably seeing millions in his dreams.I have only to take and throw this half-dead thing on the bed, smother him a moment with the pillow,and the most careful examination wil l find no trace of unnatural death.But,first,let us read what he has written here."The banker took the sheet from the table and read:"To-morrow at twelve o'clock midnight,I shall obtain my freedom and the rig ht to mix with people.But before I leave this room and see the sun I think it necessary to say a few words to you.On my own clear conscience and b efore God who sees me I declare to you that I despise freedom,life,health, and all that your books call the blessings of the world."For fifteen years I have diligently studied earthly life.True,I saw neither the earth nor the people,but in your books I drank fragrant wine,sang songs, hunted deer and wild boar in the forests,loved women…And beautiful wom en,like clouds ethereal,created by the magic of your poets'genius,visited me by night and whispered to me wonderful tales,which made my head dru nken.In your books I climbed the summits of Elbruz and Mont Blanc and sa w from there how the sun rose in the morning,and in the evening suffused the sky,the ocean and the mountain ridges with a purple gold.I saw from there how above me lightnings glimmered cleaving the clouds;I saw green f orests,fields,rivers,lakes,cities;I heard syrens singing,and the playing of th e pipes of Pan;I touched the wings of beautiful devils who came flying to me to speak of God…In your books I cast myself into bottomless abysses,w orked miracles,burned cities to the ground,preached new religions,conquere d whole countries…"Your books gave me wisdom.All that unwearying human thought created in the centuries is compressed to a little lump in my skull.I know that I am cl everer than you all."And I despise your books,despise all worldly blessings and wisdom.Everythi ng is void,frail,visionary and delusive as a mirage.Though you be proud an d wise and beautiful,yet will death wipe you from the face of the earth like the mice underground;and your posterity,your history,and the immortality of your men of genius will be as frozen slag,burnt down together with theterrestrial globe."You are mad,and gone the wrong way.You take falsehood for truth and ug liness for beauty.You would marvel if suddenly apple and orange trees shoul d bear frogs and lizards instead of fruit,and if roses should begin to breathe the odour of a sweating horse.So do I marvel at you,who have bartered heaven for earth.I do not want to understand you."That I may show you in deed my contempt for that by which you live,I wa ive the two millions of which I once dreamed as of paradise,and which I no w despise.That I may deprive myself of my right to them,I shall come out from here five minutes before the stipulated term,and thus shall violate the agreement."When he had read,the banker put the sheet on the table,kissed the head of the strange man,and began to weep.He went out of the wing.Never at any other time,not even after his terrible losses on the Exchange,had he f elt such contempt for himself as ing home,he lay down on his be d,but agitation and tears kept him a long time from sleeping…The next morning the poor watchman came running to him and told him tha t they had seen the man who lived in the wing climb through the window i nto the garden.He had gone to the gate and disappeared.The banker instan tly went with his servants to the wing and established the escape of his pris oner.To avoid unnecessary rumours he took the paper with the renunciation from the table and,on his return,locked it in his safe.。
张爱玲《雨伞下》中英互译及读后感
张爱玲《雨伞下》中英互译及读后感张爱玲《雨伞下》中英互译及读后感【张爱玲《雨伞下》中文原文】下大雨，有人打着伞，有人没带伞。
没伞的挨着有伞的，钻到伞底下去躲雨，多少有点掩蔽，可是伞的边缘滔滔流下水来，反而比外面的雨更来得凶。
挤在伞沿下的人，头上游得稀湿。
当然这是说教式的寓言，意义很明显：穷人结交富人，往往要赔本，某一次在雨天的街头想到这一节，一直没有写出来，因为太像讷厂①先生茶话的作风了。
(收入《流言》，1944年12月中国科学公司初版)① 讷厂，原名严声，三四十年代上海知名的小报作家。
【张爱玲《雨伞下》英文译文】It’s pouring. Some people are carrying umbrellas and some people are not. Those who don’t have an umbrella press against those who do, squeezing beneath the edges of passing umbrellas to avoid the rain and afford themselves a little shelter. But the water cascading from the umbrellas turns out to be worse than the rain itself, and the heads of the people squeezed in between are soaked to the skin.This is a parable, of course, the moral of which is perfectly clear: when poor folks associate with the rich, they usually get soaked. I thought of it one rainy day but never wrote it down, because it sounds too much like the style of the tabloid “tea talks” of Mr. Nachang (1).(1) A celebrated columnist in the Shanghai tabloids of the 1930s and 1940s.【张爱玲《雨伞下》读后感】张爱玲大雅大俗。
《记事本》雷布拉德伯里 阅读理解
《记事本》是雷布拉德伯里（Ray Bradbury）的一部著名短篇小说，它以简洁的文字探讨了科技与人性之间的关系。
这部作品通过描述一个能够记录未来发生事件的记事本，引发了人们对于自由意志和未来命运的思考。
在本文中，我将对这篇小说进行深入解读，让我们一起来探索《记事本》的内涵和价值。
一、《记事本》的故事情节在《记事本》中，主人公约翰·亨德森（John A. Henderson）得到了一本特殊的记事本，他发现无论他写下什么内容，记事本都能记录下未来将要发生的事件。
这使得约翰能够预知自己的未来，但他却发现这种能力并不能让他改变命运。
无论他如何努力试图改变记事本所预言的未来，结果总是不尽人意。
他意识到命运并非可以被改变的，人类应该接受自己的命运，而不是试图去改变或者逃避。
二、对自由意志的思考通过《记事本》这个故事，雷布拉德伯里引发了人们对自由意志的思考。
约翰虽然能够预知未来，但他却不能改变自己的命运。
这是因为命运已经注定，人类并不能通过自己的努力去改变。
这是对自由意志的一种考验，也让人们反思命运和努力之间的关系。
或许，自由意志并非可以完全左右命运，而是在既定的路线上去努力和奋斗。
三、对未来命运的思考另外，《记事本》也引发了人们对未来命运的思考。
记事本的出现让约翰能够预知未来，在一定程度上也让人们反思未来的未知性。
无论我们如何努力，未来都是充满着不确定性的。
有时，我们会迷茫于自己的未来，但或许我们应该像约翰一样接受并积极面对自己的命运。
命运并非完全可以控制，但我们可以通过努力和奋斗去塑造自己的未来。
四、个人观点和理解在我看来，《记事本》是一部充满启发性的作品。
它让人们反思自由意志和命运的关系，同时也引发了对未来命运的思考。
通过约翰的故事，我们也能更深刻地理解人类的努力和命运之间的关系。
对于未来的不确定性，我们需要学会接受和积极面对，同时也需要努力去塑造自己的命运。
无论自由意志能否左右命运，我们都应该保持着努力和坚定的态度。
另一扇窗户读后感四百字
另一扇窗户读后感四百字英文回答：The short story "Another Window" by an unknown author left a lasting impression on me. The story revolves around a window that holds a special power to transport people to different times and places. As I read the story, I was captivated by the magical element and the profound messages it conveyed.The story begins with a young boy named Jack discovering the window in his grandmother's attic. He soon realizes that by looking through the window, he can see different scenes from the past and even interact with the people in those scenes. This discovery opens up a whole new world for Jack, filled with adventure and wonder.One of the themes that struck me in the story is the power of imagination. Through the window, Jack is able to create his own stories and explore different realities. Itmade me reflect on the importance of nurturing our imagination and the endless possibilities it can bring.Another theme that resonated with me is the idea of cherishing the present moment. As Jack travels through time using the window, he realizes that each moment is precious and should be appreciated. It reminded me to be moremindful and grateful for the present, instead of constantly longing for the past or yearning for the future.The author's writing style was engaging and descriptive, allowing me to vividly imagine the scenes and characters. The story flowed seamlessly, keeping me hooked until the very end. I found myself eagerly turning the pages, eagerto see where the window would take Jack next.Overall, "Another Window" is a thought-provoking and enchanting story that explores the power of imagination and the importance of living in the present. It reminded me of the magic that can be found in everyday life, if only we take the time to look through another window.中文回答：《另一扇窗户》这个未知作者的短篇故事给我留下了深刻的印象。
莫泊桑雨伞读后感
莫泊桑雨伞读后感莫泊桑（Guy de Maupassant）是法国19世纪末20世纪初最杰出的小说家之一，他的作品以其深刻的洞察力和对人性的深刻描绘而闻名。
他的短篇小说《雨伞》（The Umbrella）是他的代表作之一，通过对一个简单的雨伞的描写，展现了人性的复杂和社会的现实。
读完这个故事，我深受触动，产生了许多感悟和思考。
故事的主人公是一名名叫朱利安的小职员，他生活贫困，但有一把漂亮的雨伞。
在一个下雨的日子里，朱利安拿着他的雨伞走在街上，引起了路人的羡慕和艳羡。
然而，当他遇到一个女人为了躲雨而请求借用他的雨伞时，他却毫不犹豫地拒绝了她的请求。
这个小小的举动揭示了朱利安自私和自利的一面，他宁愿自己淋雨也不愿意分享自己的财富。
然而，故事的情节并不止于此。
在接下来的情节中，朱利安遇到了一位富有的女士，她看到朱利安的雨伞后非常喜欢，于是慷慨地邀请朱利安和她一起共用雨伞。
朱利安感到非常高兴，因为他可以享受到富人的待遇和享受。
然而，当他们走进一家商店时，店主却误以为朱利安是这位富有女士的仆人，对他非常冷淡。
朱利安感到非常尴尬和愤怒，他意识到自己的社会地位并没有因为这把雨伞而改变。
故事的结尾更是令人深思。
在一场风雨中，朱利安的雨伞被吹坏了，他只能把它丢弃在路边。
这把曾经引起他自豪和自满的雨伞最终成了一堆废物。
朱利安在失去雨伞后，意识到自己的虚荣和自私，并开始反思自己的行为和态度。
莫泊桑通过这个简单的故事，深刻地揭示了人性的复杂和社会的现实。
朱利安的自私和自利代表了人性中的一面，而富人对待他的态度则反映了社会的阶级观念和偏见。
这个故事让我不禁思考，我们在生活中是否也像朱利安一样，自私和自利？我们是否也像那位富有女士一样，对他人的态度受到财富和社会地位的影响？故事中的雨伞象征着财富和地位，而朱利安对待雨伞的态度则反映了人性中的弱点和缺陷。
通过这个故事，莫泊桑向我们展示了一个深刻的道理：财富和地位并不能改变一个人的本质，而真正重要的是一个人的品德和态度。
经典英文短篇小说-(50)
The Cop and the Anthem by O.HenryOn his bench in Madison Square Soapy moved uneasily.When wild geese honk high of nights, and when women without sealskin coats grow kind to their husbands, and when Soapy moves uneasily on his bench in the park, you may know that winter is near at hand.A dead leaf fell in Soapy's lap.That was Jack Frost's card.Jack is kind to the regular denizens of Madison Square, and gives fair warning of his annual call.At the corners of four streets he hands his pasteboard to the North Wind, footman of the mansion of All Outdoors, so that the inhabitants thereof may make ready.Soapy's mind became cognisant of the fact that the time had come for him to resolve himself into a singular Committee of Ways and Means to provide against the coming rigour.And therefore he moved uneasily on his bench.The hibernatorial ambitions of Soapy were not of the highest.In them there were no considerations of Mediterranean cruises, of soporific Southern skies drifting in the Vesuvian Bay.Three months on the Island was what his soul craved.Three months of assured board and bed and congenial company, safe from Boreas and bluecoats, seemed to Soapy the essence of things desirable.For years the hospitable Blackwell's had been his winter quarters.Just as his more fortunate fellow New Yorkers had bought their tickets to Palm Beach and the Riviera each winter, so Soapy had made his humble arrangements for his annual hegira to the Island.And now the time was come.On the previous night three Sabbath newspapers, distributed beneath his coat, about his ankles and over his lap, had failed to repulse the cold as he slept on his bench near the spurting fountain in the ancient square.So the Island loomed big and timely in Soapy's mind.He scorned the provisions made in the name of charity for the city's dependents.In Soapy's opinion the Law was more benign than Philanthropy.There was an endless round of institutions, municipal and eleemosynary, on which he might set out and receive lodging and food accordant with the simple life.But to one of Soapy's proud spirit the gifts of charity are encumbered.If not in coin you must pay in humiliation of spirit for every benefit received at the hands of philanthropy.As Caesar had his Brutus, every bed of charity must have its toll of a bath, every loaf of bread its compensation of a private and personal inquisition.Wherefore it is better to be a guest of the law, which though conducted by rules, does not meddle unduly with a gentleman's private affairs.Soapy, having decided to go to the Island, at once set about accomplishing his desire.There were many easy ways of doing this.The pleasantest was to dine luxuriously at some expensive restaurant; and then, after declaring insolvency, be handed over quietly and without uproar to a policeman.An accommodating magistrate would do the rest.Soapy left his bench and strolled out of the square and across the level sea of asphalt, where Broadway and Fifth Avenue flow together.Up Broadway he turned, and halted at a glittering cafe, where are gathered together nightly the choicest products of the grape, the silkworm and the protoplasm.Soapy had confidence in himself from the lowest button of his vest upward.He was shaven, and his coat was decent and his neat black, ready-tied four-in-hand had been presented to him by a lady missionary on Thanksgiving Day.If he could reach a table in the restaurant unsuspected success would be his.The portion of him that would show above the table would raise no doubt in the waiter's mind.A roasted mallard duck, thought Soapy, would be about the thing--with a bottle of Chablis, and then Camembert, a demi-tasse and a cigar.One dollar for the cigar would be enough.The total would not be so high as to call forth any supreme manifestation of revenge from the cafe management; and yet the meat would leave him filled and happy for the journey to his winter refuge.But as Soapy set foot inside the restaurant door the head waiter's eye fell upon his frayed trousers and decadent shoes.Strong and ready hands turned him about and conveyed him in silence and haste to the sidewalk and averted the ignoble fate of the menaced mallard.Soapy turned off Broadway.It seemed that his route to the coveted island was not to be an epicurean one.Some other way of entering limbo must be thought of.At a corner of Sixth Avenue electric lights and cunningly displayed wares behind plate-glass made a shop window conspicuous.Soapy took a cobblestone and dashed it through the glass.People came running around the corner, a policeman in the lead.Soapy stood still, with his hands in his pockets, and smiled at the sight of brass buttons."Where's the man that done that?" inquired the officer excitedly."Don't you figure out that I might have had something to do with it?" said Soapy, not without sarcasm, but friendly, as one greets good fortune.The policeman's mind refused to accept Soapy even as a clue.Men who smash windows do not remain to parley with the law's minions.They take to their heels.The policeman saw a man half way down the block running to catch a car.With drawn club he joined in the pursuit.Soapy, with disgust in his heart, loafed along, twice unsuccessful.On the opposite side of the street was a restaurant of no great pretensions.Itcatered to large appetites and modest purses.Its crockery and atmosphere were thick; its soup and napery thin.Into this place Soapy took his accusive shoes and telltale trousers without challenge.At a table he sat and consumed beefsteak, flapjacks, doughnuts and pie.And then to the waiter be betrayed the fact that the minutest coin and himself were strangers."Now, get busy and call a cop," said Soapy."And don't keep a gentleman waiting.""No cop for youse," said the waiter, with a voice like butter cakes and an eye like the cherry in a Manhattan cocktail."Hey, Con!"Neatly upon his left ear on the callous pavement two waiters pitched Soapy.He arose, joint by joint, as a carpenter's rule opens, and beat the dust from his clothes.Arrest seemed but a rosy dream.The Island seemed very far away.A policeman who stood before a drug store two doors away laughed and walked down the street.Five blocks Soapy travelled before his courage permitted him to woo capture again.This time the opportunity presented what he fatuously termed to himself a "cinch." A young woman of a modest and pleasing guise was standing before a show window gazing with sprightly interest at its display of shaving mugs and inkstands, and two yards from the window a large policeman of severe demeanour leaned against a water plug.It was Soapy's design to assume the role of the despicable and execrated "masher." The refined and elegant appearance of his victim and the contiguity of the conscientious cop encouraged him to believe that he would soon feel the pleasant official clutch upon his arm that would insure his winter quarters on the right little, tight little isle.Soapy straightened the lady missionary's readymade tie, dragged his shrinking cuffs into the open, set his hat at a killing cant and sidled toward the young woman.He made eyes at her, was taken with sudden coughs and "hems," smiled, smirked and went brazenly through the impudent and contemptible litany of the "masher." With half an eye Soapy saw that the policeman was watching him fixedly.The young woman moved away a few steps, and again bestowed her absorbed attention upon the shaving mugs.Soapy followed, boldly stepping to her side, raised his hat and said:"Ah there, Bedelia! Don't you want to come and play in my yard?"The policeman was still looking.The persecuted young woman had but to beckon a finger and Soapy would be practically en route for his insular haven.Already he imagined he could feel the cozy warmth of the station-house.The young woman faced him and, stretching out a hand, caught Soapy's coat sleeve."Sure, Mike," she said joyfully, "if you'll blow me to a pail of suds.I'd havespoke to you sooner, but the cop was watching."With the young woman playing the clinging ivy to his oak Soapy walked past the policeman overcome with gloom.He seemed doomed to liberty.At the next corner he shook off his companion and ran.He halted in the district where by night are found the lightest streets, hearts, vows and librettos.Women in furs and men in greatcoats moved gaily in the wintry air.A sudden fear seized Soapy that some dreadful enchantment had rendered him immune to arrest.The thought brought a little of panic upon it, and when he came upon another policeman lounging grandly in front of a transplendent theatre he caught at the immediate straw of "disorderly conduct."On the sidewalk Soapy began to yell drunken gibberish at the top of his harsh voice.He danced, howled, raved and otherwise disturbed the welkin.The policeman twirled his club, turned his back to Soapy and remarked to a citizen."'Tis one of them Yale lads celebratin' the goose egg they give to the Hartford College.Noisy; but no harm.We've instructions to lave them be."Disconsolate, Soapy ceased his unavailing racket.Would never a policeman lay hands on him? In his fancy the Island seemed an unattainable Arcadia.He buttoned his thin coat against the chilling wind.In a cigar store he saw a well-dressed man lighting a cigar at a swinging light.His silk umbrella he had set by the door on entering.Soapy stepped inside, secured the umbrella and sauntered off with it slowly.The man at the cigar light followed hastily."My umbrella," he said, sternly."Oh, is it?" sneered Soapy, adding insult to petit larceny."Well, why don't you call a policeman? I took it.Your umbrella! Why don't you call a cop? There stands one on the corner."The umbrella owner slowed his steps.Soapy did likewise, with a presentiment that luck would again run against him.The policeman looked at the two curiously."Of course," said the umbrella man--"that is--well, you know how these mistakes occur--I--if it's your umbrella I hope you'll excuse me--I picked it up this morning in a restaurant--If you recognise it as yours, why--I hope you'll--""Of course it's mine," said Soapy, viciously.The ex-umbrella man retreated.The policeman hurried to assist a tall blonde in an opera cloak across the street in front of a street car that was approaching two blocks away.Soapy walked eastward through a street damaged by improvements.He hurled the umbrella wrathfully into an excavation.He muttered against the men who wear helmets and carry clubs.Because he wanted to fall into their clutches, they seemedto regard him as a king who could do no wrong.At length Soapy reached one of the avenues to the east where the glitter and turmoil was but faint.He set his face down this toward Madison Square, for the homing instinct survives even when the home is a park bench.But on an unusually quiet corner Soapy came to a standstill.Here was an old church, quaint and rambling and gabled.Through one violet-stained window a soft light glowed, where, no doubt, the organist loitered over the keys, making sure of his mastery of the coming Sabbath anthem.For there drifted out to Soapy's ears sweet music that caught and held him transfixed against the convolutions of the iron fence.The moon was above, lustrous and serene; vehicles and pedestrians were few; sparrows twittered sleepily in the eaves--for a little while the scene might have been a country churchyard.And the anthem that the organist played cemented Soapy to the iron fence, for he had known it well in the days when his life contained such things as mothers and roses and ambitions and friends and immaculate thoughts and collars.The conjunction of Soapy's receptive state of mind and the influences about the old church wrought a sudden and wonderful change in his soul.He viewed with swift horror the pit into which he had tumbled, the degraded days, unworthy desires, dead hopes, wrecked faculties and base motives that made up his existence.And also in a moment his heart responded thrillingly to this novel mood.An instantaneous and strong impulse moved him to battle with his desperate fate.He would pull himself out of the mire; he would make a man of himself again; he would conquer the evil that had taken possession of him.There was time; he was comparatively young yet; he would resurrect his old eager ambitions and pursue them without faltering.Those solemn but sweet organ notes had set up a revolution in him.To-morrow he would go into the roaring downtown district and find work.A fur importer had once offered him a place as driver.He would find him to-morrow and ask for the position.He would be somebody in the world.He would-- Soapy felt a hand laid on his arm.He looked quickly around into the broad face of a policeman."What are you doin' here?" asked the officer."Nothin'," said Soapy."Then come along," said the policeman."Three months on the Island," said the Magistrate in the Police Court the next morning.。
高中语文人教版(选修《外国小说选欣赏》)第五单元课件：《在桥边》
除了因为工作单调、枯燥、乏味，还 有其他原因使得作者对这份工作、对自己 的生存现状感到不满的吗？
他们
“我”为什么对他们感到不满？
1、第一段“他们以用数字来表明他们的精明 能干为乐事，一些毫无意义的空泛的数目字 使他们陶醉”；
2、 “他们”看到数字时脸上放出光彩、容 光焕发、心满意足、眼睛闪闪发亮；
3、“他们喜欢这个未来完成式”
他们醉心于数字上的增多，即便这些是虚 假的数字，他们努力做些面子工程，企图 作出些“政绩”，并不真正关心人的生存 状况。
他们？
——战后德国政府
“他们”——是只知道盲目陶醉和满 足于“我”送上的数字的官员，是只关 心数字而完全忽略人的精神存在的社会 的代表。
“他们有理由心满意足地上床睡觉去了，因为 每天有成千上万的人走过他们的新桥……”， 怎样理解“新桥”的含义？
第三段“我以此暗自高兴……我就用五位数来表示我的大方。” 有意数错，“乱数”。
“我”的有意“乱数”出于什么原因?
对乏味生活的不满和反抗 哪些词语表现了“我”对这种生活的不满和嘲讽？
（精明能干、陶醉、捷报、心满意足等）
“当我的心爱的姑娘过桥时”，“我”有什 么样的表现呢？
“我的心简直停止了跳动”，“当我 不再看见她时，我才又开始数起来”。
“我”有意识地不愿把“我”心爱的姑娘数进去
从表面上看，“我”为了粗俗的生计，压 抑住了自己对姑娘的感情，“因为我必须数， 不能目送她过去”，而在内心深处，仍然是真 挚的爱情和精神世界的真正寄托压倒了空泛无 意义的职业。
小说讲述的仅仅是一个爱情和事业 相冲突的故事吗？
“我”的漏数表现着小人物——“我”对美 好事物的坚守，表现了一种精神追求。“我” 对姑娘的爱与其说是爱情，还不如说是“我”