By O. Henry
First published in 1905, “The Gift of the Magi” remains one of the most beloved Christmas stories of all time. This poignant short story by O. Henry, originally titled “Gifts of the Magi,” explores the profound depths of love and sacrifice within a young, financially strained couple during the Christmas season. It’s a narrative that resonates deeply, especially when considering the true spirit of giving.
Della and Jim embrace, illustrating the heartfelt sacrifice in O. Henry's The Gift of the Magi
One Dollar and Eighty-Seven Cents: A Christmas Eve Dilemma
Della counted the meager pile of coins again. One dollar and eighty-seven cents. That was all she had. And sixty cents of it was in pennies – painstakingly saved, penny by penny, from haggling with the grocer, the vegetable vendor, and the butcher. Each saved penny was a small victory, but also a silent acknowledgment of their tight budget. Her cheeks would burn with the implied stinginess of her relentless bargain-hunting. Three times she counted it, ensuring no mistake. One dollar and eighty-seven cents. And tomorrow was Christmas.
Despair settled over Della like a heavy cloak. There seemed to be only one course of action left: to collapse onto the worn-out, shabby little couch and cry. And so she did. This leads to a rather somber reflection on life itself, which, as Della acutely felt at that moment, is a mixture of sobs, sniffles, and fleeting smiles, with sniffles often taking the lead.
As the mistress of this humble abode moved from the initial outburst of tears to a quieter stage of sorrow, let’s take a moment to examine their dwelling. It was a furnished apartment, rented for eight dollars a week. To call it impoverished might be an overstatement, but poverty certainly hovered nearby, a constant threat on the periphery.
In the downstairs vestibule, a broken letter-box stood as a testament to their diminished circumstances – no letters ever graced its interior. Beside it, an electric doorbell button remained stubbornly unresponsive, untouched by hopeful fingers. Attached to this uninviting entrance was a card bearing the name “Mr. James Dillingham Young.”
The somewhat grand “Dillingham” was a relic from a more prosperous era, a time when its bearer earned a respectable $30 per week. Now, with their income reduced to a more modest $20, the letters of “Dillingham” on the card appeared faded, almost apologetic, as if contemplating a humble abbreviation to simply “D.” However, within the walls of their apartment, Mr. James Dillingham Young was simply “Jim,” greeted with warmth and affection by Mrs. James Dillingham Young, our Della. And that, in its own way, was a wealth beyond measure.
Della, having exhausted her tears, attended to her reddened cheeks with a powder rag. She gazed out the window, her expression listless, at a gray cat navigating a gray fence in a dreary gray backyard. Tomorrow was Christmas Day, and she possessed a mere $1.87 to procure a gift for Jim. For months, she had diligently saved every possible penny, and this was the disappointing sum total. Twenty dollars a week simply didn’t stretch far enough. Unexpected expenses had a way of piling up, exceeding all calculations. Only $1.87 to find a present worthy of Jim. Her Jim. She had spent countless happy hours dreaming and planning, envisioning something special, something exquisite, something rare and precious – a gift that would, in some small way, be deserving of the honor of being owned by Jim.
A pier-glass mirror hung between the room’s windows. If you’ve ever encountered a pier-glass in an eight-dollar apartment, you’ll understand its limitations. Only a person of exceptional slenderness and agility could, by viewing their reflection in a rapid succession of narrow, vertical strips, gain a reasonably accurate impression of their overall appearance. Della, being naturally slim, had mastered this peculiar art.
Suddenly, Della spun away from the window, her demeanor shifting abruptly. She stood before the pier-glass, her eyes now gleaming with an intense light, though the color had drained from her face in a matter of seconds. With swift movements, she unpinned her hair, letting it cascade down to its full, magnificent length.
Della’s Hair and Jim’s Watch: Treasures of the Youngs
Now, it must be understood that there were two prized possessions of the James Dillingham Youngs, objects of immense pride for both of them. One was Jim’s gold watch, a cherished heirloom passed down from his father and grandfather. The other was Della’s hair. If the Queen of Sheba herself had resided in the neighboring apartment across the airshaft, Della would have, without hesitation, let her hair hang out of the window to dry, simply to outshine and diminish Her Majesty’s famed jewels and opulent gifts. And had King Solomon been the building’s janitor, with all his legendary treasures amassed in the basement, Jim would have made it a point to ostentatiously pull out his watch every time he passed, just to witness the king’s beard twitch with envy.
And so, Della’s glorious hair tumbled around her, a shimmering waterfall of rich brown, rippling and luminous. It reached below her knees, almost forming a cloak around her. Then, with nervous haste, she began to re-pin it, her hands trembling slightly. For a fleeting moment, she paused, standing motionless as a tear or two landed and darkened the worn red carpet.
She quickly donned her old brown jacket and her equally aged brown hat. With a swirl of her skirts and a renewed spark of determination in her bright eyes, she hurried out of the door and down the stairs, her footsteps echoing on the steps.
She stopped before a modest sign that read: “Mme Sofronie. Hair Goods of All Kinds.” “One Eight up,” a smaller sign directed. Della ascended the stairs quickly, arriving slightly breathless. Madame Sofronie, a large woman, unnaturally pale, and with a distinctly chilly demeanor, hardly embodied the name “Sofronie.”
“Will you buy my hair?” Della asked, her voice a little shaky but resolute.
“I buy hair,” Madame responded, her voice flat and businesslike. “Take your hat off and let’s have a look at it.”
Down tumbled the magnificent brown cascade once more.
“Twenty dollars,” Madame stated, lifting the heavy mass of hair with practiced ease.
“Give it to me quick,” Della urged, her heart pounding with a mixture of nervousness and anticipation.
The Quest for the Perfect Gift
Oh, and the next two hours flew by on wings of excitement and focused purpose. Forget the cliché. Della was immersed in a mission, diligently scouring the stores in search of the perfect present for Jim.
Finally, she found it. It was as if it had been created specifically for Jim and no one else. Among all the stores she had ransacked, turning them metaphorically inside out, nothing else even came close. It was a platinum fob chain, simple yet refined in design, its value proclaimed not through gaudy ornamentation but by its substantial quality – as all truly fine things should be. It was undeniably worthy of The Watch. The instant Della’s eyes fell upon it, she knew it was meant to be Jim’s. It resonated with his essence – understated elegance and inherent worth – qualities that described both the chain and Jim himself. They asked twenty-one dollars for it, and Della, with her precious twenty dollars earned from her hair, hurried home with the meager 78 cents change. With this chain adorning his watch, Jim could confidently check the time in any company, no longer self-conscious about the worn leather strap he had been using. Grand as the watch was, he sometimes checked it discreetly, almost apologetically, because of the old strap.
Reaching home, Della’s initial elation began to give way to practicality and composure. She retrieved her curling irons, lit the gas stove, and set about the task of repairing the “ravages made by generosity added to love.” This, dear friends, is always a monumental undertaking – a truly mammoth task.
Within forty minutes, her head was covered in a multitude of tiny, tight curls, giving her an uncanny resemblance to a truant schoolboy. She studied her reflection in the mirror, her gaze long, critical, and assessing.
“If Jim doesn’t kill me,” she muttered to herself, a hint of nervous humor in her voice, “before he takes a second look, he’ll say I look like a Coney Island chorus girl. But what else could I have done? Oh, what could I possibly have done with only a dollar and eighty-seven cents?”
By 7 o’clock, the coffee was brewed, and the frying pan was heating on the stove, ready to cook the evening chops.
Jim was always punctual. Della clutched the fob chain in her hand, nervously pacing near the door he always entered. Then, she heard his footsteps on the stairs, far down on the first flight, and a wave of anxiety washed over her, turning her pale for a fleeting moment. She had a habit of offering quick, silent prayers for the simplest everyday occurrences, and now she whispered, “Please, God, make him still think I am pretty.”
The Gifts Revealed: A Profound Irony
The door opened, and Jim stepped inside, closing it behind him. He looked thin and unusually serious. Poor fellow, he was only twenty-two – and burdened with the responsibilities of providing for them. He was in dire need of a new overcoat, and he was without gloves in the chilly December air.
Jim entered the room and stopped, as still and unmoving as a hunting dog catching the scent of game. His eyes were fixed on Della, and the expression in them was unreadable, causing a ripple of fear to run through her. It wasn’t anger, nor surprise, nor disapproval, nor horror, none of the reactions she had nervously anticipated. He simply stared at her, intently, with a peculiar, unfathomable look on his face.
Della stepped away from the table and went to him, her voice trembling slightly.
“Jim, darling,” she exclaimed, her voice a mix of nervousness and affection, “don’t look at me like that. I had my hair cut off and sold it because I couldn’t bear to face Christmas without giving you a present. It will grow back – you won’t mind too much, will you? I simply had to do it. My hair grows incredibly fast. Say ‘Merry Christmas,’ Jim, and let’s be happy. You have no idea what a wonderful, what a beautiful, lovely gift I found for you.”
“You’ve… cut off your hair?” Jim asked, the words coming slowly, as if he were still struggling to grasp the undeniable reality even after witnessing it with his own eyes.
“Cut it off and sold it,” Della confirmed, her voice a little louder now, trying to inject cheerfulness into the tense atmosphere. “You still like me, just the same, don’t you? I’m still me, even without my hair, right?”
Jim’s gaze shifted, and he looked around the room with a strange curiosity.
“You say your hair is gone?” he repeated, his tone almost vacant, bewildered.
“There’s no need to search for it,” Della said, trying to lighten the mood. “It’s sold, I tell you – sold and gone. It’s Christmas Eve, darling. Be joyful with me, because I sacrificed it for you. Perhaps the hairs of my head were numbered,” she continued, a sudden earnestness in her voice, “but no one could ever measure my love for you. Shall I put the chops on to cook, Jim?”
As if jolted from a trance, Jim seemed to awaken abruptly. He embraced Della, enfolding her in his arms. For a brief, respectful moment, let us turn our attention to some inconsequential detail elsewhere. Eight dollars a week or a million dollars a year – what difference does it truly make? A mathematician or a cynic might offer a misleading answer. The magi brought valuable gifts, but their true gift lay beyond material worth. This seemingly obscure statement will become clear shortly.
Jim released Della slightly, reached into his overcoat pocket, and placed a package on the table.
“Don’t misunderstand me, Dell,” he said, his voice regaining its warmth and affection. “Nothing – not a haircut, a shave, or anything else – could ever make me love you any less. But if you’ll unwrap that package, you might understand why I was a bit taken aback at first.”
Della’s nimble, excited fingers tore at the string and paper wrapping. And then, a joyous, ecstatic scream erupted from her lips, quickly followed by a sudden, dramatic shift to hysterical tears and wails, necessitating the immediate deployment of all of Jim’s comforting and reassuring abilities.
For nestled within the package lay The Combs – the exquisite set of combs, side and back, made of pure tortoise shell with jeweled rims, that Della had longingly admired in a Broadway window. Beautiful combs, perfectly matching the shade of her now-vanished glorious hair. They were undeniably expensive, she knew, and her heart had yearned for them with a hopeless longing. And now, they were hers, but the very tresses meant to adorn these coveted treasures were gone.
Yet, she clutched them to her chest, hugging them tightly. Eventually, she managed to look up at Jim, her eyes still shimmering with unshed tears, a faint smile gracing her lips. “My hair grows so fast, Jim!” she managed to say, her voice thick with emotion.
Then, Della sprang up with the agility of a singed cat, exclaiming, “Oh, oh!” in sudden realization.
Jim had not yet seen his own beautiful gift. She eagerly held it out to him on her open palm. The understated precious metal seemed to gleam, reflecting the warmth and intensity of her loving spirit.
“Isn’t it magnificent, Jim? I searched all over town to find it. You’ll have to check the time a hundred times a day now. Give me your watch; I want to see how it looks with it.”
Instead of complying, Jim sank down onto the couch, placing his hands behind his head and smiling gently.
“Dell,” he said softly, “let’s put our Christmas presents away and keep them for a while. They’re too precious to use just yet. I sold the watch to get the money to buy your combs. And now, perhaps you could put the chops on to cook?”
The True Wisdom of the Magi
The magi, as we know, were wise men – exceptionally wise men – who brought gifts to the newborn Babe in the manger. They are credited with inventing the tradition of giving Christmas presents. Being wise, their gifts were undoubtedly wise ones, perhaps even bearing the foresight of exchangeability in case of duplication. And here, in a rather clumsy manner, I have recounted for you the unremarkable tale of two foolish children residing in a humble apartment who, in their profound love for each other, unwisely sacrificed the most treasured possessions of their home. But in a final word directed to the wise of our times, let it be declared that of all who give gifts, these two were the wisest. Of all who give and receive gifts, such as these two, they are the epitome of wisdom. Everywhere, they embody true wisdom. They are the magi.
“The Gift of the Magi” is a poignant exploration of love and sacrifice, a timeless short story that continues to touch hearts. It’s a reminder that the most valuable gifts are not always material, but those given with genuine love and selfless intent. This story serves as a perfect read during the Christmas season and beyond, offering a profound message about the true spirit of giving and receiving.
“The Gift of the Magi” was featured as The Short Story of the Day on Thu, Dec 14, 2023
The Gift of the Magi is featured in our collections: Christmas Stories and Short Stories for Middle School. If you enjoyed it, try Giovanni Boccaccio’s Federigo’s Falcon, and The Necklace, both employing ironic twists, and great examples for comparative analysis. Teachers and students may benefit from our The Gift of the Magi Study Guide to more fully enjoy the story.
Add The Gift of the Magi to your library.
Return to the O. Henry library , or . . . Read the next short story; The Girl and the Graft
