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Bengali

kothaye tui

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Laatste Update: 2020-11-15
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Bengali

u do it

Engels

u do it

Laatste Update: 2020-12-25
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Bengali

what do tha work

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what do tha work

Laatste Update: 2021-04-25
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Bengali

what do you read?

Engels

what do you read?

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Bengali

what do you do meaning

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what do you do meaning

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Bengali

what do you mens ka kya matlab hai

Engels

what do you mean mens

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Bengali

you only live once but if you do it right once is enough

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Bengali

0 contribution(s) 10100+1000 translation api about mymemory log in jimmy valentine by o henry results for jimmy valentine by o henry translation from english to bengali human contributions from professional translators, enterprises, web pages and freely available translation repositories. add a translation english jimmy valentine by o henry bengali হে হেনরি দ্বারা জিমি ভ্যালেন্টাইন last update: 2016-07-25 usage frequency: 2 quality: good in specific context english jimmy valentine story by o henry bengali ণ হেনরির জিমি ভালেনতৈন্ last update: 2017-09-05 usage frequency: 2 quality: be the first to vote english jimmy valentine by o henry full story bengali জিমি ভ্যালেন্টাইন বাই হে হেনরি পূর্ণ গল্প last update: 2020-02-14 usage frequency: 2 quality: excellent reference: anonymous english the last leaf by o henry bengali ণ হেনরি দ্বারা শেষ পাতা last update: 2017-07-13 usage frequency: 2 quality: excellent reference: anonymous english jimmy valentine bangali mening bengali জিমি ভ্যালেন্টাইন বাঙালি মেইনিং last update: 2020-11-21 usage frequency: 1 quality: excellent reference: anonymous english hearts and hands by o henry bengali হে হেনরি দ্বারা হৃদয় এবং হাত last update: 2020-05-23 usage frequency: 3 quality: good in specific context reference: anonymous english summary of jimmy valentine in bengali bengali বাংলায় জিমি ভ্যালেন্টাইনের সারসংক্ষেপ last update: 2018-03-28 usage frequency: 1 quality: excellent reference: anonymous english jimmy valentine story of bengali meaning bengali বেঙ্গালি অর্থের জিমি ভ্যালেন্টাইন গল্প last update: 2020-11-12 usage frequency: 1 quality: excellent reference: anonymous english jimmy valentine bangla bonganubad tika project bengali জিমি ভ্যালেন্টাইন বাংলা বনগানুবাদ টিকা প্রকল্প last update: 2020-08-05 usage frequency: 1 quality: excellent reference: anonymous english the last leaf o henry translate into bengali bengali শেষ পাতা ও হেনরি বাংলায় অনুবাদ করুন last update: 2018-03-10 usage frequency: 2 quality: not sure reference: anonymous english where jimmy valentine was assiduously stitching uppers and escorted him to the front office bengali last update: 2020-08-23 usage frequency: 1 quality: excellent reference: anonymous english a guard came to the prison shoe shop, where jimmy valentine was assiduously stitching uppers, and escorted him to the front office. bengali একজন প্রহরী কারাগারের জুতোর দোকানে এসেছিলেন, যেখানে জিমি ভ্যালেন্টাইন আশ্বাসের সাথে আপারগুলি সেলাই করছে এবং তাকে সামনে অফিসে নিয়ে গিয়েছিল। last update: 2020-09-16 usage frequency: 1 quality: excellent reference: anonymous english a retrieved reformation - by o. henry a guard came to the prison shoe-shop, where jimmy valentine was assiduously stitching uppers, and escorted him to the front office. there the warden handed jimmy his pardon, which had been signed that morning by the governor. jimmy took it in a tired kind of way. he had served nearly ten months of a four-year sentence. he had expected to stay only about three months, at the longest. when a man with as many friends on the outside as jimmy valentine had is received in the "stir" it is hardly worth while to cut his hair. "now, valentine," said the warden, "you'll go out in the morning. brace up, and make a man of yourself. you're not a bad fellow at heart. stop cracking safes, and live straight." "me?" said jimmy in surprise. "why, i never cracked a safe in my life." "oh, no," laughed the warden. "of course not. let's see, now. how was it you happened to get sent up on that springfield job? was it because you wouldn't prove an alibi for fear of compromising somebody in extremely high-toned society? or was it simply a case of a mean old jury that had it in for you? it's always one or the other with you innocent victims." "me?" said jimmy, still blackly virtuous. "why, warden, i never was in springfield in my life!" "take him back, cronin," smiled the warden, "and fix him up with out-going clothes. unlock him at seven in the morning, and let him come to the bull-pen. better think over my advice, valentine." at a quarter past seven on the next morning jimmy stood in the warden's outer office. he had on a suit of the villainously fitting, readymade clothes and a pair of the stiff, squeaky shoes that the state furnishes to its discharged compulsory guests. the clerk handed him a railroad ticket and the five-dollar bill with which the law expected him to rehabilitate himself into good citizenship and prosperity. the warden gave him a cigar, and shook hands. valentine, 9762, was chronicled on the books "pardoned by governor," and mr. james valentine walked out into the sunshine. disregarding the song of the birds, the waving green trees, and the smell of the flowers, jimmy headed straight for a restaurant. there he tasted the first sweet joys of liberty in the shapes of a broiled chicken and a bottle of white wine-followed by a cigar a grade better than the one the warden had given him. from there he proceeded leisurely to the depot. he tossed a quarter into the hat of a blind man sitting by the door, and boarded his train. three hours set him down in a little town near the state line. he went to the café of one mike dolan and shook hands with mike, who was alone behind the bar. "sorry we couldn't make it sooner, jimmy, me boy," said mike. "but we had that protest from springfield to buck against, and the governor nearly balked. feeling all right?" "fine," said jimmy. "got my key?" he got his key and went upstairs, unlocking the door of a room at the rear. everything was just as he had left it. there on the floor was still ben price's collar-button that had been torn from that eminent detective's shirt-band when they had overpowered jimmy to arrest him. pulling out from the wall a folding-bed, jimmy slid back a panel in the wall and dragged out a dust-covered suit-case. he opened this and gazed fondly at the finest set of burglar's tools in the east. it was a complete set, made of specially tempered steel, the latest designs in drills, punches, braces and bits, jimmies, clamps, and augers, with two or three novelties invented by jimmy himself, in which he took pride. over nine hundred dollars they had cost him to have made at-, a place where they make such things for the profession. in half an hour jimmy went downstairs and through the café. he was now dressed in tasteful and well-fitting clothes, and carried his dusted and cleaned suit-case in his hand. "god anything on?" asked mike dolan, genially. "me?" said jimmy, in a puzzled tone. "i don't understand. i'm representing the new york amalgamated short snap biscuit cracker and frazzled wheat company." this statement delighted mike to such an extent that jimmy had to take a seltzer-and-milk on the spot. he never touched "hard" drinks. a week after the release of valentine, 9762, there was a neat job of safe-burglary done in richmond, indiana, with no clue to the author. a scant eight hundred dollars was all that was secured. two weeks after that a patented, improved, burglar-proof safe in logansport was opened like a cheese to the tune of fifteen hundred dollars, currency; securities and silver untouched. that began to interest the rogue catchers. then an old-fashioned bank-safe in jefferson city became active and threw out of its crater an eruption of bank-notes amounting to five thousand dollars. the losses were now high enough to bring the matter up into ben price's class of work. by comparing notes, a remarkable similarity in the methods of the burglaries was noticed. ben price investigated the scenes of the robberies, and was heard to remark: "that's dandy jim valentine's autograph, he's resumed business. look at that combination knob - jerked out as easy as pulling up a radish in wet weather. he's got the only clamps that can do it. and look how clean those tumblers were punched out! jimmy never has to drill but one hole. yes, i guess i want mr. valentine. he'll do his bit next time without any short-time or clemency foolishness." ben price knew jimmy's habits. he had learned them while working up the springfield case. long jumps, quick get-aways, no confederates, and a taste for good society - these ways had helped mr. valentine to become noted as a successful dodger of retribution. it was given out that ben price had taken up the trail of the elusive cracksman, and other people with burglar-proof safes felt more at ease. one afternoon jimmy valentine and his suit-case climbed out of the mail-hack in elmore, a little town five miles off the railroad down in the black-jack country of arkansas. jimmy, looking like an athletic young senior just home from college, went down the board sidewalk toward the hotel. a young lady crossed the street, passed him at the corner and entered a door over which was the sign "the elmore bank." jimmy valentine looked into her eyes, forgot what he was, and became another man. she lowered her eyes and coloured slightly. young men of jimmy's style and looks were scarce in elmore. jimmy collared a boy that was loafing on the steps of the bank as if he were one of the stock-holders, and began to ask him questions about the town, feeding him dimes at intervals. by and by the young lady came out, looking royally unconscious of the young man with the suit-case, and went her way. "isn't that young lady miss polly simpson?" asked jimmy, with specious guile. "naw," said the boy. "she's annabel adams. her pa owns this bank. what'd you come to elmore for? is that a gold watch-chain? i'm going to get a bulldog. got any more dimes?" jimmy went to the planters' hotel, registered as ralph d. spencer, and engaged a room. he leaned on the desk and declared his platform to the clerk. he said he had come to elmore to look for a location to go into business. how was the shoe business, now, in the town? he had thought of the shoe business. was there an opening? the clerk was impressed by the clothes and manner of jimmy. he, himself, was something of a pattern of fashion to the thinly gilded youth of elmore, but he now perceived his shortcomings. while trying to figure out jimmy's manner of tying his four-in-hand he cordially gave information. yes, there ought to be a good opening in the shoe line. there wasn't an exclusive shoe-store in the place. the dry-goods and general stores handled them. business in all lines was fairly good. hoped mr. spencer would decide to locate in elmore. he would find it a pleasant town to live in, and the people very sociable. mr. spencer thought he would stop over in the town a few days and look over the situation. no, the clerk needn't call the boy. he would carry up his suit-case himself; it was rather heavy. mr. ralph spencer, the phœnix that arose from jimmy valentine's ashes - ashes left by the flame of a sudden and alterative attack of love - remained in elmore, and prospered. he opened a shoe-store and secured a good run of trade. socially he was also a success, and made many friends. and he accomplished the wish of his heart. he met miss annabel adams, and became more and more captivated by her charms. at the end of a year the situation of mr. ralph spencer was this: he had won the respect of the community, his shoe-store was flourishing, and he and annabel were engaged to be married in two weeks. mr. adams, the typical, plodding, country banker, approved of spencer. annabel's pride in him almost equaled her affection. he was as much at home in the family of mr. adams and that of annabel's married sister as if he were already a member. one day jimmy sat down in his room and wrote this letter, which he mailed to the safe address of one of his old friends in st. louis: dear old pal,- i want you to be at sullivan's place, in little rock, next wednesday night, at nine o'clock. i want you to wind up some little matters for me. and, also, i want to make you a present of my kit of tools. i know you'll be glad to get them - you couldn't duplicate the lot for a thousand dollars. say, billy, i've quit the old business - a year ago. i've got a nice store. i'm making an honest living, and i'm going to marry the finest girl on earth two weeks from now. it's the only life, billy - the straight one. i wouldn't touch a dollar of another man's money now for a million. after i get married i'm going to sell out and go west, where there won't be so much danger of having old scores brought up against me. i tell you, billy, she's an angel. she believes in me; and i wouldn't do another crooked thing for the whole world. be sure to be at sully's, for i must see you. i'll bring along the tools with me. your old friend, jimmy. on the monday night after jimmy wrote this letter, ben price jogged unobtrusively into elmore in a livery buggy. he lounged about town in his quiet way until he found out what he wanted to know. from the drug-store across the street from spencer's shoe-store he got a good look at ralph d. spencer. "going to marry the banker's daughter, are you, jimmy?" said ben to himself, softly. "well, i don't know!" the next morning jimmy took breakfast at the adamses. he was going to little rock that day to order his wedding-suit and buy something nice for annabel. that would be the first time he had left town since he came to elmore. it had been more than a year now since those last professional "jobs," and he thought he could safely venture out. after breakfast quite a family party went down-town together - mr. adams, annabel, jimmy, and annabel's married sister with her two little girls, aged five and nine. they came by the hotel where jimmy still boarded, and he ran up to his room and brought along his suit-case. then they went on to the bank. there stood jimmy's horse and buggy and dolph gibson, who was going to drive him over to the railroad station. all went inside the high, carved oak railings into the banking-room - jimmy included, for mr. adam's future son-in-law was welcome anywhere. the clerks were pleased to be greeted by the good-looking, agreeable young man who was going to marry miss amabel. jimmy set her suit-case down. annabel, whose heart was bubbling with happiness and lively youth, put on jimmy's hat, and picked up the suit-case. "wouldn't i make a nice drummer?" said annabel. "my! ralph, how heavy it is? feels like it was full of gold bricks." "lot of nickel-plated shoe-horns in there," said jimmy coolly, "that i'm going to return. thought i'd save express charges by taking them up. i'm getting awfully economical." the elmore bank had just put in a new safe and vault. mr. adams was very proud of it, and insisted on an inspection by every one. the vault was a small one, but it had a new, patented door. it fastened with three solid steel bolts thrown simultaneously with a single handle, and had a time-lock. mr. adams beamingly explained its workings to mr. spencer, who showed a courteous but not too intelligent interest. the two children, may and agatha, were delighted by the shinning metal and funny clock and knobs. while they were thus engaged ben price sauntered in and leaned on his elbow, looking casually inside between the railings. he told the teller that he didn't want anything; he was just waiting for a man he knew. suddenly there was a scream or two from the women, and a commotion. unperceived by the elders, may, the nine-year-old girl, in a spirit of play, had shut agatha in the vault. she had then shot the bolts and turned the knob of the combination as she had seen mr. adams do. the old banker sprang to the handle and tugged at it for a moment. "the door can't be opened," he groaned. "the clock hasn't been wound nor the combination set." agatha's mother screamed again, hysterically. "hush!" said mr. adams, raising his trembling hand. "all be quiet for a moment. agatha!" he called as loudly as he could. "listen to me." during the following silence they could just hear the faint sound of the child wildly shrieking in the dark vault in a panic of terror. "my precious darling!" wailed the mother. "she will die of fright! open the door! oh, break it open! can't you men do something?" "there isn't a man nearer than little rock who can open that door," said mr. adams, in a shaky voice. "my god! spencer, what shall we do? that child - she can't stand it long in there. there isn't enough air, and, besides, she'll go into convulsions from fright." agatha's mother, frantic now, beat the door of the vault with her hands. somebody wildly suggested dynamite. annabel turned to jimmy, her large eyes full of anguish, but not yet despairing. to a woman nothing seems quite impossible to the powers of the man she worships. "can't you do something, ralph - try, won't you?" he looked at her with a queer, soft smile on his lips and in his keen eyes. "annabel," he said, "give me that rose you are wearing, will you?" hardly believing that she heard him aright, she unpinned the bud from the bosom of her dress, and placed it in his hand. jimmy stuffed it into his vest-pocket, threw off his coat and pulled up his shirt-sleeves. with that act ralph d. spencer passed away and jimmy valentine took his place. "get away from the door, all of you," he commanded, shortly. he set his suit-case on the table, and opened it out flat. from that time on he seemed to be unconscious of the presence of anyone else. he laid out the shining, queer implements swiftly and orderly, whistling softly to himself as he always did when at work. in a deep silence and immovable, the others watched him as if under a spell. in a minute jimmy's pet drill was biting smoothly into the steel door. in ten minutes - breaking his own burglarious record - he threw back the bolts and opened the door. agatha, almost collapsed, but safe, was gathered into her mother's arms. jimmy valentine put on his coat, and walked outside the railings toward the front door. as he went he thought he heard a far-away voice that he once knew call "ralph!" but he never hesitated. at the door a big man stood somewhat in his way. "hello, ben!" said jimmy, still with his strange smile. "got around at last, have you? well, let's go. i don't know that it makes much difference, now." and then ben price acted rather strangely. "guess you're mistaken, mr. spencer," he said. "don't believe i recognize you. your buggy's waiting for you, ain't it?" and ben price turned and strolled down the street.

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Bengali

english for students the necklace the necklace is a classic story. let us enjoy reading this one. she was one of those pretty and charming girls born, as though fate had blundered over her, into a family of artisans. she had no marriage portion, no expectations, no means of getting known, understood, loved, and wedded by a man of wealth and distinction; and she let herself be married off to a little clerk in the ministry of education. her tastes were simple because she had never been able to afford any other, but she was as unhappy as though she had married beneath her; for women have no caste or class, their beauty, grace, and charm serving them for birth or family, their natural delicacy, their instinctive elegance, their nimbleness of wit, are their only mark of rank, and put the slum girl on a level with the highest lady in the land. she suffered endlessly, feeling herself born for every delicacy and luxury. she suffered from the poorness of her house, from its mean walls, worn chairs, and ugly curtains. all these things, of which other women of her class would not even have been aware, tormented and insulted her. the sight of the little breton girl who came to do the work in her little house aroused heart-broken regrets and hopeless dreams in her mind. she imagined silent antechambers, heavy with oriental tapestries, lit by torches in lofty bronze sockets, with two tall footmen in knee-breeches sleeping in large arm-chairs, overcome by the heavy warmth of the stove. she imagined vast saloons hung with antique silks, exquisite pieces of furniture supporting priceless ornaments, and small, charming, perfumed rooms, created just for little parties of intimate friends, men who were famous and sought after, whose homage roused every other woman's envious longings. when she sat down for dinner at the round table covered with a three-days-old cloth, opposite her husband, who took the cover off the soup-tureen, exclaiming delightedly: "aha! scotch broth! what could be better?" she imagined delicate meals, gleaming silver, tapestries peopling the walls with folk of a past age and strange birds in faery forests; she imagined delicate food served in marvellous dishes, murmured gallantries, listened to with an inscrutable smile as one trifled with the rosy flesh of trout or wings of asparagus chicken. she had no clothes, no jewels, nothing. and these were the only things she loved; she felt that she was made for them. she had longed so eagerly to charm, to be desired, to be wildly attractive and sought after. she had a rich friend, an old school friend whom she refused to visit, because she suffered so keenly when she returned home. she would weep whole days, with grief, regret, despair, and misery. * one evening her husband came home with an exultant air, holding a large envelope in his hand. "here's something for you," he said. swiftly she tore the paper and drew out a printed card on which were these words: "the minister of education and madame ramponneau request the pleasure of the company of monsieur and madame loisel at the ministry on the evening of monday, january the 18th." instead of being delighted, as her husband hoped, she flung the invitation petulantly across the table, murmuring: "what do you want me to do with this?" "why, darling, i thought you'd be pleased. you never go out, and this is a great occasion. i had tremendous trouble to get it. every one wants one; it's very select, and very few go to the clerks. you'll see all the really big people there." she looked at him out of furious eyes, and said impatiently: "and what do you suppose i am to wear at such an affair?" he had not thought about it; he stammered: "why, the dress you go to the theatre in. it looks very nice, to me . . ." he stopped, stupefied and utterly at a loss when he saw that his wife was beginning to cry. two large tears ran slowly down from the corners of her eyes towards the corners of her mouth. "what's the matter with you? what's the matter with you?" he faltered. but with a violent effort she overcame her grief and replied in a calm voice, wiping her wet cheeks: "nothing. only i haven't a dress and so i can't go to this party. give your invitation to some friend of yours whose wife will be turned out better than i shall." he was heart-broken. "look here, mathilde," he persisted. "what would be the cost of a suitable dress, which you could use on other occasions as well, something very simple?" she thought for several seconds, reckoning up prices and also wondering for how large a sum she could ask without bringing upon herself an immediate refusal and an exclamation of horror from the careful-minded clerk. at last she replied with some hesitation: "i don't know exactly, but i think i could do it on four hundred francs." he grew slightly pale, for this was exactly the amount he had been saving for a gun, intending to get a little shooting next summer on the plain of nanterre with some friends who went lark-shooting there on sundays. nevertheless he said: "very well. i'll give you four hundred francs. but try and get a really nice dress with the money." the day of the party drew near, and madame loisel seemed sad, uneasy and anxious. her dress was ready, however. one evening her husband said to her: "what's the matter with you? you've been very odd for the last three days." "i'm utterly miserable at not having any jewels, not a single stone, to wear," she replied. "i shall look absolutely no one. i would almost rather not go to the party." "wear flowers," he said. "they're very smart at this time of the year. for ten francs you could get two or three gorgeous roses." she was not convinced. "no . . . there's nothing so humiliating as looking poor in the middle of a lot of rich women." "how stupid you are!" exclaimed her husband. "go and see madame forestier and ask her to lend you some jewels. you know her quite well enough for that." she uttered a cry of delight. "that's true. i never thought of it." next day she went to see her friend and told her her trouble. madame forestier went to her dressing-table, took up a large box, brought it to madame loisel, opened it, and said: "choose, my dear." first she saw some bracelets, then a pearl necklace, then a venetian cross in gold and gems, of exquisite workmanship. she tried the effect of the jewels before the mirror, hesitating, unable to make up her mind to leave them, to give them up. she kept on asking: "haven't you anything else?" "yes. look for yourself. i don't know what you would like best." suddenly she discovered, in a black satin case, a superb diamond necklace; her heart began to beat covetously. her hands trembled as she lifted it. she fastened it round her neck, upon her high dress, and remained in ecstasy at sight of herself. then, with hesitation, she asked in anguish: "could you lend me this, just this alone?" "yes, of course." she flung herself on her friend's breast, embraced her frenziedly, and went away with her treasure. the day of the party arrived. madame loisel was a success. she was the prettiest woman present, elegant, graceful, smiling, and quite above herself with happiness. all the men stared at her, inquired her name, and asked to be introduced to her. all the under-secretaries of state were eager to waltz with her. the minister noticed her. she danced madly, ecstatically, drunk with pleasure, with no thought for anything, in the triumph of her beauty, in the pride of her success, in a cloud of happiness made up of this universal homage and admiration, of the desires she had aroused, of the completeness of a victory so dear to her feminine heart. she left about four o'clock in the morning. since midnight her husband had been dozing in a deserted little room, in company with three other men whose wives were having a good time. he threw over her shoulders the garments he had brought for them to go home in, modest everyday clothes, whose poverty clashed with the beauty of the ball-dress. she was conscious of this and was anxious to hurry away, so that she should not be noticed by the other women putting on their costly furs. loisel restrained her. "wait a little. you'll catch cold in the open. i'm going to fetch a cab." but she did not listen to him and rapidly descended the staircase. when they were out in the street they could not find a cab; they began to look for one, shouting at the drivers whom they saw passing in the distance. they walked down towards the seine, desperate and shivering. at last they found on the quay one of those old nightprowling carriages which are only to be seen in paris after dark, as though they were ashamed of their shabbiness in the daylight. it brought them to their door in the rue des martyrs, and sadly they walked up to their own apartment. it was the end, for her. as for him, he was thinking that he must be at the office at ten. she took off the garments in which she had wrapped her shoulders, so as to see herself in all her glory before the mirror. but suddenly she uttered a cry. the necklace was no longer round her neck! "what's the matter with you?" asked her husband, already half undressed. she turned towards him in the utmost distress. "i . . . i . . . i've no longer got madame forestier's necklace. . . ." he started with astonishment. "what! . . . impossible!" they searched in the folds of her dress, in the folds of the coat, in the pockets, everywhere. they could not find it. "are you sure that you still had it on when you came away from the ball?" he asked. "yes, i touched it in the hall at the ministry." "but if you had lost it in the street, we should have heard it fall." "yes. probably we should. did you take the number of the cab?" "no. you didn't notice it, did you?" "no." they stared at one another, dumbfounded. at last loisel put on his clothes again. "i'll go over all the ground we walked," he said, "and see if i can't find it." and he went out. she remained in her evening clothes, lacking strength to get into bed, huddled on a chair, without volition or power of thought. her husband returned about seven. he had found nothing. he went to the police station, to the newspapers, to offer a reward, to the cab companies, everywhere that a ray of hope impelled him. she waited all day long, in the same state of bewilderment at this fearful catastrophe. loisel came home at night, his face lined and pale; he had discovered nothing. "you must write to your friend," he said, "and tell her that you've broken the clasp of her necklace and are getting it mended. that will give us time to look about us." she wrote at his dictation. * by the end of a week they had lost all hope. loisel, who had aged five years, declared: "we must see about replacing the diamonds." next day they took the box which had held the necklace and went to the jewellers whose name was inside. he consulted his books. "it was not i who sold this necklace, madame; i must have merely supplied the clasp." then they went from jeweller to jeweller, searching for another necklace like the first, consulting their memories, both ill with remorse and anguish of mind. in a shop at the palais-royal they found a string of diamonds which seemed to them exactly like the one they were looking for. it was worth forty thousand francs. they were allowed to have it for thirty-six thousand. they begged the jeweller not to sell it for three days. and they arranged matters on the understanding that it would be taken back for thirty-four thousand francs, if the first one were found before the end of february. loisel possessed eighteen thousand francs left to him by his father. he intended to borrow the rest. he did borrow it, getting a thousand from one man, five hundred from another, five louis here, three louis there. he gave notes of hand, entered into ruinous agreements, did business with usurers and the whole tribe of money-lenders. he mortgaged the whole remaining years of his existence, risked his signature without even knowing if he could honour it, and, appalled at the agonising face of the future, at the black misery about to fall upon him, at the prospect of every possible physical privation and moral torture, he went to get the new necklace and put down upon the jeweller's counter thirty-six thousand francs. when madame loisel took back the necklace to madame forestier, the latter said to her in a chilly voice: "you ought to have brought it back sooner; i might have needed it." she did not, as her friend had feared, open the case. if she had noticed the substitution, what would she have thought? what would she have said? would she not have taken her for a thief? * madame loisel came to know the ghastly life of abject poverty. from the very first she played her part heroically. this fearful debt must be paid off. she would pay it. the servant was dismissed. they changed their flat; they took a garret under the roof. she came to know the heavy work of the house, the hateful duties of the kitchen. she washed the plates, wearing out her pink nails on the coarse pottery and the bottoms of pans. she washed the dirty linen, the shirts and dish-cloths, and hung them out to dry on a string; every morning she took the dustbin down into the street and carried up the water, stopping on each landing to get her breath. and, clad like a poor woman, she went to the fruiterer, to the grocer, to the butcher, a basket on her arm, haggling, insulted, fighting for every wretched halfpenny of her money. every month notes had to be paid off, others renewed, time gained. her husband worked in the evenings at putting straight a merchant's accounts, and often at night he did copying at twopence-halfpenny a page. and this life lasted ten years. at the end of ten years everything was paid off, everything, the usurer's charges and the accumulation of superimposed interest. madame loisel looked old now. she had become like all the other strong, hard, coarse women of poor households. her hair was badly done, her skirts were awry, her hands were red. she spoke in a shrill voice, and the water slopped all over the floor when she scrubbed it. but sometimes, when her husband was at the office, she sat down by the window and thought of that evening long ago, of the ball at which she had been so beautiful and so much admired. what would have happened if she had never lost those jewels. who knows? who knows? how strange life is, how fickle! how little is needed to ruin or to save! one sunday, as she had gone for a walk along the champs-elysees to freshen herself after the labours of the week, she caught sight suddenly of a woman who was taking a child out for a walk. it was madame forestier, still young, still beautiful, still attractive. madame loisel was conscious of some emotion. should she speak to her? yes, certainly. and now that she had paid, she would tell her all. why not? she went up to her. "good morning, jeanne." the other did not recognise her, and was surprised at being thus familiarly addressed by a poor woman. "but . . . madame . . ." she stammered. "i don't know . . . you must be making a mistake." "no . . . i am mathilde loisel." her friend uttered a cry. "oh! . . . my poor mathilde, how you have changed! . . ." "yes, i've had some hard times since i saw you last; and many sorrows . . . and all on your account." "on my account! . . . how was that?" "you remember the diamond necklace you lent me for the ball at the ministry?" "yes. well?" "well, i lost it." "how could you? why, you brought it back." "i brought you another one just like it. and for the last ten years we have been paying for it. you realise it wasn't easy for us; we had no money. . . . well, it's paid for at last, and i'm glad indeed." madame forestier had halted. "you say you bought a diamond necklace to replace mine?" "yes. you hadn't noticed it? they were very much alike." and she smiled in proud and innocent happiness. madame forestier, deeply moved, took her two hands. "oh, my poor mathilde! but mine was imitation. it was worth at the very most five hundred francs! . . . " author: guy de maupassant classics index sponsored content disha patani: no guy has come up and said they find me hot, no one flirts with me india today recommended by short stories index the necklace to home page share this page:  what’s this? facebook twitter enjoy this page? please pay it forward. here's how to ... report this ad sponsored content malaika arora in bikini goes swimming in austrian lake, arjun kapoor records videos. seen yet? india today recommended by report this ad follow these links! quick links confused words what is new? nursery rhymes beauties of english top menu follow us privacy policy © 2019 english-for-students.com. all rights reserved. back to top গল্পটি বাংলা ভাষায় অনুবাদ করে

Engels

english for students the necklace the necklace is a classic story. let us enjoy reading this one. she was one of those pretty and charming girls born, as though fate had blundered over her, into a family of artisans. she had no marriage portion, no expectations, no means of getting known, understood, loved, and wedded by a man of wealth and distinction; and she let herself be married off to a little clerk in the ministry of education. her tastes were simple because she had never been able to afford any other, but she was as unhappy as though she had married beneath her; for women have no caste or class, their beauty, grace, and charm serving them for birth or family, their natural delicacy, their instinctive elegance, their nimbleness of wit, are their only mark of rank, and put the slum girl on a level with the highest lady in the land. she suffered endlessly, feeling herself born for every delicacy and luxury. she suffered from the poorness of her house, from its mean walls, worn chairs, and ugly curtains. all these things, of which other women of her class would not even have been aware, tormented and insulted her. the sight of the little breton girl who came to do the work in her little house aroused heart-broken regrets and hopeless dreams in her mind. she imagined silent antechambers, heavy with oriental tapestries, lit by torches in lofty bronze sockets, with two tall footmen in knee-breeches sleeping in large arm-chairs, overcome by the heavy warmth of the stove. she imagined vast saloons hung with antique silks, exquisite pieces of furniture supporting priceless ornaments, and small, charming, perfumed rooms, created just for little parties of intimate friends, men who were famous and sought after, whose homage roused every other woman's envious longings. when she sat down for dinner at the round table covered with a three-days-old cloth, opposite her husband, who took the cover off the soup-tureen, exclaiming delightedly: "aha! scotch broth! what could be better?" she imagined delicate meals, gleaming silver, tapestries peopling the walls with folk of a past age and strange birds in faery forests; she imagined delicate food served in marvellous dishes, murmured gallantries, listened to with an inscrutable smile as one trifled with the rosy flesh of trout or wings of asparagus chicken. she had no clothes, no jewels, nothing. and these were the only things she loved; she felt that she was made for them. she had longed so eagerly to charm, to be desired, to be wildly attractive and sought after. she had a rich friend, an old school friend whom she refused to visit, because she suffered so keenly when she returned home. she would weep whole days, with grief, regret, despair, and misery. * one evening her husband came home with an exultant air, holding a large envelope in his hand. "here's something for you," he said. swiftly she tore the paper and drew out a printed card on which were these words: "the minister of education and madame ramponneau request the pleasure of the company of monsieur and madame loisel at the ministry on the evening of monday, january the 18th." instead of being delighted, as her husband hoped, she flung the invitation petulantly across the table, murmuring: "what do you want me to do with this?" "why, darling, i thought you'd be pleased. you never go out, and this is a great occasion. i had tremendous trouble to get it. every one wants one; it's very select, and very few go to the clerks. you'll see all the really big people there." she looked at him out of furious eyes, and said impatiently: "and what do you suppose i am to wear at such an affair?" he had not thought about it; he stammered: "why, the dress you go to the theatre in. it looks very nice, to me . . ." he stopped, stupefied and utterly at a loss when he saw that his wife was beginning to cry. two large tears ran slowly down from the corners of her eyes towards the corners of her mouth. "what's the matter with you? what's the matter with you?" he faltered. but with a violent effort she overcame her grief and replied in a calm voice, wiping her wet cheeks: "nothing. only i haven't a dress and so i can't go to this party. give your invitation to some friend of yours whose wife will be turned out better than i shall." he was heart-broken. "look here, mathilde," he persisted. "what would be the cost of a suitable dress, which you could use on other occasions as well, something very simple?" she thought for several seconds, reckoning up prices and also wondering for how large a sum she could ask without bringing upon herself an immediate refusal and an exclamation of horror from the careful-minded clerk. at last she replied with some hesitation: "i don't know exactly, but i think i could do it on four hundred francs." he grew slightly pale, for this was exactly the amount he had been saving for a gun, intending to get a little shooting next summer on the plain of nanterre with some friends who went lark-shooting there on sundays. nevertheless he said: "very well. i'll give you four hundred francs. but try and get a really nice dress with the money." the day of the party drew near, and madame loisel seemed sad, uneasy and anxious. her dress was ready, however. one evening her husband said to her: "what's the matter with you? you've been very odd for the last three days." "i'm utterly miserable at not having any jewels, not a single stone, to wear," she replied. "i shall look absolutely no one. i would almost rather not go to the party." "wear flowers," he said. "they're very smart at this time of the year. for ten francs you could get two or three gorgeous roses." she was not convinced. "no . . . there's nothing so humiliating as looking poor in the middle of a lot of rich women." "how stupid you are!" exclaimed her husband. "go and see madame forestier and ask her to lend you some jewels. you know her quite well enough for that." she uttered a cry of delight. "that's true. i never thought of it." next day she went to see her friend and told her her trouble. madame forestier went to her dressing-table, took up a large box, brought it to madame loisel, opened it, and said: "choose, my dear." first she saw some bracelets, then a pearl necklace, then a venetian cross in gold and gems, of exquisite workmanship. she tried the effect of the jewels before the mirror, hesitating, unable to make up her mind to leave them, to give them up. she kept on asking: "haven't you anything else?" "yes. look for yourself. i don't know what you would like best." suddenly she discovered, in a black satin case, a superb diamond necklace; her heart began to beat covetously. her hands trembled as she lifted it. she fastened it round her neck, upon her high dress, and remained in ecstasy at sight of herself. then, with hesitation, she asked in anguish: "could you lend me this, just this alone?" "yes, of course." she flung herself on her friend's breast, embraced her frenziedly, and went away with her treasure. the day of the party arrived. madame loisel was a success. she was the prettiest woman present, elegant, graceful, smiling, and quite above herself with happiness. all the men stared at her, inquired her name, and asked to be introduced to her. all the under-secretaries of state were eager to waltz with her. the minister noticed her. she danced madly, ecstatically, drunk with pleasure, with no thought for anything, in the triumph of her beauty, in the pride of her success, in a cloud of happiness made up of this universal homage and admiration, of the desires she had aroused, of the completeness of a victory so dear to her feminine heart. she left about four o'clock in the morning. since midnight her husband had been dozing in a deserted little room, in company with three other men whose wives were having a good time. he threw over her shoulders the garments he had brought for them to go home in, modest everyday clothes, whose poverty clashed with the beauty of the ball-dress. she was conscious of this and was anxious to hurry away, so that she should not be noticed by the other women putting on their costly furs. loisel restrained her. "wait a little. you'll catch cold in the open. i'm going to fetch a cab." but she did not listen to him and rapidly descended the staircase. when they were out in the street they could not find a cab; they began to look for one, shouting at the drivers whom they saw passing in the distance. they walked down towards the seine, desperate and shivering. at last they found on the quay one of those old nightprowling carriages which are only to be seen in paris after dark, as though they were ashamed of their shabbiness in the daylight. it brought them to their door in the rue des martyrs, and sadly they walked up to their own apartment. it was the end, for her. as for him, he was thinking that he must be at the office at ten. she took off the garments in which she had wrapped her shoulders, so as to see herself in all her glory before the mirror. but suddenly she uttered a cry. the necklace was no longer round her neck! "what's the matter with you?" asked her husband, already half undressed. she turned towards him in the utmost distress. "i . . . i . . . i've no longer got madame forestier's necklace. . . ." he started with astonishment. "what! . . . impossible!" they searched in the folds of her dress, in the folds of the coat, in the pockets, everywhere. they could not find it. "are you sure that you still had it on when you came away from the ball?" he asked. "yes, i touched it in the hall at the ministry." "but if you had lost it in the street, we should have heard it fall." "yes. probably we should. did you take the number of the cab?" "no. you didn't notice it, did you?" "no." they stared at one another, dumbfounded. at last loisel put on his clothes again. "i'll go over all the ground we walked," he said, "and see if i can't find it." and he went out. she remained in her evening clothes, lacking strength to get into bed, huddled on a chair, without volition or power of thought. her husband returned about seven. he had found nothing. he went to the police station, to the newspapers, to offer a reward, to the cab companies, everywhere that a ray of hope impelled him. she waited all day long, in the same state of bewilderment at this fearful catastrophe. loisel came home at night, his face lined and pale; he had discovered nothing. "you must write to your friend," he said, "and tell her that you've broken the clasp of her necklace and are getting it mended. that will give us time to look about us." she wrote at his dictation. * by the end of a week they had lost all hope. loisel, who had aged five years, declared: "we must see about replacing the diamonds." next day they took the box which had held the necklace and went to the jewellers whose name was inside. he consulted his books. "it was not i who sold this necklace, madame; i must have merely supplied the clasp." then they went from jeweller to jeweller, searching for another necklace like the first, consulting their memories, both ill with remorse and anguish of mind. in a shop at the palais-royal they found a string of diamonds which seemed to them exactly like the one they were looking for. it was worth forty thousand francs. they were allowed to have it for thirty-six thousand. they begged the jeweller not to sell it for three days. and they arranged matters on the understanding that it would be taken back for thirty-four thousand francs, if the first one were found before the end of february. loisel possessed eighteen thousand francs left to him by his father. he intended to borrow the rest. he did borrow it, getting a thousand from one man, five hundred from another, five louis here, three louis there. he gave notes of hand, entered into ruinous agreements, did business with usurers and the whole tribe of money-lenders. he mortgaged the whole remaining years of his existence, risked his signature without even knowing if he could honour it, and, appalled at the agonising face of the future, at the black misery about to fall upon him, at the prospect of every possible physical privation and moral torture, he went to get the new necklace and put down upon the jeweller's counter thirty-six thousand francs. when madame loisel took back the necklace to madame forestier, the latter said to her in a chilly voice: "you ought to have brought it back sooner; i might have needed it." she did not, as her friend had feared, open the case. if she had noticed the substitution, what would she have thought? what would she have said? would she not have taken her for a thief? * madame loisel came to know the ghastly life of abject poverty. from the very first she played her part heroically. this fearful debt must be paid off. she would pay it. the servant was dismissed. they changed their flat; they took a garret under the roof. she came to know the heavy work of the house, the hateful duties of the kitchen. she washed the plates, wearing out her pink nails on the coarse pottery and the bottoms of pans. she washed the dirty linen, the shirts and dish-cloths, and hung them out to dry on a string; every morning she took the dustbin down into the street and carried up the water, stopping on each landing to get her breath. and, clad like a poor woman, she went to the fruiterer, to the grocer, to the butcher, a basket on her arm, haggling, insulted, fighting for every wretched halfpenny of her money. every month notes had to be paid off, others renewed, time gained. her husband worked in the evenings at putting straight a merchant's accounts, and often at night he did copying at twopence-halfpenny a page. and this life lasted ten years. at the end of ten years everything was paid off, everything, the usurer's charges and the accumulation of superimposed interest. madame loisel looked old now. she had become like all the other strong, hard, coarse women of poor households. her hair was badly done, her skirts were awry, her hands were red. she spoke in a shrill voice, and the water slopped all over the floor when she scrubbed it. but sometimes, when her husband was at the office, she sat down by the window and thought of that evening long ago, of the ball at which she had been so beautiful and so much admired. what would have happened if she had never lost those jewels. who knows? who knows? how strange life is, how fickle! how little is needed to ruin or to save! one sunday, as she had gone for a walk along the champs-elysees to freshen herself after the labours of the week, she caught sight suddenly of a woman who was taking a child out for a walk. it was madame forestier, still young, still beautiful, still attractive. madame loisel was conscious of some emotion. should she speak to her? yes, certainly. and now that she had paid, she would tell her all. why not? she went up to her. "good morning, jeanne." the other did not recognise her, and was surprised at being thus familiarly addressed by a poor woman. "but . . . madame . . ." she stammered. "i don't know . . . you must be making a mistake." "no . . . i am mathilde loisel." her friend uttered a cry. "oh! . . . my poor mathilde, how you have changed! . . ." "yes, i've had some hard times since i saw you last; and many sorrows . . . and all on your account." "on my account! . . . how was that?" "you remember the diamond necklace you lent me for the ball at the ministry?" "yes. well?" "well, i lost it." "how could you? why, you brought it back." "i brought you another one just like it. and for the last ten years we have been paying for it. you realise it wasn't easy for us; we had no money. . . . well, it's paid for at last, and i'm glad indeed." madame forestier had halted. "you say you bought a diamond necklace to replace mine?" "yes. you hadn't noticed it? they were very much alike." and she smiled in proud and innocent happiness. madame forestier, deeply moved, took her two hands. "oh, my poor mathilde! but mine was imitation. it was worth at the very most five hundred francs! . . . " author: guy de maupassant classics index sponsored content disha patani: no guy has come up and said they find me hot, no one flirts with me india today recommended by short stories index the necklace to home page share this page:  what’s this? facebook twitter enjoy this page? please pay it forward. here's how to ... report this ad sponsored content malaika arora in bikini goes swimming in austrian lake, arjun kapoor records videos. seen yet? india today recommended by report this ad follow these links! quick links confused words what is new? nursery rhymes beauties of english top menu follow us privacy policy © 2019 english-for-students.com. all rights reserved. back to top

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Bengali

english for students the necklace the necklace is a classic story. let us enjoy reading this one. she was one of those pretty and charming girls born, as though fate had blundered over her, into a family of artisans. she had no marriage portion, no expectations, no means of getting known, understood, loved, and wedded by a man of wealth and distinction; and she let herself be married off to a little clerk in the ministry of education. her tastes were simple because she had never been able to afford any other, but she was as unhappy as though she had married beneath her; for women have no caste or class, their beauty, grace, and charm serving them for birth or family, their natural delicacy, their instinctive elegance, their nimbleness of wit, are their only mark of rank, and put the slum girl on a level with the highest lady in the land. she suffered endlessly, feeling herself born for every delicacy and luxury. she suffered from the poorness of her house, from its mean walls, worn chairs, and ugly curtains. all these things, of which other women of her class would not even have been aware, tormented and insulted her. the sight of the little breton girl who came to do the work in her little house aroused heart-broken regrets and hopeless dreams in her mind. she imagined silent antechambers, heavy with oriental tapestries, lit by torches in lofty bronze sockets, with two tall footmen in knee-breeches sleeping in large arm-chairs, overcome by the heavy warmth of the stove. she imagined vast saloons hung with antique silks, exquisite pieces of furniture supporting priceless ornaments, and small, charming, perfumed rooms, created just for little parties of intimate friends, men who were famous and sought after, whose homage roused every other woman's envious longings. when she sat down for dinner at the round table covered with a three-days-old cloth, opposite her husband, who took the cover off the soup-tureen, exclaiming delightedly: "aha! scotch broth! what could be better?" she imagined delicate meals, gleaming silver, tapestries peopling the walls with folk of a past age and strange birds in faery forests; she imagined delicate food served in marvellous dishes, murmured gallantries, listened to with an inscrutable smile as one trifled with the rosy flesh of trout or wings of asparagus chicken. she had no clothes, no jewels, nothing. and these were the only things she loved; she felt that she was made for them. she had longed so eagerly to charm, to be desired, to be wildly attractive and sought after. she had a rich friend, an old school friend whom she refused to visit, because she suffered so keenly when she returned home. she would weep whole days, with grief, regret, despair, and misery. * one evening her husband came home with an exultant air, holding a large envelope in his hand. "here's something for you," he said. swiftly she tore the paper and drew out a printed card on which were these words: "the minister of education and madame ramponneau request the pleasure of the company of monsieur and madame loisel at the ministry on the evening of monday, january the 18th." instead of being delighted, as her husband hoped, she flung the invitation petulantly across the table, murmuring: "what do you want me to do with this?" "why, darling, i thought you'd be pleased. you never go out, and this is a great occasion. i had tremendous trouble to get it. every one wants one; it's very select, and very few go to the clerks. you'll see all the really big people there." she looked at him out of furious eyes, and said impatiently: "and what do you suppose i am to wear at such an affair?" he had not thought about it; he stammered: "why, the dress you go to the theatre in. it looks very nice, to me . . ." he stopped, stupefied and utterly at a loss when he saw that his wife was beginning to cry. two large tears ran slowly down from the corners of her eyes towards the corners of her mouth. "what's the matter with you? what's the matter with you?" he faltered. but with a violent effort she overcame her grief and replied in a calm voice, wiping her wet cheeks: "nothing. only i haven't a dress and so i can't go to this party. give your invitation to some friend of yours whose wife will be turned out better than i shall." he was heart-broken. "look here, mathilde," he persisted. "what would be the cost of a suitable dress, which you could use on other occasions as well, something very simple?" she thought for several seconds, reckoning up prices and also wondering for how large a sum she could ask without bringing upon herself an immediate refusal and an exclamation of horror from the careful-minded clerk. at last she replied with some hesitation: "i don't know exactly, but i think i could do it on four hundred francs." he grew slightly pale, for this was exactly the amount he had been saving for a gun, intending to get a little shooting next summer on the plain of nanterre with some friends who went lark-shooting there on sundays. nevertheless he said: "very well. i'll give you four hundred francs. but try and get a really nice dress with the money." the day of the party drew near, and madame loisel seemed sad, uneasy and anxious. her dress was ready, however. one evening her husband said to her: "what's the matter with you? you've been very odd for the last three days." "i'm utterly miserable at not having any jewels, not a single stone, to wear," she replied. "i shall look absolutely no one. i would almost rather not go to the party." "wear flowers," he said. "they're very smart at this time of the year. for ten francs you could get two or three gorgeous roses." she was not convinced. "no . . . there's nothing so humiliating as looking poor in the middle of a lot of rich women." "how stupid you are!" exclaimed her husband. "go and see madame forestier and ask her to lend you some jewels. you know her quite well enough for that." she uttered a cry of delight. "that's true. i never thought of it." next day she went to see her friend and told her her trouble. madame forestier went to her dressing-table, took up a large box, brought it to madame loisel, opened it, and said: "choose, my dear." first she saw some bracelets, then a pearl necklace, then a venetian cross in gold and gems, of exquisite workmanship. she tried the effect of the jewels before the mirror, hesitating, unable to make up her mind to leave them, to give them up. she kept on asking: "haven't you anything else?" "yes. look for yourself. i don't know what you would like best." suddenly she discovered, in a black satin case, a superb diamond necklace; her heart began to beat covetously. her hands trembled as she lifted it. she fastened it round her neck, upon her high dress, and remained in ecstasy at sight of herself. then, with hesitation, she asked in anguish: "could you lend me this, just this alone?" "yes, of course." she flung herself on her friend's breast, embraced her frenziedly, and went away with her treasure. the day of the party arrived. madame loisel was a success. she was the prettiest woman present, elegant, graceful, smiling, and quite above herself with happiness. all the men stared at her, inquired her name, and asked to be introduced to her. all the under-secretaries of state were eager to waltz with her. the minister noticed her. she danced madly, ecstatically, drunk with pleasure, with no thought for anything, in the triumph of her beauty, in the pride of her success, in a cloud of happiness made up of this universal homage and admiration, of the desires she had aroused, of the completeness of a victory so dear to her feminine heart. she left about four o'clock in the morning. since midnight her husband had been dozing in a deserted little room, in company with three other men whose wives were having a good time. he threw over her shoulders the garments he had brought for them to go home in, modest everyday clothes, whose poverty clashed with the beauty of the ball-dress. she was conscious of this and was anxious to hurry away, so that she should not be noticed by the other women putting on their costly furs. loisel restrained her. "wait a little. you'll catch cold in the open. i'm going to fetch a cab." but she did not listen to him and rapidly descended the staircase. when they were out in the street they could not find a cab; they began to look for one, shouting at the drivers whom they saw passing in the distance. they walked down towards the seine, desperate and shivering. at last they found on the quay one of those old nightprowling carriages which are only to be seen in paris after dark, as though they were ashamed of their shabbiness in the daylight. it brought them to their door in the rue des martyrs, and sadly they walked up to their own apartment. it was the end, for her. as for him, he was thinking that he must be at the office at ten. she took off the garments in which she had wrapped her shoulders, so as to see herself in all her glory before the mirror. but suddenly she uttered a cry. the necklace was no longer round her neck! "what's the matter with you?" asked her husband, already half undressed. she turned towards him in the utmost distress. "i . . . i . . . i've no longer got madame forestier's necklace. . . ." he started with astonishment. "what! . . . impossible!" they searched in the folds of her dress, in the folds of the coat, in the pockets, everywhere. they could not find it. "are you sure that you still had it on when you came away from the ball?" he asked. "yes, i touched it in the hall at the ministry." "but if you had lost it in the street, we should have heard it fall." "yes. probably we should. did you take the number of the cab?" "no. you didn't notice it, did you?" "no." they stared at one another, dumbfounded. at last loisel put on his clothes again. "i'll go over all the ground we walked," he said, "and see if i can't find it." and he went out. she remained in her evening clothes, lacking strength to get into bed, huddled on a chair, without volition or power of thought. her husband returned about seven. he had found nothing. he went to the police station, to the newspapers, to offer a reward, to the cab companies, everywhere that a ray of hope impelled him. she waited all day long, in the same state of bewilderment at this fearful catastrophe. loisel came home at night, his face lined and pale; he had discovered nothing. "you must write to your friend," he said, "and tell her that you've broken the clasp of her necklace and are getting it mended. that will give us time to look about us." she wrote at his dictation. * by the end of a week they had lost all hope. loisel, who had aged five years, declared: "we must see about replacing the diamonds." next day they took the box which had held the necklace and went to the jewellers whose name was inside. he consulted his books. "it was not i who sold this necklace, madame; i must have merely supplied the clasp." then they went from jeweller to jeweller, searching for another necklace like the first, consulting their memories, both ill with remorse and anguish of mind. in a shop at the palais-royal they found a string of diamonds which seemed to them exactly like the one they were looking for. it was worth forty thousand francs. they were allowed to have it for thirty-six thousand. they begged the jeweller not to sell it for three days. and they arranged matters on the understanding that it would be taken back for thirty-four thousand francs, if the first one were found before the end of february. loisel possessed eighteen thousand francs left to him by his father. he intended to borrow the rest. he did borrow it, getting a thousand from one man, five hundred from another, five louis here, three louis there. he gave notes of hand, entered into ruinous agreements, did business with usurers and the whole tribe of money-lenders. he mortgaged the whole remaining years of his existence, risked his signature without even knowing if he could honour it, and, appalled at the agonising face of the future, at the black misery about to fall upon him, at the prospect of every possible physical privation and moral torture, he went to get the new necklace and put down upon the jeweller's counter thirty-six thousand francs. when madame loisel took back the necklace to madame forestier, the latter said to her in a chilly voice: "you ought to have brought it back sooner; i might have needed it." she did not, as her friend had feared, open the case. if she had noticed the substitution, what would she have thought? what would she have said? would she not have taken her for a thief? * madame loisel came to know the ghastly life of abject poverty. from the very first she played her part heroically. this fearful debt must be paid off. she would pay it. the servant was dismissed. they changed their flat; they took a garret under the roof. she came to know the heavy work of the house, the hateful duties of the kitchen. she washed the plates, wearing out her pink nails on the coarse pottery and the bottoms of pans. she washed the dirty linen, the shirts and dish-cloths, and hung them out to dry on a string; every morning she took the dustbin down into the street and carried up the water, stopping on each landing to get her breath. and, clad like a poor woman, she went to the fruiterer, to the grocer, to the butcher, a basket on her arm, haggling, insulted, fighting for every wretched halfpenny of her money. every month notes had to be paid off, others renewed, time gained. her husband worked in the evenings at putting straight a merchant's accounts, and often at night he did copying at twopence-halfpenny a page. and this life lasted ten years. at the end of ten years everything was paid off, everything, the usurer's charges and the accumulation of superimposed interest. madame loisel looked old now. she had become like all the other strong, hard, coarse women of poor households. her hair was badly done, her skirts were awry, her hands were red. she spoke in a shrill voice, and the water slopped all over the floor when she scrubbed it. but sometimes, when her husband was at the office, she sat down by the window and thought of that evening long ago, of the ball at which she had been so beautiful and so much admired. what would have happened if she had never lost those jewels. who knows? who knows? how strange life is, how fickle! how little is needed to ruin or to save! one sunday, as she had gone for a walk along the champs-elysees to freshen herself after the labours of the week, she caught sight suddenly of a woman who was taking a child out for a walk. it was madame forestier, still young, still beautiful, still attractive. madame loisel was conscious of some emotion. should she speak to her? yes, certainly. and now that she had paid, she would tell her all. why not? she went up to her. "good morning, jeanne." the other did not recognise her, and was surprised at being thus familiarly addressed by a poor woman. "but . . . madame . . ." she stammered. "i don't know . . . you must be making a mistake." "no . . . i am mathilde loisel." her friend uttered a cry. "oh! . . . my poor mathilde, how you have changed! . . ." "yes, i've had some hard times since i saw you last; and many sorrows . . . and all on your account." "on my account! . . . how was that?" "you remember the diamond necklace you lent me for the ball at the ministry?" "yes. well?" "well, i lost it." "how could you? why, you brought it back." "i brought you another one just like it. and for the last ten years we have been paying for it. you realise it wasn't easy for us; we had no money. . . . well, it's paid for at last, and i'm glad indeed." madame forestier had halted. "you say you bought a diamond necklace to replace mine?" "yes. you hadn't noticed it? they were very much alike." and she smiled in proud and innocent happiness. madame forestier, deeply moved, took her two hands. "oh, my poor mathilde! but mine was imitation. it was worth at the very most five hundred francs! . . . " author: guy de maupassant classics index sponsored content disha patani: no guy has come up and said they find me hot, no one flirts with me india today recommended by short stories index the necklace to home page share this page:  what’s this? facebook twitter enjoy this page? please pay it forward. here's how to ... report this ad sponsored content malaika arora in bikini goes swimming in austrian lake, arjun kapoor records videos. seen yet? india today recommended by report this ad follow these links! quick links confused words what is new? nursery rhymes beauties of english top menu follow us privacy policy © 2019 english-for-students.com. all rights reserved. back to top english for students the necklace the necklace is a classic story. let us enjoy reading this one. she was one of those pretty and charming girls born, as though fate had blundered over her, into a family of artisans. she had no marriage portion, no expectations, no means of getting known, understood, loved, and wedded by a man of wealth and distinction; and she let herself be married off to a little clerk in the ministry of education. her tastes were simple because she had never been able to afford any other, but she was as unhappy as though she had married beneath her; for women have no caste or class, their beauty, grace, and charm serving them for birth or family, their natural delicacy, their instinctive elegance, their nimbleness of wit, are their only mark of rank, and put the slum girl on a level with the highest lady in the land. she suffered endlessly, feeling herself born for every delicacy and luxury. she suffered from the poorness of her house, from its mean walls, worn chairs, and ugly curtains. all these things, of which other women of her class would not even have been aware, tormented and insulted her. the sight of the little breton girl who came to do the work in her little house aroused heart-broken regrets and hopeless dreams in her mind. she imagined silent antechambers, heavy with oriental tapestries, lit by torches in lofty bronze sockets, with two tall footmen in knee-breeches sleeping in large arm-chairs, overcome by the heavy warmth of the stove. she imagined vast saloons hung with antique silks, exquisite pieces of furniture supporting priceless ornaments, and small, charming, perfumed rooms, created just for little parties of intimate friends, men who were famous and sought after, whose homage roused every other woman's envious longings. when she sat down for dinner at the round table covered with a three-days-old cloth, opposite her husband, who took the cover off the soup-tureen, exclaiming delightedly: "aha! scotch broth! what could be better?" she imagined delicate meals, gleaming silver, tapestries peopling the walls with folk of a past age and strange birds in faery forests; she imagined delicate food served in marvellous dishes, murmured gallantries, listened to with an inscrutable smile as one trifled with the rosy flesh of trout or wings of asparagus chicken. she had no clothes, no jewels, nothing. and these were the only things she loved; she felt that she was made for them. she had longed so eagerly to charm, to be desired, to be wildly attractive and sought after. she had a rich friend, an old school friend whom she refused to visit, because she suffered so keenly when she returned home. she would weep whole days, with grief, regret, despair, and misery. * one evening her husband came home with an exultant air, holding a large envelope in his hand. "here's something for you," he said. swiftly she tore the paper and drew out a printed card on which were these words: "the minister of education and madame ramponneau request the pleasure of the company of monsieur and madame loisel at the ministry on the evening of monday, january the 18th." instead of being delighted, as her husband hoped, she flung the invitation petulantly across

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english for students the necklace the necklace is a classic story. let us enjoy reading this one. she was one of those pretty and charming girls born, as though fate had blundered over her, into a family of artisans. she had no marriage portion, no expectations, no means of getting known, understood, loved, and wedded by a man of wealth and distinction; and she let herself be married off to a little clerk in the ministry of education. her tastes were simple because she had never been able to afford any other, but she was as unhappy as though she had married beneath her; for women have no caste or class, their beauty, grace, and charm serving them for birth or family, their natural delicacy, their instinctive elegance, their nimbleness of wit, are their only mark of rank, and put the slum girl on a level with the highest lady in the land. she suffered endlessly, feeling herself born for every delicacy and luxury. she suffered from the poorness of her house, from its mean walls, worn chairs, and ugly curtains. all these things, of which other women of her class would not even have been aware, tormented and insulted her. the sight of the little breton girl who came to do the work in her little house aroused heart-broken regrets and hopeless dreams in her mind. she imagined silent antechambers, heavy with oriental tapestries, lit by torches in lofty bronze sockets, with two tall footmen in knee-breeches sleeping in large arm-chairs, overcome by the heavy warmth of the stove. she imagined vast saloons hung with antique silks, exquisite pieces of furniture supporting priceless ornaments, and small, charming, perfumed rooms, created just for little parties of intimate friends, men who were famous and sought after, whose homage roused every other woman's envious longings. when she sat down for dinner at the round table covered with a three-days-old cloth, opposite her husband, who took the cover off the soup-tureen, exclaiming delightedly: "aha! scotch broth! what could be better?" she imagined delicate meals, gleaming silver, tapestries peopling the walls with folk of a past age and strange birds in faery forests; she imagined delicate food served in marvellous dishes, murmured gallantries, listened to with an inscrutable smile as one trifled with the rosy flesh of trout or wings of asparagus chicken. she had no clothes, no jewels, nothing. and these were the only things she loved; she felt that she was made for them. she had longed so eagerly to charm, to be desired, to be wildly attractive and sought after. she had a rich friend, an old school friend whom she refused to visit, because she suffered so keenly when she returned home. she would weep whole days, with grief, regret, despair, and misery. * one evening her husband came home with an exultant air, holding a large envelope in his hand. "here's something for you," he said. swiftly she tore the paper and drew out a printed card on which were these words: "the minister of education and madame ramponneau request the pleasure of the company of monsieur and madame loisel at the ministry on the evening of monday, january the 18th." instead of being delighted, as her husband hoped, she flung the invitation petulantly across the table, murmuring: "what do you want me to do with this?" "why, darling, i thought you'd be pleased. you never go out, and this is a great occasion. i had tremendous trouble to get it. every one wants one; it's very select, and very few go to the clerks. you'll see all the really big people there." she looked at him out of furious eyes, and said impatiently: "and what do you suppose i am to wear at such an affair?" he had not thought about it; he stammered: "why, the dress you go to the theatre in. it looks very nice, to me . . ." he stopped, stupefied and utterly at a loss when he saw that his wife was beginning to cry. two large tears ran slowly down from the corners of her eyes towards the corners of her mouth. "what's the matter with you? what's the matter with you?" he faltered. but with a violent effort she overcame her grief and replied in a calm voice, wiping her wet cheeks: "nothing. only i haven't a dress and so i can't go to this party. give your invitation to some friend of yours whose wife will be turned out better than i shall." he was heart-broken. "look here, mathilde," he persisted. "what would be the cost of a suitable dress, which you could use on other occasions as well, something very simple?" she thought for several seconds, reckoning up prices and also wondering for how large a sum she could ask without bringing upon herself an immediate refusal and an exclamation of horror from the careful-minded clerk. at last she replied with some hesitation: "i don't know exactly, but i think i could do it on four hundred francs." he grew slightly pale, for this was exactly the amount he had been saving for a gun, intending to get a little shooting next summer on the plain of nanterre with some friends who went lark-shooting there on sundays. nevertheless he said: "very well. i'll give you four hundred francs. but try and get a really nice dress with the money." the day of the party drew near, and madame loisel seemed sad, uneasy and anxious. her dress was ready, however. one evening her husband said to her: "what's the matter with you? you've been very odd for the last three days." "i'm utterly miserable at not having any jewels, not a single stone, to wear," she replied. "i shall look absolutely no one. i would almost rather not go to the party." "wear flowers," he said. "they're very smart at this time of the year. for ten francs you could get two or three gorgeous roses." she was not convinced. "no . . . there's nothing so humiliating as looking poor in the middle of a lot of rich women." "how stupid you are!" exclaimed her husband. "go and see madame forestier and ask her to lend you some jewels. you know her quite well enough for that." she uttered a cry of delight. "that's true. i never thought of it." next day she went to see her friend and told her her trouble. madame forestier went to her dressing-table, took up a large box, brought it to madame loisel, opened it, and said: "choose, my dear." first she saw some bracelets, then a pearl necklace, then a venetian cross in gold and gems, of exquisite workmanship. she tried the effect of the jewels before the mirror, hesitating, unable to make up her mind to leave them, to give them up. she kept on asking: "haven't you anything else?" "yes. look for yourself. i don't know what you would like best." suddenly she discovered, in a black satin case, a superb diamond necklace; her heart began to beat covetously. her hands trembled as she lifted it. she fastened it round her neck, upon her high dress, and remained in ecstasy at sight of herself. then, with hesitation, she asked in anguish: "could you lend me this, just this alone?" "yes, of course." she flung herself on her friend's breast, embraced her frenziedly, and went away with her treasure. the day of the party arrived. madame loisel was a success. she was the prettiest woman present, elegant, graceful, smiling, and quite above herself with happiness. all the men stared at her, inquired her name, and asked to be introduced to her. all the under-secretaries of state were eager to waltz with her. the minister noticed her. she danced madly, ecstatically, drunk with pleasure, with no thought for anything, in the triumph of her beauty, in the pride of her success, in a cloud of happiness made up of this universal homage and admiration, of the desires she had aroused, of the completeness of a victory so dear to her feminine heart. she left about four o'clock in the morning. since midnight her husband had been dozing in a deserted little room, in company with three other men whose wives were having a good time. he threw over her shoulders the garments he had brought for them to go home in, modest everyday clothes, whose poverty clashed with the beauty of the ball-dress. she was conscious of this and was anxious to hurry away, so that she should not be noticed by the other women putting on their costly furs. loisel restrained her. "wait a little. you'll catch cold in the open. i'm going to fetch a cab." but she did not listen to him and rapidly descended the staircase. when they were out in the street they could not find a cab; they began to look for one, shouting at the drivers whom they saw passing in the distance. they walked down towards the seine, desperate and shivering. at last they found on the quay one of those old nightprowling carriages which are only to be seen in paris after dark, as though they were ashamed of their shabbiness in the daylight. it brought them to their door in the rue des martyrs, and sadly they walked up to their own apartment. it was the end, for her. as for him, he was thinking that he must be at the office at ten. she took off the garments in which she had wrapped her shoulders, so as to see herself in all her glory before the mirror. but suddenly she uttered a cry. the necklace was no longer round her neck! "what's the matter with you?" asked her husband, already half undressed. she turned towards him in the utmost distress. "i . . . i . . . i've no longer got madame forestier's necklace. . . ." he started with astonishment. "what! . . . impossible!" they searched in the folds of her dress, in the folds of the coat, in the pockets, everywhere. they could not find it. "are you sure that you still had it on when you came away from the ball?" he asked. "yes, i touched it in the hall at the ministry." "but if you had lost it in the street, we should have heard it fall." "yes. probably we should. did you take the number of the cab?" "no. you didn't notice it, did you?" "no." they stared at one another, dumbfounded. at last loisel put on his clothes again. "i'll go over all the ground we walked," he said, "and see if i can't find it." and he went out. she remained in her evening clothes, lacking strength to get into bed, huddled on a chair, without volition or power of thought. her husband returned about seven. he had found nothing. he went to the police station, to the newspapers, to offer a reward, to the cab companies, everywhere that a ray of hope impelled him. she waited all day long, in the same state of bewilderment at this fearful catastrophe. loisel came home at night, his face lined and pale; he had discovered nothing. "you must write to your friend," he said, "and tell her that you've broken the clasp of her necklace and are getting it mended. that will give us time to look about us." she wrote at his dictation. * by the end of a week they had lost all hope. loisel, who had aged five years, declared: "we must see about replacing the diamonds." next day they took the box which had held the necklace and went to the jewellers whose name was inside. he consulted his books. "it was not i who sold this necklace, madame; i must have merely supplied the clasp." then they went from jeweller to jeweller, searching for another necklace like the first, consulting their memories, both ill with remorse and anguish of mind. in a shop at the palais-royal they found a string of diamonds which seemed to them exactly like the one they were looking for. it was worth forty thousand francs. they were allowed to have it for thirty-six thousand. they begged the jeweller not to sell it for three days. and they arranged matters on the understanding that it would be taken back for thirty-four thousand francs, if the first one were found before the end of february. loisel possessed eighteen thousand francs left to him by his father. he intended to borrow the rest. he did borrow it, getting a thousand from one man, five hundred from another, five louis here, three louis there. he gave notes of hand, entered into ruinous agreements, did business with usurers and the whole tribe of money-lenders. he mortgaged the whole remaining years of his existence, risked his signature without even knowing if he could honour it, and, appalled at the agonising face of the future, at the black misery about to fall upon him, at the prospect of every possible physical privation and moral torture, he went to get the new necklace and put down upon the jeweller's counter thirty-six thousand francs. when madame loisel took back the necklace to madame forestier, the latter said to her in a chilly voice: "you ought to have brought it back sooner; i might have needed it." she did not, as her friend had feared, open the case. if she had noticed the substitution, what would she have thought? what would she have said? would she not have taken her for a thief? * madame loisel came to know the ghastly life of abject poverty. from the very first she played her part heroically. this fearful debt must be paid off. she would pay it. the servant was dismissed. they changed their flat; they took a garret under the roof. she came to know the heavy work of the house, the hateful duties of the kitchen. she washed the plates, wearing out her pink nails on the coarse pottery and the bottoms of pans. she washed the dirty linen, the shirts and dish-cloths, and hung them out to dry on a string; every morning she took the dustbin down into the street and carried up the water, stopping on each landing to get her breath. and, clad like a poor woman, she went to the fruiterer, to the grocer, to the butcher, a basket on her arm, haggling, insulted, fighting for every wretched halfpenny of her money. every month notes had to be paid off, others renewed, time gained. her husband worked in the evenings at putting straight a merchant's accounts, and often at night he did copying at twopence-halfpenny a page. and this life lasted ten years. at the end of ten years everything was paid off, everything, the usurer's charges and the accumulation of superimposed interest. madame loisel looked old now. she had become like all the other strong, hard, coarse women of poor households. her hair was badly done, her skirts were awry, her hands were red. she spoke in a shrill voice, and the water slopped all over the floor when she scrubbed it. but sometimes, when her husband was at the office, she sat down by the window and thought of that evening long ago, of the ball at which she had been so beautiful and so much admired. what would have happened if she had never lost those jewels. who knows? who knows? how strange life is, how fickle! how little is needed to ruin or to save! one sunday, as she had gone for a walk along the champs-elysees to freshen herself after the labours of the week, she caught sight suddenly of a woman who was taking a child out for a walk. it was madame forestier, still young, still beautiful, still attractive. madame loisel was conscious of some emotion. should she speak to her? yes, certainly. and now that she had paid, she would tell her all. why not? she went up to her. "good morning, jeanne." the other did not recognise her, and was surprised at being thus familiarly addressed by a poor woman. "but . . . madame . . ." she stammered. "i don't know . . . you must be making a mistake." "no . . . i am mathilde loisel." her friend uttered a cry. "oh! . . . my poor mathilde, how you have changed! . . ." "yes, i've had some hard times since i saw you last; and many sorrows . . . and all on your account." "on my account! . . . how was that?" "you remember the diamond necklace you lent me for the ball at the ministry?" "yes. well?" "well, i lost it." "how could you? why, you brought it back." "i brought you another one just like it. and for the last ten years we have been paying for it. you realise it wasn't easy for us; we had no money. . . . well, it's paid for at last, and i'm glad indeed." madame forestier had halted. "you say you bought a diamond necklace to replace mine?" "yes. you hadn't noticed it? they were very much alike." and she smiled in proud and innocent happiness. madame forestier, deeply moved, took her two hands. "oh, my poor mathilde! but mine was imitation. it was worth at the very most five hundred francs! . . . " author: guy de maupassant classics index sponsored content disha patani: no guy has come up and said they find me hot, no one flirts with me india today recommended by short stories index the necklace to home page share this page:  what’s this? facebook twitter enjoy this page? please pay it forward. here's how to ... report this ad sponsored content malaika arora in bikini goes swimming in austrian lake, arjun kapoor records videos. seen yet? india today recommended by report this ad follow these links! quick links confused words what is new? nursery rhymes beauties of english top menu follow us privacy policy © 2019 english-for-students.com. all rights reserved. back to top

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