Irony in the novel

Mark Twain shows himself as a master of irony when he exposes the social evils of the times and the hypocrisy of the characters humorously. The novel starts on a note of irony. Hank Morgan, the modern American finds himself in the ancient court of King Arthur. At the court, Morgan condemns the knights for telling lies. However, when he is imprisoned, he also tells a lie to escape. He calls himself a magician who can create a calamity and darken the world if he must. Later, he destroys the tower of Merlin through explosives and lighted wires. Twain creates an ironic situation not only out of the ignorance and superstition of the people, but also out of the inconsistency in the behavior of Morgan.

Morgan condemns royalty for thinking themselves superior to their subjects, yet he himself boasts and brags about his powers and his position. Over and over again, he uses his ordinary knowledge from the nineteenth century to make the people think he has extraordinary powers and he never confesses the truth. The ultimate irony is that when it is all over, and he is sent back to the nineteenth century, he realizes the beauty in Camelot's purity and longs to return. He has been given back his place in the technologically and industrially advanced nineteenth century, but all he wants is Camelot.

Writing option:

Think of a period in history that you would like to visit. Write a short story detailing what it would be like if you went there and how you would influence the citizenry with your twenty-first century knowledge.

O.Henry

1862-1910

The real name of the writer is William Sydney Porter. He was born in Greensboro, North Carolina, USA, in the family of a doctor. He was brought up by his aunt because his mother died when he was a small boy. After finishing school at the age of 15, Porter worked as a clerk for 5 years in his uncle’s chemist shop in Greensboro. In 1882 he went to Texas because he wanted to see new places. For 2 years he worked on a ranch, then he became a clerk in an office and at last got a job in a small bank. In 1887 he married Athol Estes Roach; they had a daughter.

In 1894 Porter started a humorous weekly “The Rolling Stone”. It was at this time that he began heavy drinking. When the weekly failed, he joined the “Houston Post” as a reporter and columnist.

But one day a theft of a thousand dollars was discovered at the bank in Austin where he worked as a bank teller. Though it was not he who had taken the money, Porter left the town and went to Central America. But when he heard that his wife was very ill, he returned home in 1897 and was put into prison for 3 years.

After his wife’s death Porter very often thought about his little daughter. She was living with her relatives and was told that her father had gone very far away and would not return soon. To get some money for a Christmas present for his daughter, Porter decided to write a story and send it to one of the American magazines. The story “Whistling Dick’s Christmas Present” was published in 1899 and his daughter received a Christmas present. Porter published at least 12 stories while in prison to help support his daughter. Not wanting his readers to know he was in jail, he started using the pen name "O. Henry". It is believed that Porter got this name from one of the guards who was named Orrin Henry. Other sources say that the name was derived from his calling "Oh Henry!" after the family cat, Henry.

In 1901 when he was released from prison he settled in New York and continued writing short stories for different magazines. From December 1903 to January 1906 he wrote a story a week for the New York “World”, also publishing in other magazines. O. Henry wrote over 280 short stories and one novel “Cabbages and Kings” (1904). All his works take together are like a humorous encyclopedia of All-American life.

O. Henry's last years were shadowed by alcoholism, ill health, and financial problems. He married Sara Lindsay Coleman in 1907, but the marriage was not happy, and they separated a year later. O. Henry died of cirrhosis of the liver on June 5, 1910, in New York.

Read the story

“The Gift of the Magi”

One dollar and eighty-seven cents. That was all. Three times Della counted it. One dollar and eighty-seven cents. And the next day would be Christmas.

There was clearly nothing to do but cry. So Della did it.

Della finished her cry. She stood by the window and looked out at a grey cat walking on a grey fence in a grey yard. Tomorrow would be Christmas Day, and she had only $1.87 with which to buy Jim a present. She had been saving every penny she could for months, with this result. Twenty dollars a week doesn't go far. Expenses had been greater than she had calculated. They always are. Only $1.87 to buy a present for Jim. Her Jim. Many a happy hour she had spent planning for something nice for him. Something fine and rare.

Suddenly she whirled from the window and stood before the mirror. Her eyes were shining brilliantly, but her face had lost its color within twenty seconds. Quickly she pulled down her hair and let it fall to its full length.

Now, there were two possessions of the Dillinghams in which they both took a mighty pride. One was Jim's gold watch that had been his father's and his grandfather's. The other was Della's hair.

So now Della's beautiful hair fell about her shining like a cascade of brown waters. It reached below her knee and made itself almost a coat for her. And then she did it up again nervously and quickly. For a minute she stood still while a tear or two fell on the worn red carpet.

On went her old brown jacket; on went her old brown hat, and she hurried out the door and down the stairs to the street.

Where she stopped the sign read: "M-me Sofronie. Hair Goods of All Kinds." Della ran up to the second floor.

"Will you buy my hair?" asked Della.

"I buy hair," said Madame. "Take your hat off and let's have a sight at the looks of it."

Down rippled the brown cascade.

"Twenty dollars," said Madame, lifting the mass with a practised hand.

"Give it to me quick," said Della.

Oh, the next two hours she was ransacking the stores for Jim's present. She found it at last. It surely had been made for Jim and no one else. There was no other like it in any of the stores, and she had turned all of them inside out. It was a platinum chain simple and nice in design. It was even worthy of The Watch. As soon as she saw it she knew that it must be Jim's. It was like him. Quietness and value – the description applied to both. Twenty-one dollars they took from her for it, and she hurried home with the 87 cents.

When Della reached home she got out her curling irons and lighted the gas and within forty minutes her head was covered with tiny, close-lying curls that made her look wonderfully like a mischievous schoolboy. She looked at her reflection in the mirror long, carefully, and critically.

"If Jim doesn't kill me," she said to herself, "before he takes a second look at me, he'll say I look like a Coney Island chorus girl. But what could I do – oh! what could I do with a dollar and eighty-seven cents?"

At 7 o'clock the coffee was made and the frying-pan was on the back of the stove hot and ready to cook the chops.

Jim was never late. Della took the chain in her hand and sat on the corner of the table near the door that he always entered. Then she heard his step on the stair, and she turned white for just a moment. She had a habit for saying little silent prayer about the simplest everyday things, and now she whispered: "Please God, make him think I am still pretty."

The door opened and Jim stepped in and closed it. He looked thin and very serious. Poor fellow, he was only twenty-two – and to be burdened with a family! He needed a new overcoat and he was without gloves.

Jim stepped inside the door. His eyes were fixed upon Della, and there was an expression in them that she could not read, and it terrified her. It was not anger, nor surprise, nor disapproval, nor horror, nor any of the sentiments that she had been prepared for. He simply stared at her with that strange expression on his face.

Della jumped off the table and went to him.

"Jim, darling," she cried, "don't look at me that way. I had my hair cut off and sold because I couldn't have lived through Christmas without giving you a present. It'll grow out again – you won't mind, will you? I just had to do it. My hair grows awfully fast. Say `Merry Christmas!' Jim, and let's be happy. You don't know what a nice – what a beautiful, nice gift I've got for you."

"You've cut off your hair?" asked Jim, as if he had not yet realized the fact.

"Cut it off and sold it," said Della. "Don't you like me just as well, anyhow? I'm me without my hair, ain't I?"

Jim looked about the room curiously.

"You say your hair is gone?" he repeated.

"You needn't look for it," said Della. "It's sold, I tell you – sold and gone, too. It's Christmas Eve, boy. Be good to me, for it went for you. Maybe the hairs of my head were numbered," she went on with sudden serious sweetness, "but nobody could ever count my love for you. Shall I put the chops on, Jim?"

Jim seemed quickly to wake out of his trance. He embraced his Della. Eight dollars a week or a million a year – what is the difference? A mathematician or a wit would give you the wrong answer. The magi brought valuable gifts, but that one was not among them. This dark assertion will be clear later on.

Jim drew a package from his overcoat pocket and threw it upon the table.

"Don't make any mistake, Dell," he said, "about me. I don't think there's anything in the way of a haircut or a shave or a shampoo that could make me like my girl any less. But if you unwrap that package you may see why I behaved so at first."

White fingers tore the string and paper. And then a scream of joy; and then, alas! a quick change to hysterical tears, so that the master of the flat had to use all the comforting powers he could.

For there lay The Combs – the set of combs, side and back, that Della had admired long in a Broadway window. Beautiful combs, pure tortoise shell, with jewelled rims – just the shade to wear in her beautiful brown hair. They were expensive combs, she knew, and she had not the least hope of possessing them. And now, they were hers, but the hair that they should have adorned was gone.

But she hugged them to her bosom, and at length she was able to look up with dim eyes and a smile and say: "My hair grows so fast, Jim!"

And then Della jumped up like a little cat and cried, "Oh, oh!"

Jim had not yet seen his beautiful present. She held it out to him eagerly upon her open palm.

"Isn't it charming, Jim? I hunted all over town to find it. You'll have to look at the time a hundred times a day now. Give me your watch. I want to see how it looks on it."

Instead of obeying, Jim lay down on the sofa and put his hands under the back of his head and smiled.

"Dell," said he, "let's put our Christmas presents away and keep 'em a while. They're too nice to use just at present. I sold the watch to get the money to buy your combs. And now it’s time to put the chops on."

The magi, as you know, were wise men – wonderfully wise men – who brought gifts to the Babe in the manger. They invented the art of giving Christmas presents. Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones, possibly bearing the privilege of exchange in case of duplication. And here I have related to you the simple story of two foolish children in a flat who most unwisely sacrificed for each other the greatest treasures of their house. But in a last word to the wise of these days let it be said that of all who give gifts these two were the wisest. O all who give and receive gifts, such as they are wisest. Everywhere they are wisest. They are the magi.

COMPREHENSION AND DISCUSSION:

1. What is the overall theme that Porter is trying to portray in this work?

2. Is “The Gift of the Magi” a good title for this story? Why or why not? Explain why the title may be ironic and give reasons why.

3. If you had to give this story another title, what would it be and why?

4. Identify the main characters in “The Gift of the Magi” and analyze them. Think about their personalities and about the reasons that they did what they did in the story. Do you feel that you would do the same thing in their position? Why or why not?

5. What do we learn about the relationship between Della and Jim? Do they love each other still after the events of the story?

6. Compare and contrast the sacrifices Jim and Della make. In your opinion, who has made the greater sacrifice?

7. Who were magi? Why does the author compare Della and Jim to them? How do the magi and their significance relate to the meaning of the story?

8. At the end of the story, O.Henry seems to be saying two different things. Read below from “The Gift of the Magi”: “And here I have told you the story of two children who were not wise. Each sold the most valuable thing he owned in order to buy a gift for the other. But let me speak a last word to the wise of these days: Of all who give gifts, these two were the most wise.” Who are the two children? Why does O' Henry refer to them as "children"? How were they unwise? How were they wise?

9. Read each of the following statements carefully. Each statement expresses an idea that may or may not be supported by the story. For each statement tell whether or not it can be supported from the story and list the details from the story that support your conclusion.

• A penny saved is a penny earned.

• Christmas is a difficult time of the year for many people.

• If you don’t have money, you should not try to buy gifts.

• Gifts are the most important part of Christmas.

• All poor people are miserable at Christmas.

• Doing things on the spur of the moment is always a bad idea; people should always think before doing something.

• Only rich people are really happy at Christmas.

• The way a person looks is an important part of a relationship.

Writing option:

Plot a new ending for the story. Imagine that Della tries to buy back Jim's watch. How will she raise the money? What will Jim's reaction be?

“A SERVICE OF LOVE”

Joe Larrabee dreamed of becoming a great artist. Even when he was six, people in the little western town where he lived used to say, "Joe has great talent, he will become a famous artist." At twenty, he left his home town and went to New York. He had his dreams – but very little money.

Delia had her dreams too. She played the piano so well in the little southern village where she lived that her family said, "She must finish her musical training in New York." With great difficulty they collected enough money to send her north "to finish".

Joe and Delia got acquainted at a friend's house where some art and music students had gathered to discuss art, music and the newest plays. They fell in love with each other, and in a short time they married.

Mr. and Mrs. Larrabee began their married life in a little room. But they were happy, for they had their Art, and they had each other. Joe was painting in, he class of the great Magister. Mr. Magister got a lot of money for his pictures – and he took a lot of money for his lessons. Delia was taking piano lessons from the great Rosenstock, and he was taking a lot of money from Delia.

The two young dreamers were very, very happy while their money lasted. But it didn't last very long. Soon, they didn't have enough to pay for their lessons and eat three times a day. When one loves one's Art, no service seems too hard. So Delia decided she must stop taking lessons and give lessons herself. She began to look for pupils. One evening, she came home very excited, with shining eyes.

"Joe, dear," she announced happily, "I've got a pupil. General Pinkney – I mean – his daughter, Clementina. He's very rich, and they have a wonderful house. She's so beautiful – she dresses in white; and she's so nice and pleasant! I'm going to give her three lessons a week; and just think, Joe! Five dollars a lesson. Now, dear, don't look so worried, and let's have supper. I've bought some very nice fish."

But Joe refused to listen to her. "That's all right for you, Dellie, but all wrong for me," he protested. "Do you suppose I'm going to let you work while I continue to study Art? No! Never! I can get a job as a mechanic or clean windows. I'll get some kind of work."

Delia threw her arms around him. "Joe, dear, you mustn't think of leaving Mr. Magister and your Art. I am not giving up music. The lessons won't interfere with my music. While I teach, I learn, and I can go back to Rosenstock when I get a few more pupils."

"All right," said Joe. "But giving lessons isn't Art."

"When one loves one's Art, no service seems too hard," said Delia.

During the next week, Mr. and Mrs. Larrabee had breakfast very early. Joe was painting some pictures in Central Park, and he needed the morning light especially, he said. Time flies when you love Art, and it was usually seven o'clock in the evening when Joe returned home. At the end of the week, Delia, very proud but a little tired, put fifteen dollars on the table. "Sometimes," she said, "Clementina is a very difficult pupil. And she always wears white. I'm tired of seeing the same colour."

And then Joe, with the manner of Monte Cristo, pulled eighteen dollars out of his pocket and put it on the table too. "I sold one of my pictures to a man from Washington," he said. "And now, he wants a picture of the East River to take with him to Washington."

"I'm so glad you haven't given up your Art, dear," Delia said. "You are sure to win! Thirty-three dollars! We have never had so much money to spend."

The next Saturday evening, Joe came home first. He put his money on the table and then washed what seemed to look like a lot of paint from his hands. Half an hour later, Delia arrived. There was a big bandage¹ on her right hand. "Dellie, dear, what has happened? What is the matter with your hand?" Joe asked.

Delia laughed, but not very happily. "Clementina," she explained, "asked me to have lunch with her and the General after our lesson. She's not very strong, you know, and when she was giving me some tea, her hand shook and she spilled a lot of very hot water over my hand. But General Pinkney bandaged my hand himself. They were both so sorry. Oh, Joe, did you sell another picture?" She had seen the money on the table.

"Yes," said Joe. "To the man from Washington. What time this afternoon did you burn your hand, Dellie?"

"Five o'clock, I think," said Delia. "The iron – the water was very hot. And Clementina cried, and General Pinkney..."

Joe put his arms round Delia. "Where are you working, Dellie? Tell me," he asked in a serious voice.

Delia was about to say something, but-suddenly tears appeared in her eyes and she began to cry. "I couldn't get any pupils," she said. "And I didn't want you to stop taking lessons, so I got a job ironing shirts in the big laundry² on Twenty-Fourth Street. This afternoon, I burned my hand with a hot iron. Don't be angry with me, Joe. I did it for your Art. And now, you have painted those pictures for the man from Washington..."

"He isn't from Washington," said Joe slowly.

"It makes no difference where he is from," said Delia. "How clever you are, Joe! How did you guess that I wasn't giving music lessons?"

“I guessed”, Joe said, "because about five o'clock this afternoon, I sent some oil up to the ironing-room. They said a girl had burned her hand. You see, dear, I work as a mechanic in that same laundry on Twenty-Fourth Street."

“And the man from Washington…?”

“Yes, dear”, Joe said. “The man from Washington and General Pinkney are both creations of the same art, but you cannot call it painting or music”. And they both began to laugh.

“You know, dear”, Joe said. “When one loves one’s Art, no service seems…”

But Delia stopped him with her hand on his mouth. “No”, she said, “just – “when one loves”.”

COMPREHENSION AND DISCUSSION:

I. Say if these statements are true or false. Correct the false statements.

1. Joe and Delia came to New York from the same town.

2. After they married, both of them stopped taking lessons.

3. Delia soon found a pupil, named Clementina.

4. Joe had not enough courage to tell Delia the truth about his job.

5. The moment Joe saw Delia’s bandaged hand, he understood everything.

6. Delia got angry when she learned about Joe’s job.

II. Answer the following questions:

1. Why did Joe Larrabee and Delia come to New York?

2. Where did the young men get acquainted?

3. In what way did they continue their education after marriage?

4. What made Delia give up her music lessons?

5. Why was Joe disappointed when he learnt about Delia's plan?

6. What was Joe's plan? Did Delia know about it?

7. Every week Joe brought some money. How did he explain it to Delia?

8. What happened one day?

9. How did Joe guess the truth?

10. Explain the meaning of the phrase "When one loves one's Art, no service seems too hard." Do you agree with it? Give your grounds.

11. Why do you think Delia shortened this phrase and said, "just – when one loves"?

12. Why did the author name the story "A Service of Love"?

13. What kind of people, to your mind, can sacrifice something for the good of others?

Read the story

“THE LAST LEAF”

In a little New York district west of Washington Square the streets have run crazy and broken themselves into small strips called "places." These "places" make strange angles and curves. One Street crosses itself a time or two.

At the top of a three-story brick house Sue and Johnsy had their studio. "Johnsy" was familiar for Joanna. One was from Maine; the other from California. They had met at a little restaurant and found their tastes in art, green salad and bishop sleeves so similar that they decided to have a joint studio.

They became friends in May. In November a cold, unseen stranger, whom the doctors called Pneumonia, walked about, touching one here and there with his icy fingers. He defeated Johnsy; and she lay in bed near the window and looked at the side of the next brick house.

One morning, the doctor asked Sue to come out into the corridor.

"She has one chance in - let us say, ten," he said as he looked at his clinical thermometer. "And that chance is for her to want to live. Your little lady has made up her mind that she's not going to get well. Has she anything on her mind?"

"She - she wanted to paint the Bay of Naples some day." said Sue.

"Well, it is the weakness, then," said the doctor. "I promise to do all that I can, but you must help me. Let her think not of her illness, but of some other things."

After the doctor had gone, Sue went into Johnsy’s room. Johnsy lay with her face toward the window. Sue thought that she was sleeping. So she began a drawing to illustrate a magazine story. As Sue was sketching a pair of elegant horseshow riding trousers and a monocle of the figure of the hero, an Idaho cowboy, she heard a low sound, several times repeated. She went quickly to the bedside.

Johnsy’s eyes were open wide. She was looking out of the window and counting something.

"Twelve," she said, and little later "eleven"; and then "ten," and "nine"; and then "eight" and "seven", almost together.

Sue looked out of the window. What was there to count? There was only a bare, dreary yard to be seen, and the blank side of the brick house twenty feet away. An old, old ivy-vine¹ was growing on the brick wall. There were only a few leaves on it.

“What is it, dear?” asked Sue.

“Six,” said Johnsy in almost a whisper. “They’re falling faster now. Three days ago there were almost a hundred. There goes another one. There are only five left now.”

“Five what, dear? Tell me.”

“Leaves. On the ivy-vine. When the last one falls, I must go too. I’ve known that for three days. Didn’t the doctor tell you?”

“Oh, I never heard of such nonsense,” said Sue. “What have old ivy leaves to do with your getting well? And you used to love that vine so, you silly girl. The doctor told me this morning that your chances for getting well were ten to one! Try to take some soup now and let Sue go back to drawing, so she can sell it to the editor and buy port wine for her sick child and a chop for herself.”

“You needn't get any more wine,” said Johnsy, still looking out the window. “There goes another. No, I don't want any soup. There are only four now. I want to see the last one fall before it gets dark. Then I’ll go, too.”

“Johnsy, dear,” said Sue, “will you promise me to keep your eyes shut, and not look out of the window until I finish working? I must hand those drawings in by tomorrow. I need the light.”

“Couldn't you draw in the other room?” asked Johnsy, coldly.

“I'd rather be here by you,” said Sue. “Beside, I don't want you to keep looking at those silly ivy leaves.”

“Tell me as soon as you have finished,” said Johnsy, shutting her eyes and lying white and still² as a fallen statue, “because I want to see the last one fall. I'm tired of waiting. I'm tired of thinking. I want to go sailing down, down, just like one of those poor, tired leaves.”

“Try to sleep,” said Sue. “I must call Behrman up to be my model. I'll not be gone a minute. Don't try to move 'til I come back.”

Old Behrman was a painter who lived on the ground floor in the same house. He was over sixty. Behrman was a failure¹ in art, but he still hoped to paint a masterpiece though he had never begun it. For several years he had painted nothing except now and then a daub² in the line of commerce or advertising. He earned a little by serving as a model to those young artists who could not pay the price of a professional. He drank gin to excess, and still talked of his coming masterpiece.

Sue found Behrman in his little room. She told him about Johnsy’s illness and how she feared she would, indeed, light and fragile as a leaf herself, float away, like one of the leaves.

“She thinks she will die when the last leaf falls from the old ivy-wine on the wall of the next house.”

“What foolishness,” cried old Behrman. “To die because leaves drop off from a cursed vine? I have not heard of such a thing. I go with you. Some day I will paint a masterpiece, and we shall all go away.”

Johnsy was sleeping when they entered her room. They went to the window and looked at each other for a moment without speaking. A persistent, cold rain was falling, mixed with snow.

When Sue awoke from an hour's sleep the next morning she found Johnsy with dull, wide-open eyes looking at the drawn green curtain.

“Pull it up; I want to see,” she ordered, in a whisper. Sue obeyed.

But, look! After the beating rain and fierce wind that blew all night long, there yet stood out against the brick wall one ivy leaf. It was the last one on the vine.

“It is the last one,” said Johnsy. “I thought it would fall during the night. I heard the wind. It will fall today, and I shall die at the same time.”

The day came to its end and even in the evening there was still one leaf on the ivy-vine. Then, with the coming of the night, the north wind began to blow again, the rain beat against the windows.

In the morning the girls looked out of the window. The one ivy leaf was still on the vine.

Johnsy lay for a long time looking at it. And then she called to Sue and said, “I’ve been a bad girl. Something has made that last leaf stay there to show me how wicked I was. It is a sin to want to die. You may bring me a little soup now, and some milk.”

An hour later, she said, “Sue, some day I hope to paint the Bay of Naples.”

The doctor came in the afternoon. In the corridor he said to Sue, “She’s much better now, she’s getting well. And now I must see another case I have downstairs. Behrman, his name is - some kind of an artist, I believe. Pneumonia³, too. He is an old, weak man, and the attack is acute. There is no hope for him; but he goes to the hospital today to be made more comfortable.”

The next day the doctor said to Sue, “She’s out of danger. You’ve won. Good food and care now – that’s all.”

That afternoon Sue came to the bed where Johnsy lay.

“I have something to tell you, dear,” she said. “Mr. Behrman died of pneumonia today in the hospital. He was ill only two days. He was found helpless in his room in the morning of the first day. His shoes and clothing were wet and he was very cold. They also found a lamp and a ladder in the room, some brushes and some yellow and green paints. Now look out of the window, dear, at the last ivy leaf on the wall. Do you know why it never moved when the wind blew? Ah, dear, it’s Behrman’s masterpiece – he painted it there the night when the last leaf fell.”

COMPREHENSION AND DISCUSSION:

1. When did Sue and Johnsy become friends?

2. How did Sue treat her friend?

3. What is your impression of Behrman?

4. What did Behrman do that helped to save Johnsy’s life?

5. What saved Johnsy’s life?

6. Do you agree that the last leaf was a masterpiece?

7. Is Johnsy optimist or pessimist? Prove your answer.

8. Explain the title of the story. What idea does the title suggest?

Making generalization:

• How would you characterize O. Henry’s style?

• What values does O. Henry extol in his stories?