第一篇：警察與贊美詩英語 原文分析

Original Text

The Cop and the Anthem

by O.Henry1 On his bench in Madison Square Soapy moved uneasily.When wild goose 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 streets his four hands his pasteboard to the North Wind, footman of the mansion of All Outdoors, so that the inhabitants there of 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 were no considerations of Mediterranean cruises, of soporific Southern skies or 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 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 large 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 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 café, where are gathered together nightlySoapy 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 café management;and yet the meat would leave him filled and happy for the journey to his winter refuge.9 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 cobble-stone and dashed it through the glass.People came running round the corner, a policeman in the lead.Soapy stood still, with his hands in his pockets, and smiled12“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 halfway 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.It catered 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 tell-tale trousers without challenge.At a table he sat and consumed beefsteak, flap-jacks, doughnuts, and pie.And then to the waiter he 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 rule 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 ensure his winter quarters of the right little, tight little isle.Soapy straightened the lady missionary’s ready-made tie, dragged his shrinking cuffs into the open, set his hat at a killing cant and sidled toward the young women.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 cosy 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 have spoke 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 run against him.The policeman looked at the two curiously.31“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—“32 “Of course it’s mine,” said Soapy viciously.33 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.34 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 seemed to regard him as a king who could do no wrong.35 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.36 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.37 The moon was above, lustrous and serene;vehicles and pedestrains 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.38 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.39 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.Tomorrow he would go into the roaring down-town 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 round into the broad face of a policeman.41 “What are you doin’ here?” asked the officer.42 “Nothing’,” said Soapy.43“Then come along,” said the policeman.44“Three months on the Island,” said the Magistrate in the Police Court the next morning.

第二篇：警察與贊美詩英語原文[推薦]

英語原文

The Cop and the Anthemby O。Henry

On his bench in Madison Square Soapy moved uneasily.When wild goose 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 were no considerations of Mediterranean cruises, of soporific Southern skies or 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 large 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 Cesar 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 café, 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 café 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 cobble-stone and dashed it through the glass.People came running round 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 halfway 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.It catered 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 tell-tale trousers without challenge.At a table he sat and consumed beefsteak, flap-jacks, doughnuts, and pie.And then to the waiter he 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 rule 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 ensure his winter quarters of the right little, tight little isle.Soapy straightened the lady missionary’s ready-made tie, dragged his shrinking cuffs into the open, set his hat at a killing cant and sidled toward the young women.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 cosy 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 have spoke 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 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 seemed to 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 pedestrains 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.Tomorrow he would go into the roaring down-town 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 round into the broad face of a policeman.“What are you doin’ here?” asked the officer.“Nothing’,” said Soapy.“Then come along,” said the policeman.“Three months on the Island,” said the Magistrate in the Police Court the next morning.

第三篇：警察與贊美詩 分析

小說的結構，一般按故事的幾個階段安排，分為開端、發展、高潮、結局幾個部分

1)故事開端(蘇比躺在麥迪生廣場他那條長凳上——自有位識相的推事來料理)，蘇比為逃脫嚴冬的威脅，籌劃著怎樣才能被捕入獄。

2)故事發展(蘇比離開長凳——而我們偏偏認為他是個永遠不會犯錯誤的國王)，蘇比屢次惹是生非，都沒有達到被捕入獄的目的。

3)故事高潮(最后，蘇比來到通往東區的一條馬路上——“那你跟我來。”警察說)。蘇比佇立于教堂外良心發現，決心重新做人時，突然被捕。

4)故事結局(小說最后一自然段)，蘇比被判入獄三個月。

蘇比在絞盡腦汁，費盡心機后，做出了6次惡行，以求落入法網，每次的結果如何？

行為/打算/結果

1．走進豪華飯店/想白吃之后被關監獄/ 因褲子破被推到人行道上

2．用石頭砸櫥窗/想借此被捕/警察認為他不是肇事者

3．飽餐一頓不給錢 /想借此被捕 /侍者沒喊警察把他推到人行道上。

4．扮演一個小流氓 /調戲年輕女子 /反被女子糾纏，他撒腿走開

5．在劇院門口大吵大鬧 /想以“擾亂罪”被捕/警察沒有理睬

6．蘇比跨進煙店拿傘 /要被偷者喊警察 /撿者把傘讓給了他

第四篇：警察與贊美詩英語讀后感

When people really want to do it, God just happens to mean the beginning, and go back on, shameless the.

Undeniably, the opportunity is the wait for anyone, it is not passive, not waiting for you to analyze, analyze it, consider this, consider that a series of trivial events, and then decided to do it.Perhaps it is itself a fleeting Wizard, which is the test of courage and guts, wisdom and soul.It does not mean that all things should not be thoughtful, careful Clofibrate conduct, and if so, what we were in ancient times? Of course, opportunity and a need to treasure, you need to take advantage of, opportunities have come across are very difficult to fully and thoroughly to take advantage of, but it is difficult.How to better perfect it is a priority.The policeman, not a claim has been given many opportunities than it? The cable does not do this than to understand what, just keep endlessly kept in mind for his so-called target to continue to play a life, clown, never tired.And lucky him, the total in the stage has written slip, but in the end was as a joke, laughed.A drama in the end, which means another Drama begins.The police is concerned, only to routine;on the reader, but near the end;of life is concerned, only a small episode;of the writer is concerned, it is a good plot;on the audience, the only worthy of a ticket;on Soapy, it is a new idea of life close to, for he had the ignorance to pay, value is what he does not escape from his hand, he may be able to reverse the fate of the Opportunity and its contempt for the lessons learned in the final result.If he will blame anyone, so that he does deserve it;if he can only blame himself, then he can say to yourself out loud: Three months, not too long, I will cherish and seize the time each day.well, in fact, did not run away, but I ignored.wait for it

Well, in fact, did not go far.Yes, a lot of happiness to dominate, the opportunity is one of them.Do not wait until God impatient, after all, he has emotions, give you played rough, then, as if too lacking in human touch of the.But their suffering.Cherish the people or things around them, they change every day, but we are too busy, did not see.Opportunity is like a chance encounter, a good thing.Take advantage of, the benefits of it to play the extreme, it is a beauty thing.A person"s life will be all sorts of conditions, each of the significance of the situation is very different, very different.Select a different situation, a different life, a different fate, a different change So, we have to opportunity, transparent, fully see, so that would not go astray friends.If the contrary, the outcome would be like Soapy: horror, realize that they have plunged into the abyss, the fallen years, shameful desire, despair, only poor intellectual exhaustion, motivation despicable.Not grasp the opportunity to meet, are fools;not met but know how to grasp opportunities is talent;both opportunities and understanding of how the event is a genius.

第五篇：警察與贊美詩

啟東市第二中等專業學校

語文（基礎模塊）

張東升

《警察與贊美詩》教學案

教學三維目標：

1、分析小說曲折、巧妙的情節安排，欣賞“歐·亨利手法”的藝術特色。

2、品味小說幽默、辛辣的語言風格。

3、了解資本主義社會中下層人民的生活貧困和精神痛苦，認識資本主義社會道德、法律是非混淆、善惡顛倒的虛偽本質。教學重點：學習這篇小說的情節藝術。教學難點：小說幽默、辛辣的語言風格。教學時數：2課時 教學準備： 教學過程：

第一課時

總第個教案

一、課前預習單：

1、字詞：

轉輾反側

游弋

冬狩

素昧平生

近在咫尺

冬蟄

輕佻

啁啾

搖曳

醍醐灌頂

煊赫

嫻靜文雅

天翻地覆

2、作者簡介：

作者歐亨利，19世紀美國批判形式主義作家，著名短篇小說家。與法國的莫泊桑、俄國的契訶夫被譽為“世界三大短篇小說之王”。他的小說常以“含淚的微笑”來撫慰生活失意的小人物的心靈創傷，善用夸張、嘲諷、雙關等幽默手段。他有“曼哈頓的桂冠詩人”之稱。作品被譽為“美國生活的幽默的百科全書”。尤其體現歐、亨利小說特色的，是他的小說常在故事末尾筆鋒一轉，讓主人公的命運突然起意想不到的變化，在看似荒唐的結局中給讀者以深層的思索和啟迪。這一巧妙的構思方法被譽為“歐·亨利手法”。代表作有《麥琪的禮物》、《最后的一片葉子》。

二、課堂探究單： 活動

一、導入：

有一部電視連續劇叫《北京人在紐約》，電視劇開頭有這么一段話：“如果你愛他，那么就把他送到紐約，因為那里是天堂；如果你恨他，那么也把送到紐約，因為那里是地獄。”這句話深刻地反映了紐約甚至是美國社會的那種巨大的貧富差距，對于有錢的人來說，那里是淘金的天堂，而對于窮人而言，那里則是人間的地獄。今天我們來學習《警察與贊美詩》來進一步地了解美國的社會現實。

活動

二、分析小說的情節結構

小說的三大要素是人物，環境和情節。小說的情節一般分為開端、發展、高潮和結局。那么這篇小說的開端、發展、高潮和結局各是什么？ 明確：

1．故事開端(蘇比躺在麥迪生廣場他那條長凳上——自有一位識相的推事來料理)，蘇比為逃脫嚴冬的威脅，籌劃著怎樣才能被捕入獄。

2．故事發展(蘇比離開長凳——而我們偏偏認為他是個永遠不會犯錯誤的國王)，蘇比屢次惹是生非，都沒有達到被捕入獄的目的。

3．故事高潮(最后，蘇比來到通往東區的一條馬路上——“那你跟我來。”警察說)。蘇比佇立于教堂外良心發現，決心重新做人時，突然被捕。啟東市第二中等專業學校

語文（基礎模塊）

張東升

4．故事結局(小說最后一自然段)，蘇比被判入獄三個月。

活動

三、分析開端部分

1、朗讀課文的第一二，思考這兩段是屬于什么描寫？作用是什么？

明確：這兩段是環境描寫。①暗示了季節——冬天將近。②交代了主人公的身份。③為主人公的出場渲染了一種凄清、寒冷的環境，為蘇比營造了生活窘迫的氛圍。④暗示了情節的發展：蘇比的冬居計劃刻不容緩了。同時從側面刻畫了人物，點明了蘇比在后文中六次為非作歹的緣由。⑤展示了美國社會的世態炎涼和下層人們的苦難生活。(“思考與練習”4)

2、這里的環境描寫點明了小說發生的季節是哪一個季節？ 明確：“每當雁群在夜空引亢高鳴，每當沒有海豹皮大衣的女人跟丈夫親熱起來，每當蘇比躺在街心公園長凳上輾轉反側，這時候，你就知道冬天迫在眉睫了。” 這句話用了排比的修辭手法，描寫了當時的自然環境，為小說的發展奠定了基礎。句中寫到了“雁群”“高鳴”南飛，暗示了季節——冬天將近。

3、那為什么要寫“海豹皮大衣”的女人？還寫了蘇比在長凳上“輾轉反側”，這兩者有什么關系？ 明確：“海豹皮大衣”反襯蘇比生活的窘迫，“長凳上輾轉反側”點明了主人公生活的貧困與無奈，這些描寫不僅為主人公的出場渲染了凄清寒冷的自然環境，還為小說的情節發展提供了堅實的基礎，揭示下文蘇比6次為非作歹的原因，展示了美國社會的世態炎涼和下層人民的痛苦生活，顯示了社會巨大的貧富差距。所以這句話不僅是點明季節和環境也點明了小說的社會環境。

4、那么蘇比在冬季來臨之際有什么打算呢？ 明確：希望能被警察抓住，能到監獄里過冬。

5、這個想法正常嗎？他為什么會產生這個想法？ 明確：這個想法是相當荒謬的，是反常的。首先，蘇比之所以想進監獄。是因為他在冬季生活無著，這正是美國社會的殘酷，美國社會競爭激烈，富人只會越來越富，而窮人只能越來越窮。貧富差距不斷加大。所以蘇比的這種想法是社會最下層勞動大眾無奈的選擇。作者正是借助于人物的這種反常心理，揭露了社會的殘酷和黑暗。所以，他的這種想法是當時社會的產物。

其次，像蘇比這種人并沒有失去勞動能力，同時也不是沒有勞動就業的機會(小說結尾寫到“有個皮貨進口商曾經讓他去趕車”)，但他平日卻游手好閑，面臨冬天威脅，認為最佳的選擇是進監獄，那里既無挨凍之苦，又可免費食宿，為了達到這個目的，他不擇手段，做出種種惡行，丑化自己的人格。由此可見，這種反常的行為還植根于資本主義好逸惡勞的社會心態，作者塑造這個人物，揭露了資本主義社會本質的一個側面。

6、為什么蘇比不愿去慈善機構去接受救濟，而寧可去監獄過冬呢？ 明確：“真是凡事有利必有弊，要睡慈善單位的床鋪，先得讓人押去洗一個澡；要吃他一塊面包，還得先一五一十交代個人的歷史。”這句話撕開了慈善機構虛偽的面紗，表面上的施舍，附帶的是對人性的踐踏，也正是對所謂的自由和平等的有力駁斥，無情的批判。蘇比雖然貧窮，但他嚴守著精神上的尊嚴，一直維護著他靈魂上的高傲，為了“床鋪”“面包”而出賣個人的歷史，和私事，他是不啟東市第二中等專業學校

語文（基礎模塊）

張東升

會去做的。

三、課堂檢測單：

1、默寫字詞。

2、分析文章結構。

四、課后鞏固單：思考與練習1

啟東市第二中等專業學校

語文（基礎模塊）

張東升

第二課時

總第個教案

一、課前預習單：

講講蘇比的6次犯罪經歷。

二、課堂探究單： 活動

一、分析發展部分

1、為了實現自己的想法，蘇比做了哪些努力？結果怎么樣？ 明確：

蘇比的行為

愿望或打算

結果 1 走進豪華飯店想飽餐一頓

想白吃讓侍者把他交到警察手里

因褲子破被

推倒行人道 連門都沒去 用石塊砸窗玻璃

想讓巡警抓住

警察追趕搭車 的人，連旁證 都算不上

3想進普通餐館白吃一頓

想讓店侍者叫警察

挨頓揍，被“叉”

在行人道上 裝流氓調戲女子

想讓女子找警察

被妓女糾纏，撒

腿就走 扮醉鬼大吵大鬧

想以“擾亂治安”罪被捕

被誤以為是大學

生，警察不管 偷雨傘

想讓主人叫警察

被誤以為是傘的主人

2、通過這些情節，我們可以發現有許多的巧合，怎樣理解這些巧合？ 明確：小說情節上安排了許多巧合既推動了情節的發展，又充分地表現了小說的主題。“思考與練習”2

活動

二、分析高潮和結局部分

1、在蘇比聽到贊美詩，心靈發生轉變時，作者也用了景物描寫，請找出來，并說說它的作用。“思考與練習”4 明確：“明月懸在中天，光輝、靜穆；車輛與行人都很稀少；檐下的凍雀睡夢中啁啾了幾聲——這境界一時之間使人想起鄉村教堂邊上的墓地”

看著皎潔的月光，寧靜的街道，聽著教堂悠揚的樂聲，蘇比感到一切顯得古樸、親切、可愛，在這寧靜而空靈的氣氛中，他回想起兒時得到母愛和純真，喚醒了他的雄心和自尊，喚起了他對純潔生活的回憶，他頓然醒悟，決心重新做人，通過景物描寫，展示人物內心，緊扣小說的主題。也就是景物描寫是為人物和小說的進一步發展而服務的。這與課文開頭景物描寫的作用是一致的。

2、蘇比在聽了教堂的贊美詩后，準備重新做人，卻被莫名其妙地送進監獄，這個出人意料的結尾是為了達到什么目的？ 明確：“思考與練習”3

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三、分析小說的語言

1、極端的戲劇性。

2、運用對比、夸張、比喻、擬人、反語、戲謔等手法造成的幽默效果。啟東市第二中等專業學校

語文（基礎模塊）

張東升

3、細節描寫與心理描寫。活動

四、歸納主題。

本文通過流浪漢蘇比在冬天來臨之際，想方設法到監獄過冬，他六次為非作歹，都沒能如愿。而正當他聽到贊美詩受感化想重新做人時，卻莫名其妙的被捕的遭遇，全方位地展示了美國社會的真實現狀，深刻地揭示了資本主義社會世態炎涼、是非混淆，黑白顛倒的本質。

三、課堂檢測單：

四、課后鞏固單：完成《指導用書》和《導學》

五、教學反思：