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欧亨利的《警察与赞美诗》
张德聪
【期刊名称】《山东外语教学》
【年(卷),期】1984(000)002
【摘要】《警察与赞美诗》(The Cop and the Anthem)是欧·亨利的优秀短篇小说之一,反映了现实的悲惨,提出了尖锐的问题。
这个短篇写的是一个流浪汉,衣食无着,想去监狱度过寒冬,有意犯法,警察却不去抓他。
但他听了赞美诗,深受感动,决心忏悔过去,重新做
【总页数】6页(P4-9)
【作者】张德聪
【作者单位】
【正文语种】中文
【中图分类】G6
【相关文献】
1.以《警察与赞美诗》为例解析欧·亨利小说的幽默手法 [J], 沈琳琳
2.从《警察与赞美诗》看欧·亨利的小说艺术 [J], 肖文平
3.接受理论视域下欧·亨利短篇小说《警察与赞美诗》的翻译策略研究 [J], 崔姗
4.浅析欧·亨利写作特点——以《警察与赞美诗》为例 [J], 王帆;
5.欧·亨利和舍伍德·安德森短篇小说对比——以《警察和赞美诗》和《鸡蛋》为例[J], 倪邵楠
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The cop and the anthem (警察与赞美诗)SCENE 1At the gate of a prison Thief PolicemanP: (pulling the thief out of the gate) Ah, Mr. Black! It’s time to say goodbye! T: But officer! I want to stay here in prison. It’s too cold, and I have no place to stay. Let me stay here in prison! (Walking into the gate)P: (pushing him away) Get out! You lazy thief! Go and look for a job! You’ll have some food and a room to live in.T: But what can I do? I can’t do anything.P: That’s your problem. We can’t help you. (The wind starts to blow hard and the thief trembles with cold.)SCENE 2Outside a shop Thief PolicemanT: Oh, here’s a shop. The shop window is large and bright. I know what to do. (He picks up a stone and throws it at the window. The window is broken. Then he walks about with his hands in his pocket and whistles)P: (Running to the window) Hey! What’s happening? Who broke the window?T: I did!P: What? You? You broke the window?T: Yes, of course, my dear policeman, I broke the window a minute ago.P: Go away! What do you think I am?T: I think you are a policeman and you should catch me! I am the one who broke the window.P: If you had broken it, you wouldn’t be standing here now! Get out of my way! (pushing him away)T: (running after him) But I did it! I did it! (sighing) Oh, he is gone. It’s no use. I have to try again.SCENE 3Near the chair in a park Thief Old man Policeman(An old man is sleeping in a chair. The thief notices him, walks near him and takes away the bag from him.)O: (jumping up) Hey! What are you doing? That’s my bag!T: Yes, your bag. Now it’s in my hand. Go and tell the policeman!O: (Getting back his bag and catching the thief) Come with me to the police station! T: Thank you, sir. Thank you.O: (surprised) What?T: You know I have no food and no home. And it’s getting colder and colder. So I want to stay in prison. Please help me.P: (Feeling pity for him) Oh, what a poor man! Let me help you. I have some bread and some money. Don’t be a thief anymore. Poor man, poor man! (He gives the thief some bread and some money, then leaves)T: (worried) But what should I do? Where should I go this evening?SCENE 4In a Restaurant Thief WaitressW: Good morning, sir! T: Good morning!W: Sit down, please. Here’s the menu. What will you have?T: At first, I’d like a bowl of vegetable soup.W: (writing down) A bowl of vegetable soup.T: Then I’ll have some steak and chicken. At last, I’ll have a cup of coffee and a cigar.W: Steak, chicken, coffee and a cigar. Er, excuse me, but this is a very big meal. Do you have enough money?T: What?! What did you say? Do you often ask such questions?W: I’m sorry. I’ll bring your food right away.(Later, the thief eats up all his food)W: Was everything all right, sir?T: The food was very nice. I like it very much.W: Thank you, sir. Here’s your bill, sir. Twenty dollars, please.T: Very well, but now, I want to tell you that I haven’t twenty dollars. I don’t even have forty cents.W: I see, will you come with me, please?T: (standing up and following the waitress) Of course. The policeman is waiting for me, isn’t he?(Two men appear suddenly and walk to the thief)T: I… I… don’t understand. Who are they?)“We are the people you are waiting for!”(They give the thief a good beating.)SCENE 5In front of a church Thief Policeman Blind man(The thief stands outside of the church and listens to the music of “Silent Night”) T: What beautiful music! I often listened to it when I was a boy. Ah! How different my life is! But look at me now! What am I? Who am I? Oh, I don’t want to be a thief!I want to be a good man now. I’m not old. I’m going to work. I can help the others.(A blind man appears. The thief helps him walk across the street.)B: It’s very kind of you. (A lady drops her purse. The thief picks it up and gives it back to her.)(Later, a policeman comes)P: Hey! You! What are you doing here?T: Nothing, just listening to the music.P: Listening to the music?T: Yes, I’m just standing here and listening to the music.P: Oh, no. Didn’t I see you this morning? Of course! You are the one who was standing near that broken window. I think you broke the window after all!(The thief runs away quickly. Two other policemen run after him and catch him by thearm.T: (shouting desperately) But officer! I’ not a thief now! I don’t want to be a thief any more! I’m a good man now! I’m a good man!(The music of “silent night” echoes on the stage.)警察与赞美诗第一幕出场人物：索比 Soapy(索比急躁不安地躺在麦迪逊广场的长凳上，辗转反侧。
Origin al TextThe Cop and the Anthemby O .Henry1 On his benchin Madiso n Square Soapymoveduneasi ly. When wild goosehonk high of nights, and when womenwithou t sealsk in coatsgrow kind to theirhusban ds, and when Soapymovesuneasi ly on his benchin the park, you may know that winter is near at hand.2 A dead leaf fell in Soapy’slap.ThatwasJack Frost’s card. Jack is kind to the regula r denize ns of Madiso n Square, and givesfair warnin g of his annual call. At the corner s of street s his four handshis pasteb oardto the NorthWind, footma n of the mansio n of All Outdoo rs, so that the inhabi tants thereof may make ready.3 Soapy’smindbecame cognis ant of the fact that the time had come for himto resolv e himsel f into a singul ar Commit tee of Ways and Meansto provid e agains t the coming rigour Hard. And theref ore he moveduneasi ly on his bench.4 The hibern atori alAnambiti ons of Soapywere not of the highes t. In them were no consid erati ons of Medite rrane an cruise s, of sopori fic Southe rn skiesor drifti ng in the Vesuvi an Bay. Threemonths on the Island was what his soul craved. Threemonths of assure d boardand bed and congen ial compan y, safe from Boreas and blueco ats, seemed to Soapythe essenc e of things desira ble.5 For yearsthe hospit ableBlackw ell’shadbeenhiswinter quarte rs. Just as his more fortun ate fellow New Yorker s had bought theirticket s to Palm Beachand the Rivier a each winter, so Soapyhad made his humble arrang ement s for his annual hegira to the Island. And now the time was come. On the previo us nightthreeSabbat h newspa pers, distri buted beneat h his coat, abouthis ankles and over his lap, had failed to repuls e the cold as he slepton his benchnear the spurti ng founta in in the ancien t square. So the Island loomed largeand timely in Soapy’smind. He scorne dDisthe provis ionsmade in the name of charit yforthecity’sdepend ents.In Soapy’sopinio n the Law was more benign than Philan throp y. Therewas an endles s roundof instit ution s, munici pal and eleemo synar y, on whichhe mightset out and receiv e lodgin g and food accord ant with the simple life. But to one of Soapy’sproudspirit the giftsof charit y are encumb ered. If not in coin you must pay in humili ation of spirit for everybenefi t receiv ed at the handsof philan throp y. As Cesarhad his Brutus, everybed of charit y must have its toll of a bath, everyloaf of breadits compen satio n of a privat e and person al inquis ition. Wheref ore it is better to be a guestof the law, whichthough conduc ted by rules, does not meddle unduly with a gentle man’sprivat e affair s.6 Soapy,having decide d to go to the Island, at once set aboutaccomp lishi ng his desire. Therewere many easy ways of doingthis. The pleasa ntest was to dine luxuri ously at some expens ive restau rant; and then, afterdeclar ing insolv ency, be handed over quietl y and withou t uproar to a police man. An accomm odati ngmagist ratewoulddo the rest.7 Soapyleft his benchand stroll ed out of the square and across the levelsea of asphal t, whereBroadw ay and FifthAvenue flow togeth er. Up Broadw ay he turned, and halted at a glitte ringcafé, whereare gather ed togeth er nightl y the choice st produc ts of the grape, the silkwo rm and the protop lasm.8 Soapyhad confid encein himsel f 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 presen ted to him by a lady missio naryon Thanks givin g Day. If he couldreacha tablein the restau rantunsusp ected, succes s wouldbe his. The portio n of him that wouldshow abovethe tablewouldraiseno doubtin the waiter’smind. A roaste d mallar d duck, though t Soapy,wouldbe aboutthe thing—with a bottle of Chabli s, and then Camemb ert, a demi-tasseand a cigar. One dollar for the cigarwouldbe enough. The totalwouldnot be so high as to call forthany suprem e manife stati on of reveng e from the café manage ment; and yet the meat wouldleavehim filled and happyfor the journe y to his winter refuge.9 But as Soapyset foot inside the restau rantdoor the head waiter’seyefellupon his frayed trouse rs and decade nt shoes. Strong and readyhandsturned him aboutand convey ed him in silenc e and hasteto the sidewa lk and averte d the ignobl e fate of the menace d mallar d.10 Soapyturned off Broadw ay. It seemed that his routeto the covete d island was not to be an epicur ean one. Some otherway of enteri ng limbomust be though t of.11 At a corner of SixthAvenue electr ic lights and cunnin gly displa yed waresbehind plate-glassmade a shop window conspi cuous. Soapytook a cobble-stoneand dashed it throug h the glass.People came runnin g roundthe corner, a police man in the lead. Soapystoodstill, with his handsin his pocket s, and smiled at the sightof brassbutton s.12 “Where’sthemanthatdonethat?”inquir ed the office r excite dly.13 “Don’t you figure out that I mighthave had someth ing to do with it?”said Soapy, not withou t sarcas m, but friend ly, as one greets good fortun e.14 The police man’smindrefuse d to accept Soapyeven as a clue. Men who smashwindow s do not remain to parleywiththelaw’sminion s. They take to theirheels. The police man saw a man halfwa y down the blockrunnin g to catcha car. With drawnclub he joined in the pursui t. Soapy,with disgus t in his heart, loafed along, twiceunsucc essfu l.15 On the opposi te side of the street was a restau rantof no greatpreten sions. It catere d to largeappeti tes and modest purses. Its crocke ry and atmosp herewere thick;its soup and napery thin. Into this placeSoapytook his accusi ve shoesand tell-tale trouse rs withou t challe nge. At a tablehe sat and consum ed beefst eak, flap-jacks, doughn uts, and pie. And then to the waiter he betray ed the fact that the minute st coin and himsel f were strang ers.16 “Now,g et busy and call a cop,”saidSoapy.“Anddon’tkeepagentle manwaitin g.”16 “Nocopforyouse,”saidthewaiter, with a voicelike butter cakesand an eye like the cherry in a Manhat tan cockta il.“Hey,Con!”17 Neatly upon his left ear on the callou s paveme nt two waiter s pitche d Soapy. He arose, jointby joint, as a carpen ter’sruleopens, and beat the dust from his clothe s. Arrest seemed but a rosy dream.The Island seemed very far away. A police man who stoodbefore a drug storetwo doorsaway laughe d and walked down the street.18 Five blocks Soapytravel led before his courag e permit ted him to woo captur e again.This time the opport unity presen ted what he fatuou sly termed to himsel fa“cinch.” A youngwomanof a modest and pleasi ng guisewas standi ng before a show window gazing with sprigh tly intere st at its displa y of shavin g mugs and inksta nds, and two yardsfrom the window a largepolice man of severe demean our leaned agains t a water-plug.19 It was Soapy’sdesign to assume the rule of the despic ableand execra ted “masher.”Therefine d and elegan t appear anceof his victim and the contig uityof the consci entio us cop encour agedhim to believ e that he wouldsoon feel the pleasa nt offici al clutch upon his arm that wouldensure his winter quarte rs of the rightlittle, tightlittle isle.20 Soapystraig htene d the lady missio nary’sready-made tie, dragge d his shrink ing cuffsinto the open, set his hat at a killin g cant and sidled toward the youngwomen. He made eyes at her, was takenwith sudden coughsand“hems,”smiled, smirke d, and went brazen ly throug h the impude nt and contem ptibl e litany ofthe“masher.”With half an eyeAcSoapysaw that the police man was watchi ng him fixedl y. The youngwomanmovedaway a few steps, and againbestow ed her absorb ed attent ion upon the shavin g mugs. Soapyfollow ed, boldly steppi ng to her side, raised his hat and said: “Ahthere, Bedeli a!Don’tyouwanttocomeandplayinmyyard?”21 The police man was stilllookin g. The persec utedyoungwomanhad but to beckon a finger and Soapywouldbe practi cally en routefor his insula r haven. Alread y he imagin ed he couldfeel the cosy warmth of the statio n-house.The youngwomanfacedhim and, stretc hingout a hand, caught Soapy’scoatsleeve.22 “Sure, Mike,”shesaidjoyful ly, “ifyou’llblowmetoapailofsuds. I’dhave spoketo you sooner, but the cop was watchi ng.”With the youngwomanplayin g the clingi ng ivy to his oak Soapywalked past the police man overco me with gloom. He seemed doomed to libert y.23 At the next corner he shookoff his compan ion and ran. He halted in the distri ct whereby nightare foundthe lighte st street s, hearts, vows, and libret tos. Womenin furs and men in greatc oatsmovedgailyin the wintry air. A sudden fear seized Soapythat some dreadf ul enchan tment had render ed him immune to arrest. The though t brough t a little of panicupon it, and when he came uponanothe r police man loungi ng grandl y in frontof a transp lende nt theatr e he caught at the immedi ate strawof“disord erlyconduc t.”24 On the sidewa lk Soapybeganto yell drunke n gibber ish at the top of his harshvoice. He danced, howled, raved, and otherw ise distur bed the welkin.25 The police man twirle d his club, turned his back to Soapyand remark ed toa citize n: “Tiso ne of them Yale lads celebr atin’thegooseegg they give to the Hartfo rd Colleg e. Noisy; but no harm. We’veinstru ction stolavethembe.”26 Discon solat e, Soapyceased his unavai lingracket. Wouldnevera police man lay handson him? In his fancythe Island seemed an unatta inabl e Arcadi a. He button ed his thin coat agains t the chilli ng wind.27 In a cigarstorehe saw a well-dresse d man lighti ng a cigarat a swingi ng light.His silk umbrel la he had set by the door on enteri ng. Soapysteppe d inside, secure d the umbrel la and saunte red off with it slowly. The man at the cigarlightfollow ed hastil y.28 “Myumbrel la,”hesaidsternl y.29 “Oh, is it?”sneere d Soapy,adding insult to petitlarcen y.“Well, why don’tyoucallapolice man? I took it. Your umbrel la! Whydon’tyoucallacop? Therestands one on the corner.”30 The umbrel la ownerslowed his steps.Soapydid likewi se, with a presen timen t that luck wouldrun agains t him. The police man looked at the two curiou sly.31“Ofcourse,”saidtheumbrel la man—“thatis—well, you know how thesemistak es occur—I—ifit’syourumbrel laIhopeyou’llexcuse me—I picked it up this mornin g in a restau rant—If you recogn ise it as yours, why—Ihopeyou’ll—“32 “Ofcourseit’smine,”saidSoapyviciou sly.33 The ex-umbrel la man retrea ted. The police man hurrie d to assist a tall blonde in an operacloakacross the street in frontof a street car that was approa ching two blocks away.34 Soapywalked eastwa rd throug h a street damage d by improv ement s. He hurled the umbrel la wrathf ullyinto an excava tion.He mutter ed agains t the men who wear helmet s and carryclubs.Becaus e he wanted to fall into theirclutch es, they seemed to regard him as a king who coulddo no wrong.35 At length Soapyreache d one of the avenue s to the east wherethe glitte r and turmoi l was but faint. He set his face down this toward Madiso n Square, for the homing instin ct surviv es even when the home is a park bench.36 But on an unusua lly quietcorner Soapycame to a stands till. Here was an old church, quaint and rambli ng and gabled. Throug h one violet-staine d window a soft lightglowed, where,no doubt,the organi st loiter ed over the keys, making sure of his master y of the coming Sabbat h anthem. For theredrifte d out to Soapy’searssweetmusicthat caught and held him transf ixedagains t the convol ution s of the iron fence.37 The moon was above,lustro us and serene; vehicl es and pedest rains were few; sparro ws twitte red sleepi ly in the eaves—for a little whilethe scenemighthave been a countr y church yard.And the anthem that the organi st played cement ed Soapyto the iron fence,for he had knownit well in the days when his life contai ned such things as mother s and rosesand ambiti ons and friend s and immacu latethough ts and collar s.38 The conjun ction of Soapy’srecept ive stateof mind and the influe ncesaboutthe old church wrough t a sudden and wonder ful change in his soul. He viewed with swifthorror the pit into whichhe had tumble d, the degrad ed days, unwort hy desire s, dead hopes,wrecke d facult ies, and base motive s that made up his existe nce.39 And also in a moment his heartrespon ded thrill ingly to this novelmood. An instan taneo us and strong impuls e movedhim to battle with his desper ate fate. He wouldpull himsel f out of the mire; he wouldmake a man of himsel f again; he wouldconque r the evil that had takenposses sionof him. Therewas time; he was compar ative ly youngyet; he wouldresurr ect his old eagerambiti ons and pursue them withou t falter ing. Thosesolemn but sweetorgannoteshad set up a revolu tionin him. Tomorr ow he wouldgo into the roarin g down-town distri ct and find work. A fur import er had once offere d him a placeas driver. He wouldfind him to-morrow and ask for the positi on. He wouldbe somebo dy in the world. He would—40 Soapyfelt a hand laid on his arm. He looked quickl y roundinto the broadface of a police man.41 “Whatareyoudoin’here?”askedthe office r.42 “Nothin g’,”saidSoapy.43“Th en come along,”saidthepolice man.44“Threemonths on the Island,”saidtheMagist ratein the Police Courtthe next mornin g.。
Wang MengmengProfessor Li KangEnglish 0911031412 March 2012The Cop and the AnthemThe Cop and the Anthem is one of O.Henry's representative works. This novel describes a vagrant who is jobless, homeless and commits crime on purpose so that he can be put into prison in winter. However,things don't goes as he expected. But when he makes up his mind to give up evil and return to good, he is arrested.Based on the whole text, the author's humor is present in various ways, one of which is through irrationality during the development of plots. Soapy, the vagrant who has stirred up trouble for six times, is eager to go to prison. But he is always out of luck and get policeman's forgiveness. When Soapy is touched by the anthem and wants to be a good citizen, he is arrested for groundless reasons. This way is a kind of black humor manifesting social reality profoundly. We can see something gloomy, desperate,but simultaneously, we can't help laughing when reading the vivid description.Once, Soapy wants to reach his goal by molesting a woman, 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(20).but the seeming virtuous and quiet woman begin to seduce him in reverse.“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 iv y to his oak Soapy (22). Besides, Soapy steals an umbrella from a neatly dressed customer, but the umbrella is ill-gotten originally.''Of course,''said the umbrellaman''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—''(31).So the modest and lady and gentleman turn out to be someone that we cannot imagine, which is not rational. Nonetheless, as a matter of fact, they just hide their dirty acts under a beautiful veil and a small sign can indicate a great trend, we can learn that the so-called noble upper class goes more serious than the two. These plots reveals awful mood of that capitalist society.In addition, the conflict between the irrationality of Soapy's behavior and the rationality of the cop's judgment is one of the important reasons for Soapy's "misfortune". For example, Soapy breaks the glass and wait for the policeman to come and arrest him, but the cop reckons that a man who commits evil won't sit and wait for arrest, men who smash windows do not remain to parley with the law’s minions(14) then he excludes Soapy. Besides, he wants to break the peace by virtue of kicking up a fuss in the street, identically, the cop deems that only college students dare to be so unbridled and boisterous''Tis one of them Yale lads celebratin’ the goose egg they give to the Hartford College. Noisy; but no harm. W e’ve instructions to lave them be.''(25). His abnormal conducts is determined by his distorted mentality, which exactly reflects torture and agony both in life and mind oft he low-class. When the poor guy intends to do good the moment he is moved and inspired, the cop believes a vagrant will never something to do with the quiet atmosphere around a church, the soft lamplight and the touching music. Consequently, Soapy is caught unexpectedly. “What are you doin’ here?” asked the officer. ''Nothing,'' said Soapy(42).''Then come along.''said the policeman(43). ''Three months on the Island.'' said the Magistrate in the Police Court the next morning.(44). It is the accident that mirrors confusion of truth and falsehood, black and wright.Needless to say,there are many ways to represent humor, they have one thing in common--where there is humor, there is specific implication. The writing style of the author is humorous, the disclosure of the society is deepgoing, the reflective life andWang3 mental distress are mirky. O.Henry uses a quantity of comparison and humor to fully display the character's wretched fate and cruelty of capitalist society.Notes1.Jack Frost (Para.2): Jack Frost is a personification of frost.2.Blackwell (Para.5): An island with prisons on East River in New York3.Palm Beach and the Riviera (Para.5): A tourist attraction in winter.4.Cesar (Para.5): A famous statesman, strategist and commander in chief assassinated by Republicans.5.Brutus (Para.5): Roman politician, the chief plotter to assassinate Cesar.6.the choicest products of the grape, the silkworm and the protoplasm(Para.7): It indicates upper-class life.7.brass buttons (Para.5): It refers to policeman, as the fasteners of police uniform are made of brass.Work cited1./view/23657.htm2.Henry,O.O Henry 100 Selected Stories [M]. Hertfordshire: Wordworth,1995.3.V oss,Arthur. The American Short Story: A Critical Survey[M].Norman:Oklahoma UP,1973:123-1244.田艳.欧亨利短篇小说精选[M]. 大连：大连理工大学出版社，2005.5.王青松.倪勤.轮欧亨利小说的比喻特色[J].安徽教育学院学报.2006,24(4):82-85.About The AuthorO. Henry is one of the most famous American critical realist short story writers, and one of the world's top three masters of the short stories. O. Henry's real name was William Sydney Porter.O. Henry was born in Greensboro, North Carolina on September 11, 1862. At age of 20 (1882) he moved to Texas, where he had various jobs.He married Athol Estes in 1887, in 1894 while working for First National Bank in Austin, Porter was accused of stealing $4000. He went to prison in Columbus, Ohio for 3 years eventually. While in prison Porter first started to write short stories and believed that he has found his pseudonym there. After Porter was released from the prison in 1901, he changed his name to O. Henry and moved to New York in 1902. From December 1903 to January 1906 o. Henry wrote a story a week for the New York World magazine, and published several short stories in other magazines.O. Henry's short stories are famous for their surprise endings, his wit, wordplay and humor. He wrote such classic short stories as The Ransom of Red Chief, The Gift of the Magi, The Furnished Room, The Four Billion, Cabbages and Kings, The Last Leaf, The Cop and the Anthem,etc.In his last years O. Henry had financial and health problems. An alcoholic, O. Henry died on June 5, 1910 in New York City, virtually broke.。
《警察与赞美诗》读书报告The Cop And The Anthem was just a very short novel I read in the middle school. I have no memory of this classical novel except its ridiculous ending, which the writer, O Henry ’s best at.By accident,professor Zhong reminds me of the novel in his class. It’s real lucky I think of this novel when I have to finish a reading report this week, especially in autumn. It’s getting colder and colder, so winter is near.The Cop And The Anthem is a story that happened in a cold winter. Soapy is a vagrant who is homeless and jobless. Because of the coming bad weather, he may live uneasily outside and there is a comfortable and warm place for him, Blackwell prison. For years the hospitable Blackwell prison had been his winter refuge.Three months of assured board and bed and good company, safe from north winds and policemen, seemed to Soapy the most desirable thing. Soapy had made his arrangements for his annual journey to the island. He committed crime on purpose so that he can be put into prison in winter. However, things didn't go as he expected. But when he made up his mind to give up evil and return to good, he was arrested.That funny ending impressed me very much. At first, I shew great sympathy to this poor man. He had to put himself into the prison, where his freedom was limited, in order to live himself. But after he stirred up trouble for six times and still didn’t get arrested, he was put into the once dreamed prison because he wanted to be a good man. It’s an entirely incredible ending, but it also became the highlight of this novel. O. Henry's short stories are famous for their surprise endings, his wit, wordplay and humor. And where there is humor, there always is specific implication.His black humor is present in various places from this short novel. Soapy, the vagrant who had committed a crime for six times, was eager to go to prison. But he was always out of luck and got policeman's forgiveness. When Soapy was touched by the anthem and decided to be a good citizen, he was arrested for groundless reasons. This comparison between Soapy’s before and after expresses the social reality profoundly. Although I can’t help laughing when I read this surprise ending, I also feel pity for his miserable life. This kind of black humor not only appears in the ending, it’s used in lots of plots of this novel and often make a contrary to my expectation.Soapy stole an umbrella from well-dressed man when he had expected the umbrella’s owner could send him into the prison. But the umbrella also didn’t belong to that neatly dressed man，anupper class gentleman who had a beautiful appearance. When he sang drunken songs at the top of his voice, danced, and howled on the sidewalk. The policeman mistook him into one of Yale lads celebrating their victory of football game over the Hartford College.He thought Soapy was only noisy but no harm. The funniest one is, when he molested a beautiful lady in front of a policeman, the lady joyfully answered his flirtation. The gentleman and lady who had beautiful appearances, even the policemen all expose one dirty and unrational society to us. It’s a fact beyond our imagination that the noble upper class may hide their dirty heart under good appearance. This sick society caused many poor people’s present like Soapy. But it’s these people that easily could be touched and moved by the simple anthem and decided to give up the evil and be a good man. They were so kind but regarded to be abnormal when they behave peaceful outside the church.O.Henry uses a number of comparison and black humor to fully display the character's wretched fate and cruelty of capitalist society. He is famous for short novels that are skillful with these writing techniques and is also good at describing American society. The story in this novel ironize and reveal the realistic of New York’s society at that times. That ridiculous play happened in a cold late autumn, like now. Hope this winter won’t be so cold because of people’s warm heart.。
警察与赞美诗读后感英文本文是关于读后感的，仅供参考，如果觉得很不错，欢迎点评和分享。
警察与赞美诗读后感英文The Cop and the Anthem is one of O.Henry's representative works. This novel describes a vagrant who is jobless, homeless and commits crime on purpose so that he can be put into prison in winter. However,things don't goes as he expected. But when he makes up his mind to give up evil and return to good, he is arrested.Based on the whole text, the author's humor is present in various ways, one of which is through irrationality during the development of plots. soap, the vagrant who has stirred up trouble for six times, is eager to go to prison. But he is always out of luck and get policeman's forgiveness. When soap is touched by the anthem and wants to be a good citizen, he is arrested for groundless reasons. This way is a kind of black humor manifesting social reality profoundly. We can see something gloomy, desperate,but simultaneously, we can't help laughing when reading the vivid description.Once, soap wants to reach his goal by molesting a woman, soap 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.but the seeming virtuous and quiet woman begin to seduce him in reverse.“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 soap . Besides, soap steals an umbrella from a neatly dressed customer, but the umbrella is ill-gotten originally.''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.So the modest and lady and gentleman turn out to be someone that we cannot imagine, which is not rational. Nonetheless, as a matter of fact, they just hide their dirty acts under a beautiful veil and a small sign can indicate a great trend, we can learn that the so-called noble upper class goes more serious than the two. These plots reveals awful mood of that capitalist society.In addition, the conflict between the irrationality of Soap's behavior and the rationality of the cop's judgment is one of the important reasons for Soap's "misfortune". For example, soap breaks the glass and wait for the policeman to come andarrest him, but the cop reckons that a man who commits evil won't sit and wait for arrest, men who smash windows do not remain to parley with the law’s minions then he excludes soap. Besides, he wants to break the peace by virtue of kicking up a fuss in the street, identically, the cop deems that only college students dare to be so unbridled and boisterous''Tis one of them Yale lads celebrate’ the goose egg they give to the Hartford College. Noisy; but no harm. We have instructions to lave them be. His abnormal conducts is determined by his distorted mentality, which exactly reflects torture and agony both in life and mind oft he low-class. When the poor guy intends to do good the moment he is moved and inspired, the cop believes a vagrant will never something to do with the quiet atmosphere around a church, the soft lamplight and the touching music. Consequently, soap is caught unexpectedly. “What are you doing here?” asked the officer. ''Nothing,'' said soap''Then come along.''said the policeman. ''Three months on the Island.'' said the Magistrate in the Police Court the next morning It is the accident that mirrors confusion of truth and falsehood, black and wright.Needless to say,there are many ways to represent humor, they have one thing in common--where there is humor, thereis specific implication. The writing style of the author is humorous, the disclosure of the society is deepgoing, the reflective life andmental distress are mirky. O.Henry uses a quantity of comparison and humor to fully display the character's wretched fate and cruelty of capitalist society.感谢阅读，希望能帮助您！。
警察与赞美诗英语原文[推荐]第一篇：警察与赞美诗英语原文[推荐]英语原文The Cop and the Anthemby O。
HenryOn 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 restaurantunsuspected, 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 bottleof 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 fi gure 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 mini ons.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 theopposite 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, w ith 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 ladymissionary’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 impudentand 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 ba ck 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 themen 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 wouldresurrect his old eager ambitions and pursue them without faltering.Those solemn but sweet organ notes had set up a revolution in him.T omorrow 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 broa d 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.第二篇：警察与赞美诗英语原文分析Original TextThe Cop and the Anthemby 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.Threemonths 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 accommodatingmagistrate 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 manag ement;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 goodfortune.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 w ere strangers.“Now, get busy and call a cop,” said Soapy.“And don’t keep a gentlemanwaiting.”“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,” smil ed, 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 uponit, and when he came upon anotherpoliceman 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.N oisy;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 walkedeastward 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 manof 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.第三篇：警察与赞美诗英语读后感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。
英语原文The Cop and the Anthem by O 。
HenryOn 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. H e 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 a ffairs.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 bottleof 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 b razenly through the impudentand 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, turne d 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 Soa py’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.。
