Je was op zoek naar: i had tha compartment to myself up to rohana (Engels - Bengali)

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Engels

i had the train compartment to myself up to rohana

Bengali

Laatste Update: 2020-10-05
Gebruiksfrequentie: 1
Kwaliteit:

Referentie: Anoniem

Engels

i had the train compartment to myself up to rohana,then a girl got in.

Bengali

আমার কাছে রোহানা পর্যন্ত ট্রেনের বগি ছিল, তখন একটি মেয়ে .ুকল।

Laatste Update: 2020-04-15
Gebruiksfrequentie: 1
Kwaliteit:

Referentie: Anoniem

Engels

with so much gv-goodness in one place, i had to ask them what they were up to.

Bengali

একসাথে এতজন গ্লোবাল ভয়েসেস মেধা এক জায়গায় হওয়ায় আমাকে জিজ্ঞেস করতে হয়েছিল তারা কি করেছেন।

Laatste Update: 2016-02-24
Gebruiksfrequentie: 1
Kwaliteit:

Referentie: Anoniem

Engels

attempt at seeing the funny side of today's suicide attempt, as i had expected, had upset some people which i truly regret. i hope my apology has been accepted and will keep it to myself in the future.

Bengali

সম্ভবত আমাদের একবারের জন্য হলে সময় বের করে আমাদের ভালোবাসার মানুষদের বলা উচিত যে আমরা স্রষ্টার কতটা অনুগ্রহ লাভ করেছি, যার ফলে আমাদের চারপাশে এত সব চমৎকার মানুষ রয়েছে।

Laatste Update: 2016-02-24
Gebruiksfrequentie: 1
Kwaliteit:

Referentie: Anoniem

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

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

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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

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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t h e g i f t o f t h e m a g i p t h e g i f t o f t h e m a g i one dollar and eighty-seven cents. that was all. she had put it aside, one cent and then another and then another, in her careful buying of meat and other food. della counted it three times. one dollar and eighty-seven cents. and the next day would be christmas. there was nothing to do but fall on the bed and cry. so della did it. while the lady of the home is slowly growing quieter, we can look at the home. furnished rooms at a cost of $8 a week. there is little more to say about it. in the hall below was a letter-box too small to hold a letter. there was an electric bell, but it could not make a sound. also there was a name beside the door: “mr. james dillingham young.” 1 o . h e n r y when the name was placed there, mr. james dillingham young was being paid $30 a week. now, when he was being paid only $20 a week, the name seemed too long and important. it should perhaps have been “mr. james d. young.” but when mr. james dillingham young entered the furnished rooms, his name became very short indeed. mrs. james dillingham young put her arms warmly about him and called him “jim.” you have already met her. she is della. della finished her crying and cleaned the marks of it from her face. she stood by the window and looked out with no interest. tomorrow would be christmas day, and she had only $1.87 with which to buy jim a gift. she had put aside as much as she could for months, with this result. twenty dollars a week is not much. everything had cost more than she had expected. it always happened like that. only $ 1.87 to buy a gift for jim. her jim. she had had many happy hours planning something nice for him. something nearly good enough. something almost worth the honor of belonging to jim. there was a looking-glass between the windows of the room. perhaps you have seen the kind of looking-glass that is placed in $8 furnished rooms. it was very narrow. a person could see only a little of himself at a time. however, if he was very thin and moved very quickly, he might be able to get a good view of himself. della, being quite thin, had mastered this art. suddenly she turned from the window and stood before the glass. her eyes were shining brightly, but her face had lost its color. quickly she pulled down her hair and let it fall to its complete length. the james dillingham youngs were very proud of two things which they owned. one thing was jim’s gold watch. it had once belonged to his father. and, long ago, it had belonged to his father’s father. the other thing was della’s hair. if a queen had lived in the rooms near theirs, della would have washed and dried her hair where the queen could see it. della knew her hair was more beautiful than any queen’s jewels and gifts. if a king had lived in the same house, with all his riches, jim would have looked at his watch every time they met. jim knew that no king 2 t h e g i f t o f t h e m a g i had anything so valuable. so now della’s beautiful hair fell about her, shining like a falling stream of brown water. it reached below her knee. it almost made itself into a dress for her. and then she put it up on her head again, nervously and quickly. once she stopped for a moment and stood still while a tear or two ran down her face. she put on her old brown coat. she put on her old brown hat. with the bright light still in her eyes, she moved quickly out the door and down to the street. where she stopped, the sign said: “mrs. sofronie. hair articles of all kinds.” up to the second floor della ran, and stopped to get her breath. mrs. sofronie, large, too white, cold-eyed, looked at her. “will you buy my hair?” asked della. “i buy hair,” said mrs. sofronie. “take your hat off and let me look at it.” down fell the brown waterfall. “twenty dollars,” said mrs. sofronie, lifting the hair to feel its weight. “give it to me quick,” said della. oh, and the next two hours seemed to fly. she was going from one shop to another, to find a gift for jim. she found it at last. it surely had been made for jim and no one else. there was no other like it in any of the shops, and she had looked in every shop in the city. it was a gold watch chain, very simply made. its value was in its rich and pure material. because it was so plain and simple, you knew that it was very valuable. all good things are like this. it was good enough for the watch. as soon as she saw it, she knew that jim must have it. it was like him. quietness and value—jim and the chain both had quietness and value. she paid twenty-one dollars for it. and she hurried home with the chain and eighty-seven cents. 3 o . h e n r y with that chain on his watch, jim could look at his watch and learn the time anywhere he might be. though the watch was so fine, it had never had a fine chain. he sometimes took it out and looked at it only when no one could see him do it. when della arrived home, her mind quieted a little. she began to think more reasonably. she started to try to cover the sad marks of what she had done. love and large-hearted giving, when added together, can leave deep marks. it is never easy to cover these marks, dear friends— never easy. within forty minutes her head looked a little better. with her short hair, she looked wonderfully like a schoolboy. she stood at the looking-glass for a long time. “if jim doesn’t kill me,” she said to herself, “before he looks at me a second time, he’ll say i look like a girl who sings and dances for money. but what could i do—oh! what could i do with a dollar and eightyseven cents?” at seven, jim’s dinner was ready for him. jim was never late. della held the watch chain in her hand and sat near the door where he always entered. then she heard his step in the hall and her face lost color for a moment. she often said little prayers quietly, about simple everyday things. and now she said: “please god, make him think i’m still pretty.” the door opened and jim stepped in. he looked very thin and he was not smiling. poor fellow, he was only twenty-two—and with a family to take care of! he needed a new coat and he had nothing to cover his cold hands. jim stopped inside the door. he was as quiet as a hunting dog when it is near a bird. his eyes looked strangely at della, and there was an expression in them that she could not understand. it filled her with fear. it was not anger, nor surprise, nor anything she had been ready for. he simply looked at her with that strange expression on his face. della went to him. “jim, dear,” she cried, “don’t look at me like that. i had my hair cut off and sold it. i couldn’t live through christmas without giving you a 4 t h e g i f t o f t h e m a g i gift. my hair will grow again. you won’t care, will you? my hair grows very fast. it’s christmas, jim. let’s be happy. you don’t know what a nice—what a beautiful nice gift i got for you.” “you’ve cut off your hair?” asked jim slowly. he seemed to labor to understand what had happened. he seemed not to feel sure he knew. “cut it off and sold it,” said della. “don’t you like me now? i’m me, jim. i’m the same without my hair.” jim looked around the room. “you say your hair is gone?” he said. “you don’t have to look for it,” said della. “it’s sold, i tell you— sold and gone, too. it’s the night before christmas, boy. be good to me, because i sold it for you. maybe the hairs of my head could be counted,” she said, “but no one could ever count my love for you. shall we eat dinner, jim?” jim put his arms around his della. for ten seconds let us look in another direction. eight dollars a week or a million dollars a year— how different are they? someone may give you an answer, but it will be wrong. the magi brought valuable gifts, but that was not among them. my meaning will be explained soon. from inside the coat, jim took something tied in paper. he threw it upon the table. “i want you to understand me, dell,” he said. “nothing like a haircut could make me love you any less. but if you’ll open that, you may know what i felt when i came in.” white fingers pulled off the paper. and then a cry of joy; and then a change to tears. for there lay the combs—the combs that della had seen in a shop window and loved for a long time. beautiful combs, with jewels, perfect for her beautiful hair. she had known they cost too much for her to buy them. she had looked at them without the least hope of owning them. and now they were hers, but her hair was gone. but she held them to her heart, and at last was able to look up and say: “my hair grows so fast, jim!” 5 o . h e n r y and then she jumped up and cried, “oh, oh!” jim had not yet seen his beautiful gift. she held it out to him in her open hand. the gold seemed to shine softly as if with her own warm and loving spirit. “isn’t it perfect, jim? i hunted all over town to find it. you’ll have to look at your watch a hundred times a day now. give me your watch. i want to see how they look together.” jim sat down and smiled. “della,” said he, “let’s put our christmas gifts away and keep them a while. they’re too nice to use now. i sold the watch to get the money to buy the combs. and now i think we should have our dinner.” the magi, as you know, were wise men—wonderfully wise men— who brought gifts to the newborn christ-child. they were the first to give christmas gifts. being wise, their gifts were doubtless wise ones. and here i have told you the story of two children who were not wise. each sold the most valuable thing he owned in order to buy a gift for the other. but let me speak a last word to the wise of these days: of all who give gifts, these two were the most wise. of all who give and receive gifts, such as they are the most wise. everywhere they are the wise ones. they are the magi. 6

Bengali

o dom do magi

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say : " i have no power over any good or harm to myself except as allah willeth . if i had knowledge of the unseen , i should have multiplied all good , and no evil should have touched me : i am but a warner , and a bringer of glad tidings to those who have faith . "

Bengali

আপনি বলে দিন , আমি আমার নিজের কল ্ যাণ সাধনের এবং অকল ্ যাণ সাধনের মালিক নই , কিন ্ তু যা আল ্ লাহ চান । আর আমি যদি গায়বের কথা জেনে নিতে পারতাম , তাহলে বহু মঙ ্ গল অর ্ জন করে নিতে পারতাম , ফলে আমার কোন অমঙ ্ গল কখনও হতে পারত না । আমি তো শুধুমাত ্ র একজন ভীতি প ্ রদর ্ শক ও সুসংবাদদাতা ঈমানদারদের জন ্ য ।

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say : " i have no power over any good or harm to myself except as allah willeth . if i had knowledge of the unseen , i should have multiplied all good , and no evil should have touched me : i am but a warner , and a bringer of glad tidings to those who have faith . "

Bengali

বলো -- ''আমার কোনো অধিকার নেই আমার নিজেরই কোনো লাভ বা ক্ষতি করবার -- আল্লাহ্ যা চান তা-ব্যতীত। আর যদি আমি অদৃশ্যের সম্যক্ জ্ঞান রাখতাম তবে কল্যাণের প্রাচুর্য বানিয়ে নিতাম, আর কোনো অনিষ্ট আমাকে স্পর্শ করতো না। আমি তো একজন সতর্ককারী বই নই, আর একজন সুসংবাদদাতা সেই লোকদের জন্য যারা ঈমান এনেছে।

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say ( o muhammad saw ) : " i possess no power of benefit or hurt to myself except as allah wills . if i had the knowledge of the ghaib ( unseen ) , i should have secured for myself an abundance of wealth , and no evil should have touched me .

Bengali

আপনি বলে দিন , আমি আমার নিজের কল ্ যাণ সাধনের এবং অকল ্ যাণ সাধনের মালিক নই , কিন ্ তু যা আল ্ লাহ চান । আর আমি যদি গায়বের কথা জেনে নিতে পারতাম , তাহলে বহু মঙ ্ গল অর ্ জন করে নিতে পারতাম , ফলে আমার কোন অমঙ ্ গল কখনও হতে পারত না । আমি তো শুধুমাত ্ র একজন ভীতি প ্ রদর ্ শক ও সুসংবাদদাতা ঈমানদারদের জন ্ য ।

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say ( o muhammad saw ) : " i possess no power of benefit or hurt to myself except as allah wills . if i had the knowledge of the ghaib ( unseen ) , i should have secured for myself an abundance of wealth , and no evil should have touched me .

Bengali

বলো -- ''আমার কোনো অধিকার নেই আমার নিজেরই কোনো লাভ বা ক্ষতি করবার -- আল্লাহ্ যা চান তা-ব্যতীত। আর যদি আমি অদৃশ্যের সম্যক্ জ্ঞান রাখতাম তবে কল্যাণের প্রাচুর্য বানিয়ে নিতাম, আর কোনো অনিষ্ট আমাকে স্পর্শ করতো না। আমি তো একজন সতর্ককারী বই নই, আর একজন সুসংবাদদাতা সেই লোকদের জন্য যারা ঈমান এনেছে।

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