Hello, readers are back on Yuli's blog. Well this time I will explain about the personal letter and give a letter to God.
Invitation letters are
of two types: formal invitation letters and personal letters. On
the previous page, we discussed official letters and their structure and
examples. Here are the definitions, structure, phrases and examples of a
helpful personal letter. After listening to the explanation below, it is
hoped that it will bring benefits. For example, you can exchange messages
through pen friends from abroad, or try to write English letters for your
idols. Interesting right?
Definition of Personal Letter📌📌
Personal letter is
a letter written to people you know as friends, family members, classmates,
pen, and to people who have a close relationship.
What can be written in
a Personal letter?📌📌
In a personal
letter, a letter can be written using everyday language such as when
speaking or whatever language style the writer wants to use. There are no
rules what you can and cannot say in a personal letter. The following
are topics commonly written in personal letters.
The latest news about the school, college, community you join,
or the hobby you are currently working on.
News about your friends, family or pets.
What's going on around your house, as well as the city and
country where you live.
Holidays, birthdays, school camp activities, achievements, and
anything else you think is a special day or any other fun day.
Funny jokes, movies, games, favorite songs, and other
cool things.
The past.
Ask the recipient of the letter to tell you how he is doing and
other things he would like to share with you in this letter.
Types of Personal Letter📌📌
It turns out that
there are many types of personal letters.
1. Pen Pal
is a person who exchanges
letters with other people to make friends with someone he has never met before.
2. Fan mail
is a letter
addressed to the person you idolize, it could be a film actor, artist, writer,
and not necessarily from famous circles, in essence someone you really admire
and idolize.
3. Love
is a letter given to
someone you really care about and care about, you can also express your
feelings romantically.
4. Farewell
is a farewell letter
containing goodbye and luck for someone who will move abroad, change schools,
change jobs, and move away from us for a long time.
5. Get-well
is a letter of hope
for people who are sick and wish them health soon.
6. Condolence
is a condolence letter
which contains sympathy especially for the death of someone close to the
recipient of the letter. You hope that they are given strength in dealing with
the sadness, are sorry for their loss, or you can also share good memories with
the person who died.
7. Congratulations
is a letter
congratulating someone's happiness and achievements, such as a birthday,
wedding, achievement, or award.
8. Thank you
is a thank you letter
that contains your appreciation to someone who has given or done something nice
for you.
9. Holiday /
Celebration
are holiday letters or
celebratory events such as birthdays, Eid, Christmas, New Years, and other
special days and holidays together.
Parts of the Personal Letter📌📌
1. The
heading
The head of this
letter consists of two parts: 1) address of the sender, written on the top
right; 2) the date when writing the letter which is usually written at the
very top left after the sender's address is stated.
2. The
greeting
This section is write a greeting and the name
of the recipient of this usually depends on how close you are with the person
you write a letter. Examples are Dear…, Dearest…, Sweetheart,
Darling, My love and many more.
3. The body
The content section
consists of three parts: 1) introduction, as an introduction, for example, a
response to a previous letter or an introduction; 2) the content of the
letter, which is the core of the letter which contains the story you want to
tell; 3) closing, indicating that the letter will end soon.
4. The
complimentary close
This section is a
short closing phrase like, Best Regards, Sincerely, Best wishes, Cheers,
All the best, Thanks, With love, Sincerely yours.
5. The signature
line
This section is
under complementary close . In this section you can include your
signature or you can just initials.
6. Postscript
This section is
additional words at the end of the letter as the incident is abbreviated as NB.
Linguistic Elements of Personal Letter📌📌
Words and grammar raw
Spelling and handwriting and print clear and neat.
the word pressure, intonation , when presented orally
Word reference
Simple present
Phrases in Personal Letter📌📌
The characteristics of
a personal letter are: 1) the part of the letter is not as complete as
the formal invitation letter ; 2) the language is
subjective according to the author's heart; 3) there are no binding
regulations for the way it is written; 4) free to use lettering supplies
such as paper, ink colors to cover letters.
The body of the letter
is called the body which consists of three, as explained in point D.
Parts of the Personal Letter: The body (body of the letter). Below are
phrases in starting the contents of the letter, the core of the letter, to the
ending.
🌺🌺 Starting letters
Dear James, / Hi James, / Hello James.
Best wishes, / Write soon.
We have lost contact for too long.
It's been a long time since the last met.
How are you?
Hope this letter finds you ...
Thank you for your last letter.
It was so good to hear from you.
Sorry for answering late.
I am sorry I should have written Earlier ...
Have not heard from you in a while so I thought
🌻🌻 Get to the heart of the letter
I am sorry to inform you that ...
I'm just writing to tell you about ...
In your last letter you asked me about ...
I'm very grateful for ...
I'm sure you will be happy to hear that ...
I'm sure you'ill be interested to know that ...
By the way, did you know that ...
I'm sorry but I have to tell you that ...
I wonder if you could help me.
🍒🍒 Conclusion
Let me know as soon as possible.
I am looking forward to seeing you soon.
I am looking forward to hear from you soon.
My best wishes for the coming test.
See you.
I will write soon.
I am waiting for a quick reply.
Looking forward to see you again.
Bye.
Give my regards to your mother.
Hope to hear from you soon.
Sample Personal Letter📌📌
💚💚 Sample Personal Letter in English for
Mother
💚💚 Sample of a personal letter to a
friend about a vacation
💚💚 Sample Personal Letter for
Teacher in English
💚💚 Sample Personal Letter for Brother in
English
💚💚 Sample Birthday Invitation Letter in
English and Its Meaning
💚💚 Sample Personal Letter For
Teachers
Readers can see the video about personal letter below for more details
🌷🌷 As for the letter that I have written to God below
My Letter to God
My Video
The following are question from the teacher along with the answer I have filled in
Question :
Answer :
After rancho received a reply letter that he got from the post office head in the letter he got only 70 pesos but he was very happy and felt grateful to God because his prayer was answered, then the postman told the head office that rancho is a strong person his faith, he was grateful and accepted what he got, the next day the post office head came to rancho's house and gave him money for rancho's capital for gardening again until it grew more and more, rancho was so happy that he thanked the postmaster many times and to God.
Okay, that's the explanation of my blog. Thank You💚💚💛💛💛💜💜😉😉
Hello everybody, meet again with Yuli's blog. this time I will explain about the Short Story. Do everyone know what Short Story is? Let's discuss it.
Definition of Short Story
A short story is a story that is fully developed but is
shorter than a novel story and is longer than a fable story. A short story
(short story) has a simple problem and is not as complex as the problem in a
novel, so this story can be read in just a few minutes. Short stories focus
on bigger or smaller problems and focus on building strong feelings from
readers. Short stories, just like novels, have several
characters in the plot.
Meaning and Function of Short Story
A short story ( short
story ) tells about one aspect of a character's life. This aspect
of life can be an event, a description of a feeling, or a simple action in the
life of a character. Short stories can also influence or even
inspire readers. Short stories can be an alternative for friends who don't
like to read long stories like novels. Short stories , besides
that, have characters who share their thoughts, motivations, feelings, emotions
and also their ideas.
Elements of the Short Story
In general, short
stories have elements that are almost the same as stories in general. The
following are the elements of the short story .
💚Character
Character is a person,
or sometimes even an animal, who takes part as the main character in a short
story or other part.
💚Setting
(Background)
The setting of a short
story can be divided into 3 parts: place and time . background
where ( place ) may be a description of the place, such as a
description of a mainland, landscapes, seasons, or the weather to present a
picture of a strong background. While the time setting ( time )
may be a picture of the atmosphere in the morning which is marked with a
rooster crows or sunrise, the evening atmosphere of darkness or the moon
shining in the dark of night, and so on.
💚Plot
(Storyline)
Plot (story line) is a series of events and
actions from characters that relate to the main conflict in a story.
💚Conflict
(Conflict / Problem)
Conflict (conflict / problem) is a struggle between
two people or other characters in a short story. The main characters /
characters ( protagonists ) generally take sides with one side
of the conflict at hand. On the other hand, the main character fights
against other important characters in the short story ( antagonist ),
struggles to face the forces of the universe, faces society, or even faces
something within himself (dealing with his feelings, emotions, or illnesses he
is suffering from).
💚Theme
Theme (theme) is the main idea / overall idea of
a short story.
Short Story Structure
In making short stories, we also have to know
about the framework or structure of a short story. The structure of the short
story itself consists of abstract, orientation, complications, evaluation,
resolution and code. For more details, let's discuss these frameworks one by
one:
🌹 1. Abstract
Abstract is a summary of a story. Abstract is
the essence of the story which will be developed into a series of events. Abstract
can also be called as the initial description in the story. Abstract is
optional which in a short story, we may not use abstract.
🌹 2. Orientation
Orientations are things related to the
atmosphere, place and time in the story. Usually, orientation is not only fixed
on one place, atmosphere and time. Because in a story there are many different
events and characters.
🌹 3. Complications
Complication is a series of related events and
is risky about the cause and effect of a story. In this structure you can
determine the character or character of the story character. The character or
character of a character can arise because of the complexity of the problems
that begin to appear.
🌹 4. Evaluation
Evaluation is the structure of the conflicts
that occur in the story that leads to the climax or peak of the problem and
begins to get a picture of the resolution of the conflict. This structure is a
very important structure. Because this structure really determines whether a
story is interesting or not. In this structure the writer can present conflicts
that can make the reader's heart carried away. So that readers can better
appreciate and animate the characters in this story.
🌹 5. Resolution
Resolution is the completion of the evaluation.
Usually, readers are eagerly awaited resolution, because in this structure the
author provides solutions to the problems experienced by a character or actor
in the story.
🌹 6. Koda
Koda is a value or lesson that can be taken from
a story. Koda is the wisdom contained in the story. Koda can usually be found
after reading all the stories in the short story, from the beginning to the end
of the story. Koda can be in the form of advice, lessons and warnings for
readers.
Characteristics of Short Stories
There are several characteristics of short
stories that must be understood so that we can distinguish them from other
written works, including:
Has a word count of not more than 10,000 words.
Has a shorter proportion of writing compared to
novels.
Most of them have stories that describe everyday
life.
Does not reflect all the stories of the
characters. Because the short stories that are told are only the point.
The character who is told in the short story
experiences a conflict until the stage of its completion.
The choice of words is simple so that it makes
it easier for readers to understand them.
Fictional.
Tells one incident only and uses a single,
straight story line.
Reading it doesn't take long.
Give a very deep message and impression so that
the reader will feel the impression of the story.
Short Story Size
Defining what separates short stories from
other, longer fiction formats is problematic. A classic definition of the short
story is that it must be readable at one sitting (this was particularly
advocated in Edgar Allan Poe's essay "The Philosophy of Composition"
in 1846). Other definitions put a fictional length limit to the number of
words, which is 7,500. In contemporary usage, the term short story generally
refers to works of fiction that are no more than 20,000 words long and no less
than 1,000 words. Stories that are short of less than 1,000 words belong to the
flash fiction genre. Fiction that exceeds the maximum limit of short story
parameters is classified into a novelette, novella, or novel.
Short Story Genre
Short stories are generally a form of written
fiction, and the most widely published are fiction such as:
Scientific fiction,
Horror fiction,
Detective fiction, and so on.
Short stories now also include forms of
nonfiction such as travel notes, lyrical prose and postmodern and non-fiction
variants such as fictionalism or new journalism.
Tips for Writing Short Stories
Writing a short story ( short stories ) as well as other fictitious story writing. The most important thing is that we know how to write a good short story because by being able to write a good short story, we can develop the story into a novel or other fictional story. To be able to sharpen skills in writing short stories , friends can try to write a short story within 2 weeks. By diligently writing, you will be familiar with the written language and can improve your short story writing skills. In addition, you also need to know the following tips for writing short stories .
🌈🌈 Don't get artsy
In writing a short story, try not to write too many parable words. Adding a few figurative words can enhance your writing. On the other hand, if you write down too many figurative words, parables, or analogies, your story will be difficult for readers to understand because not necessarily all readers will understand the figurative words or parables that you write.
🌈🌈 Share only what's critical to the moment
The thing to remember when writing a short story is not to focus too much on writing the background story of an event. What readers want is that they get an understanding of an event in a short story with a sufficient portion and when readers really need this information in order to understand the events in the story well.
🌈🌈 Get right into the heart of the conflict
In a short story , don't spend your time making a setting or even explaining the thoughts of the main character. What should be done is to captivate the reader by presenting every conflict scene in the story.
🌈🌈 Build to the climax efficiently
In writing a short story , you have to build the plot efficiently. Every paragraph, every sentence, and every word needs to be considered in order to bring the reader to the climax of the story. If there is a part of the story that doesn't lead to a climax, it's best not to include that part in the story.
🌈🌈 Have a clear conclusion
A good story has a clear ending. Therefore, make sure that the ending of the story you write has clarity so that it is easy for readers to understand.
for more details about the short story, readers can see the video below
Example a Short Story
🌻🌻Example 1:
The Last Leaf
By O. Henry
In a little district west of Washington Square the streets have
run crazy and broken themselves into small strips called "places."
These "places" make strange angles and curves. One Street crosses
itself a time or two. An artist once discovered a valuable possibility in this
street. Suppose a collector with a bill for paints, paper and canvas should, in
traversing this route, suddenly meet himself coming back, without a cent having
been paid on account!
So, to quaint old
Greenwich Village the art people soon came prowling, hunting for north windows
and eighteenth-century gables and Dutch attics and low rents. Then they
imported some pewter mugs and a chafing dish or two from Sixth Avenue, and
became a "colony."
At the top of a
squatty, three-story brick Sue and Johnsy had their studio. "Johnsy"
was familiar for Joanna. One was from Maine; the other from California. They
had met at the table d'hôte of an Eighth Street "Delmonico's," and
found their tastes in art, chicory salad and bishop sleeves so congenial that
the joint studio resulted.
That was in May. In
November a cold, unseen stranger, whom the doctors called Pneumonia, stalked
about the colony, touching one here and there with his icy fingers. Over on the
east side this ravager strode boldly, smiting his victims by scores, but his
feet trod slowly through the maze of the narrow and moss-grown
"places."
Mr. Pneumonia was not
what you would call a chivalric old gentleman. A mite of a little woman with
blood thinned by California zephyrs was hardly fair game for the red-fisted,
short-breathed old duffer. But Johnsy he smote; and she lay, scarcely moving,
on her painted iron bedstead, looking through the small Dutch window-panes at
the blank side of the next brick house.
One morning the busy
doctor invited Sue into the hallway with a shaggy, grey eyebrow.
"She has one
chance in - let us say, ten," he said, as he shook down the mercury in his
clinical thermometer. " And that chance is for her to want to live. This
way people have of lining-u on the side of the undertaker makes the entire
pharmacopoeia look silly. Your little lady has made up her mind that she's not
going to get well. Has she anything on her mind?"
"She - she wanted
to paint the Bay of Naples some day." said Sue.
"Paint? - bosh!
Has she anything on her mind worth thinking twice - a man for instance?"
"A man?" said
Sue, with a jew's-harp twang in her voice. "Is a man worth - but, no,
doctor; there is nothing of the kind."
"Well, it is the
weakness, then," said the doctor. "I will do all that science, so far
as it may filter through my efforts, can accomplish. But whenever my patient
begins to count the carriages in her funeral procession I subtract 50 per cent
from the curative power of medicines. If you will get her to ask one question
about the new winter styles in cloak sleeves I will promise you a one-in-five
chance for her, instead of one in ten."
After the doctor had
gone Sue went into the workroom and cried a Japanese napkin to a pulp. Then she
swaggered into Johnsy's room with her drawing board, whistling ragtime.
Johnsy lay, scarcely
making a ripple under the bedclothes, with her face toward the window. Sue
stopped whistling, thinking she was asleep.
She arranged her board
and began a pen-and-ink drawing to illustrate a magazine story. Young artists
must pave their way to Art by drawing pictures for magazine stories that young
authors write to pave their way to Literature.
As Sue was sketching a
pair of elegant horseshow riding trousers and a monocle of the figure of the
hero, an Idaho cowboy, she heard a low sound, several times repeated. She went
quickly to the bedside.
Johnsy's eyes were open
wide. She was looking out the window and counting - counting backward.
"Twelve," she
said, and little later "eleven"; and then "ten," and
"nine"; and then "eight" and "seven", almost
together.
Sue look solicitously
out of the window. What was there to count? There was only a bare, dreary yard
to be seen, and the blank side of the brick house twenty feet away. An old, old
ivy vine, gnarled and decayed at the roots, climbed half way up the brick wall.
The cold breath of autumn had stricken its leaves from the vine until its
skeleton branches clung, almost bare, to the crumbling bricks.
"What is it,
dear?" asked Sue.
"Six," said
Johnsy, in almost a whisper. "They're falling faster now. Three days ago
there were almost a hundred. It made my head ache to count them. But now it's
easy. There goes another one. There are only five left now."
"Five what, dear?
Tell your Sudie."
"Leaves. On the
ivy vine. When the last one falls I must go, too. I've known that for three
days. Didn't the doctor tell you?"
"Oh, I never heard
of such nonsense," complained Sue, with magnificent scorn. "What have
old ivy leaves to do with your getting well? And you used to love that vine so,
you naughty girl. Don't be a goosey. Why, the doctor told me this morning that
your chances for getting well real soon were - let's see exactly what he said -
he said the chances were ten to one! Why, that's almost as good a chance as we
have in New York when we ride on the street cars or walk past a new building.
Try to take some broth now, and let Sudie go back to her drawing, so she can
sell the editor man with it, and buy port wine for her sick child, and pork
chops for her greedy self."
"You needn't get
any more wine," said Johnsy, keeping her eyes fixed out the window.
"There goes another. No, I don't want any broth. That leaves just four. I
want to see the last one fall before it gets dark. Then I'll go, too."
"Johnsy,
dear," said Sue, bending over her, "will you promise me to keep your
eyes closed, and not look out the window until I am done working? I must hand
those drawings in by to-morrow. I need the light, or I would draw the shade
down."
"Couldn't you draw
in the other room?" asked Johnsy, coldly.
"I'd rather be
here by you," said Sue. "Beside, I don't want you to keep looking at
those silly ivy leaves."
"Tell me as soon
as you have finished," said Johnsy, closing her eyes, and lying white and
still as fallen statue, "because I want to see the last one fall. I'm
tired of waiting. I'm tired of thinking. I want to turn loose my hold on
everything, and go sailing down, down, just like one of those poor, tired
leaves."
"Try to
sleep," said Sue. "I must call Behrman up to be my model for the old
hermit miner. I'll not be gone a minute. Don't try to move 'til I come
back."
Old Behrman was a
painter who lived on the ground floor beneath them. He was past sixty and had a
Michael Angelo's Moses beard curling down from the head of a satyr along with
the body of an imp. Behrman was a failure in art. Forty years he had wielded
the brush without getting near enough to touch the hem of his Mistress's robe.
He had been always about to paint a masterpiece, but had never yet begun it.
For several years he had painted nothing except now and then a daub in the line
of commerce or advertising. He earned a little by serving as a model to those
young artists in the colony who could not pay the price of a professional. He
drank gin to excess, and still talked of his coming masterpiece. For the rest
he was a fierce little old man, who scoffed terribly at softness in any one,
and who regarded himself as especial mastiff-in-waiting to protect the two
young artists in the studio above.
Sue found Behrman
smelling strongly of juniper berries in his dimly lighted den below. In one
corner was a blank canvas on an easel that had been waiting there for
twenty-five years to receive the first line of the masterpiece. She told him of
Johnsy's fancy, and how she feared she would, indeed, light and fragile as a
leaf herself, float away, when her slight hold upon the world grew weaker.
Old Behrman, with his
red eyes plainly streaming, shouted his contempt and derision for such idiotic
imaginings.
"Vass!" he
cried. "Is dere people in de world mit der foolishness to die because
leafs dey drop off from a confounded vine? I haf not heard of such a thing. No,
I will not bose as a model for your fool hermit-dunderhead. Vy do you allow dot
silly pusiness to come in der brain of her? Ach, dot poor leetle Miss
Yohnsy."
"She is very ill
and weak," said Sue, "and the fever has left her mind morbid and full
of strange fancies. Very well, Mr. Behrman, if you do not care to pose for me,
you needn't. But I think you are a horrid old - old flibbertigibbet."
"You are just like
a woman!" yelled Behrman. "Who said I will not bose? Go on. I come
mit you. For half an hour I haf peen trying to say dot I am ready to bose.
Gott! dis is not any blace in which one so goot as Miss Yohnsy shall lie sick.
Some day I vill baint a masterpiece, and ve shall all go away. Gott! yes."
Johnsy was sleeping
when they went upstairs. Sue pulled the shade down to the window-sill, and
motioned Behrman into the other room. In there they peered out the window
fearfully at the ivy vine. Then they looked at each other for a moment without
speaking. A persistent, cold rain was falling, mingled with snow. Behrman, in
his old blue shirt, took his seat as the hermit miner on an upturned kettle for
a rock.
When Sue awoke from an
hour's sleep the next morning she found Johnsy with dull, wide-open eyes
staring at the drawn green shade.
"Pull it up; I
want to see," she ordered, in a whisper.
Wearily Sue obeyed.
But, lo! after the
beating rain and fierce gusts of wind that had endured through the livelong
night, there yet stood out against the brick wall one ivy leaf. It was the last
one on the vine. Still dark green near its stem, with its serrated edges tinted
with the yellow of dissolution and decay, it hung bravely from the branch some
twenty feet above the ground.
"It is the last
one," said Johnsy. "I thought it would surely fall during the night.
I heard the wind. It will fall to-day, and I shall die at the same time."
"Dear, dear!"
said Sue, leaning her worn face down to the pillow, "think of me, if you
won't think of yourself. What would I do?"
But Johnsy did not
answer. The lonesomest thing in all the world is a soul when it is making ready
to go on its mysterious, far journey. The fancy seemed to possess her more
strongly as one by one the ties that bound her to friendship and to earth were
loosed.
The day wore away, and
even through the twilight they could see the lone ivy leaf clinging to its stem
against the wall. And then, with the coming of the night the north wind was
again loosed, while the rain still beat against the windows and pattered down
from the low Dutch eaves.
When it was light
enough Johnsy, the merciless, commanded that the shade be raised.
The ivy leaf was still
there.
Johnsy lay for a long
time looking at it. And then she called to Sue, who was stirring her chicken
broth over the gas stove.
"I've been a bad
girl, Sudie," said Johnsy. "Something has made that last leaf stay
there to show me how wicked I was. It is a sin to want to die. You may bring a
me a little broth now, and some milk with a little port in it, and - no; bring
me a hand-mirror first, and then pack some pillows about me, and I will sit up
and watch you cook."
And hour later she
said:
"Sudie, some day I
hope to paint the Bay of Naples."
The doctor came in the
afternoon, and Sue had an excuse to go into the hallway as he left.
"Even
chances," said the doctor, taking Sue's thin, shaking hand in his.
"With good nursing you'll win." And now I must see another case I
have downstairs. Behrman, his name is - some kind of an artist, I believe.
Pneumonia, too. He is an old, weak man, and the attack is acute. There is no
hope for him; but he goes to the hospital to-day to be made more
comfortable."
The next day the doctor
said to Sue: "She's out of danger. You won. Nutrition and care now -
that's all."
And that afternoon Sue
came to the bed where Johnsy lay, contentedly knitting a very blue and very
useless woollen shoulder scarf, and put one arm around her, pillows and all.
"I have something
to tell you, white mouse," she said. "Mr. Behrman died of pneumonia
to-day in the hospital. He was ill only two days. The janitor found him the
morning of the first day in his room downstairs helpless with pain. His shoes
and clothing were wet through and icy cold. They couldn't imagine where he had
been on such a dreadful night. And then they found a lantern, still lighted,
and a ladder that had been dragged from its place, and some scattered brushes,
and a palette with green and yellow colours mixed on it, and - look out the
window, dear, at the last ivy leaf on the wall. Didn't you wonder why it never
fluttered or moved when the wind blew? Ah, darling, it's Behrman's masterpiece
- he painted it there the night that the last leaf fell."
Video The Last Leaf By O. Henry
🌻🌻Example 2:
The Necklace
By Guy De Maupassant
She was one of those pretty and charming girls
born, as if by an error of fate, into a family of clerks. She had no dowry, no
expectations, no means of becoming known, understood, loved or wedded by a man
of wealth and distinction; and so she let herself be married to a minor official
at the Ministry of Education.
She dressed plainly
because she had never been able to afford anything better, but she was as
unhappy as if she had once been wealthy. Women don't belong to a caste or
class; their beauty, grace, and natural charm take the place of birth and
family. Natural delicacy, instinctive elegance and a quick wit determine their
place in society, and make the daughters of commoners the equals of the very
finest ladies.
She suffered endlessly,
feeling she was entitled to all the delicacies and luxuries of life. She
suffered because of the poorness of her house as she looked at the dirty walls,
the worn-out chairs and the ugly curtains. All these things that another woman
of her class would not even have noticed, tormented her and made her resentful.
The sight of the little Brenton girl who did her housework filled her with
terrible regrets and hopeless fantasies. She dreamed of silent antechambers
hung with Oriental tapestries, lit from above by torches in bronze holders, while
two tall footmen in knee-length breeches napped in huge armchairs, sleepy from
the stove's oppressive warmth. She dreamed of vast living rooms furnished in
rare old silks, elegant furniture loaded with priceless ornaments, and inviting
smaller rooms, perfumed, made for afternoon chats with close friends - famous,
sought after men, who all women envy and desire.
When she sat down to
dinner at a round table covered with a three-day-old cloth opposite her husband
who, lifting the lid off the soup, shouted excitedly, "Ah! Beef stew! What
could be better," she dreamed of fine dinners, of shining silverware, of
tapestries which peopled the walls with figures from another time and strange
birds in fairy forests; she dreamed of delicious dishes served on wonderful
plates, of whispered gallantries listened to with an inscrutable smile as one
ate the pink flesh of a trout or the wings of a quail.
She had no dresses, no
jewels, nothing; and these were the only things she loved. She felt she was
made for them alone. She wanted so much to charm, to be envied, to be desired
and sought after.
She had a rich friend,
a former schoolmate at the convent, whom she no longer wanted to visit because
she suffered so much when she came home. For whole days afterwards she would
weep with sorrow, regret, despair and misery.
*
One evening her husband came home with an air of
triumph, holding a large envelope in his hand.
"Look," he
said, "here's something for you."
She tore open the paper
and drew out a card, on which was printed the words:
"The Minister of
Education and Mme. Georges Rampouneau request the pleasure of M. and Mme.
Loisel's company at the Ministry, on the evening of Monday January 18th."
Instead of being
delighted, as her husband had hoped, she threw the invitation on the table
resentfully, and muttered:
"What do you want
me to do with that?"
"But, my dear, I
thought you would be pleased. You never go out, and it will be such a lovely
occasion! I had awful trouble getting it. Every one wants to go; it is very
exclusive, and they're not giving many invitations to clerks. The whole
ministry will be there."
She stared at him
angrily, and said, impatiently:
"And what do you
expect me to wear if I go?"
He hadn't thought of
that. He stammered:
"Why, the dress
you go to the theatre in. It seems very nice to me ..."
He stopped, stunned,
distressed to see his wife crying. Two large tears ran slowly from the corners
of her eyes towards the corners of her mouth. He stuttered:
"What's the
matter? What's the matter?"
With great effort she
overcame her grief and replied in a calm voice, as she wiped her wet cheeks:
"Nothing. Only I
have no dress and so I can't go to this party. Give your invitation to a friend
whose wife has better clothes than I do."
He was distraught, but
tried again:
"Let's see,
Mathilde. How much would a suitable dress cost, one which you could use again
on other occasions, something very simple?"
She thought for a
moment, computing the cost, and also wondering what amount she could ask for
without an immediate refusal and an alarmed exclamation from the thrifty clerk.
At last she answered
hesitantly:
"I don't know
exactly, but I think I could do it with four hundred francs."
He turned a little
pale, because he had been saving that exact amount to buy a gun and treat
himself to a hunting trip the following summer, in the country near Nanterre,
with a few friends who went lark-shooting there on Sundays.
However, he said:
"Very well, I can
give you four hundred francs. But try and get a really beautiful
dress."
*
The day of the party drew near, and Madame
Loisel seemed sad, restless, anxious. Her dress was ready, however. One evening
her husband said to her:
"What's the
matter? You've been acting strange these last three days."
She replied: "I'm
upset that I have no jewels, not a single stone to wear. I will look cheap. I
would almost rather not go to the party."
"You could wear
flowers, " he said, "They are very fashionable at this time of year.
For ten francs you could get two or three magnificent
roses."
She was not convinced.
"No; there is
nothing more humiliating than looking poor in the middle of a lot of rich
women."
"How stupid you
are!" her husband cried. "Go and see your friend Madame Forestier and
ask her to lend you some jewels. You know her well enough for that."
She uttered a cry of
joy.
"Of course. I had
not thought of that."
The next day she went
to her friend's house and told her of her distress.
Madame Forestier went
to her mirrored wardrobe, took out a large box, brought it back, opened it, and
said to Madame Loisel:
"Choose, my
dear."
First she saw some
bracelets, then a pearl necklace, then a gold Venetian cross set with precious
stones, of exquisite craftsmanship. She tried on the jewelry in the mirror,
hesitated, could not bear to part with them, to give them back. She kept
asking:
"You have nothing
else?"
"Why, yes. But I
don't know what you like."
Suddenly she
discovered, in a black satin box, a superb diamond necklace, and her heart
began to beat with uncontrolled desire. Her hands trembled as she took it. She
fastened it around her neck, over her high-necked dress, and stood lost in
ecstasy as she looked at herself.
Then she asked
anxiously, hesitating:
"Would you lend me
this, just this?"
"Why, yes, of
course."
She threw her arms
around her friend's neck, embraced her rapturously, then fled with her
treasure.
*
The day of the party arrived. Madame Loisel was
a success. She was prettier than all the other women, elegant, gracious,
smiling, and full of joy. All the men stared at her, asked her name, tried to
be introduced. All the cabinet officials wanted to waltz with her. The minister
noticed her.
She danced wildly, with
passion, drunk on pleasure, forgetting everything in the triumph of her beauty,
in the glory of her success, in a sort of cloud of happiness, made up of all
this respect, all this admiration, all these awakened desires, of that sense of
triumph that is so sweet to a woman's heart.
She left at about four
o'clock in the morning. Her husband had been dozing since midnight in a little
deserted anteroom with three other gentlemen whose wives were having a good
time.
He threw over her
shoulders the clothes he had brought for her to go outside in, the modest
clothes of an ordinary life, whose poverty contrasted sharply with the elegance
of the ball dress. She felt this and wanted to run away, so she wouldn't be
noticed by the other women who were wrapping themselves in expensive furs.
Loisel held her back.
"Wait a moment,
you'll catch a cold outside. I'll go and find a cab."
But she would not
listen to him, and ran down the stairs. When they were finally in the street,
they could not find a cab, and began to look for one, shouting at the cabmen
they saw passing in the distance.
They walked down toward
the Seine in despair, shivering with cold. At last they found on the quay one
of those old night cabs that one sees in Paris only after dark, as if they were
ashamed to show their shabbiness during the day.
They were dropped off at
their door in the Rue des Martyrs, and sadly walked up the steps to their
apartment. It was all over, for her. And he was remembering that he had to be
back at his office at ten o'clock.
In front of the mirror,
she took off the clothes around her shoulders, taking a final look at herself
in all her glory. But suddenly she uttered a cry. She no longer had the
necklace round her neck!
"What is the
matter?" asked her husband, already half undressed.
She turned towards him,
panic-stricken.
"I have ... I have
... I no longer have Madame Forestier's necklace."
He stood up,
distraught.
"What! ... how!
... That's impossible!"
They looked in the
folds of her dress, in the folds of her cloak, in her pockets, everywhere. But
they could not find it.
"Are you sure you
still had it on when you left the ball?" he asked.
"Yes. I touched it
in the hall at the Ministry."
"But if you had
lost it in the street we would have heard it fall. It must be in the cab."
"Yes. That's
probably it. Did you take his number?"
"No. And you,
didn't you notice it?"
"No."
They stared at each
other, stunned. At last Loisel put his clothes on again.
"I'm going
back," he said, "over the whole route we walked, see if I can find
it."
He left. She remained
in her ball dress all evening, without the strength to go to bed, sitting on a
chair, with no fire, her mind blank.
Her husband returned at
about seven o'clock. He had found nothing.
He went to the police,
to the newspapers to offer a reward, to the cab companies, everywhere the
tiniest glimmer of hope led him.
She waited all day, in
the same state of blank despair from before this frightful disaster.
Loisel returned in the
evening, a hollow, pale figure; he had found nothing.
"You must write to
your friend," he said, "tell her you have broken the clasp of her
necklace and that you are having it mended. It will give us time to look some
more."
She wrote as he
dictated.
*
At the end of one week they had lost all hope.
And Loisel, who had
aged five years, declared:
"We must consider
how to replace the jewel."
The next day they took
the box which had held it, and went to the jeweler whose name they found
inside. He consulted his books.
"It was not I,
madame, who sold the necklace; I must simply have supplied the case."
And so they went from
jeweler to jeweler, looking for an necklace like the other one, consulting
their memories, both sick with grief and anguish.
In a shop at the Palais
Royal, they found a string of diamonds which seemed to be exactly what they
were looking for. It was worth forty thousand francs. They could
have it for thirty-six thousand.
So they begged the
jeweler not to sell it for three days. And they made an arrangement that he
would take it back for thirty-four thousand francs if the
other necklace was found before the end of February.
Loisel had eighteen
thousand francs which his father had left him. He would borrow
the rest.
And he did borrow,
asking for a thousand francs from one man, five hundred from
another, five louis here, three louis there. He gave notes, made ruinous
agreements, dealt with usurers, with every type of money-lender. He compromised
the rest of his life, risked signing notes without knowing if he could ever
honor them, and, terrified by the anguish still to come, by the black misery about
to fall on him, by the prospect of every physical privation and every moral
torture he was about to suffer, he went to get the new necklace, and laid down
on the jeweler's counter thirty-six thousand francs.
When Madame Loisel took
the necklace back, Madame Forestier said coldly:
"You should have
returned it sooner, I might have needed it."
To the relief of her
friend, she did not open the case. If she had detected the substitution, what
would she have thought? What would she have said? Would she have taken her
friend for a thief?
*
From then on, Madame Loisel knew the horrible
life of the very poor. But she played her part heroically. The dreadful debt
must be paid. She would pay it. They dismissed their maid; they changed their
lodgings; they rented a garret under the roof.
She came to know the
drudgery of housework, the odious labors of the kitchen. She washed the dishes,
staining her rosy nails on greasy pots and the bottoms of pans. She washed the
dirty linen, the shirts and the dishcloths, which she hung to dry on a line;
she carried the garbage down to the street every morning, and carried up the
water, stopping at each landing to catch her breath. And, dressed like a
commoner, she went to the fruiterer's, the grocer's, the butcher's, her basket
on her arm, bargaining, insulted, fighting over every miserable sou.
Each month they had to
pay some notes, renew others, get more time.
Her husband worked
every evening, doing accounts for a tradesman, and often, late into the night,
he sat copying a manuscript at five sous a page.
And this life lasted
ten years.
At the end of ten years
they had paid off everything, everything, at usurer's rates and with the
accumulations of compound interest.
Madame Loisel looked
old now. She had become strong, hard and rough like all women of impoverished
households. With hair half combed, with skirts awry, and reddened hands, she
talked loudly as she washed the floor with great swishes of water. But
sometimes, when her husband was at the office, she sat down near the window and
thought of that evening at the ball so long ago, when she had been so beautiful
and so admired.
What would have
happened if she had not lost that necklace? Who knows, who knows? How strange
life is, how fickle! How little is needed for one to be ruined or saved!
*
One Sunday, as she was
walking in the Champs Élysées to refresh herself after the week's work,
suddenly she saw a woman walking with a child. It was Madame Forestier, still
young, still beautiful, still charming.
Madame Loisel felt
emotional. Should she speak to her? Yes, of course. And now that she had paid,
she would tell her all. Why not?
She went up to her.
"Good morning,
Jeanne."
The other, astonished
to be addressed so familiarly by this common woman, did not recognize her. She
stammered:
"But - madame - I
don't know. You must have made a mistake."
"No, I am Mathilde
Loisel."
Her friend uttered a
cry.
"Oh! ... my poor
Mathilde, how you've changed! ..."
"Yes, I have had
some hard times since I last saw you, and many miseries ... and all because of
you! ..."
"Me? How can that
be?"
"You remember that
diamond necklace that you lent me to wear to the Ministry party?"
"Yes. Well?"
"Well, I lost
it."
"What do you mean?
You brought it back."
"I brought you
back another exactly like it. And it has taken us ten years to pay for it. It
wasn't easy for us, we had very little. But at last it is over, and I am very
glad."
Madame Forestier was
stunned.
"You say that you
bought a diamond necklace to replace mine?"
"Yes; you didn't
notice then? They were very similar."
And she smiled with
proud and innocent pleasure.
Madame Forestier,
deeply moved, took both her hands.
"Oh, my poor
Mathilde! Mine was an imitation! It was worth five hundred francs at
most!"
Video The Necklace By Guy De Maupassant
Okay, now I want to tell an experience that I have had. Come on, see my Short Story
Sympathy and Empathy
By Yulianti Novita Sari
Hello friends, everyone. Introducing my name is Yulianti Novita Sari, I'm here to tell you about my experience when I was little, namely in 2010 to be precise.
When I was little I had a best friend named Risma. We are friends since we were little, even now we are still friends. One day we were playing with dolls at my house. We played very happily but because it was already late in the afternoon Risma had to go back to her house and she also had to buy necessities at the shop assigned to her mother.
Risma when buying necessities at the store
"Mother told me to buy oil, now here is the oil. (Risma took the oil, suddenly she saw candy)
Wow, there are delicious candy, it seems like I want to buy it but I don't have enough money, how about this "(Risma thought)
"Um, did I just steal, I really want the candy, okay, I'll take the candy silently" (Risma took the candy and put the candy in her pocket).
Risma paid for the oil to the cashier
Risma : "Ma'am, I bought this oil, this is the money" (suddenly one of the servants shouted).
Shop assistant : "Hey, you took the candy, why didn't you pay for it, you stole huh."
Risma : (Risma crying😭😭) "I'm sorry, I really wanted candy but not enough money."
Shop assistant : "Um, pity you, but you have to change the price of the candy, you don't steal. If not I will report you to your parents. "
Risma : "Don't beg me, don't promise me that I will wait but I beg you to give me a few days, I'll be back here soon."
Shop assistant : "Well I'll give you until tomorrow, otherwise I'll report you to your parents."
Risma comes home from the shop
Arriving at the house he was silent and thought about how to pay for the candy
"How is this, how do I pay for it, if I ask the mother for sure I will be angry right, duhh how do I want to tell someone" (crying)
"Ouh yeah I better go to Yuli's house tomorrow. I want to tell her about this incident, I hope she can help me"
The next day Risma also rushed to Yuli's house
Risma : "Assalamualaikum Yuli."
Yuli : "Yes even though greetings come here Risma."
Risma sat down and started to tell what happened yesterday in the shop.
Risma : "Yuliii I want to tell you all about it." (cry)
Yuli : "Why are you crying Risma here, tell me what is wrong (with worry)
Risma : "Yesterday my mother told me to buy oil at the shop, I went there, there I saw candy that I had never eaten at all, but because the money was not enough I could not afford it, but I really wanted to, so I chose to steal it. keep it in my pocket pocket. When I want to pay I get caught so I have to replace the candy or not I reported it to my mother. "
Risma : "Can you help me or not, I'm really confused about who to tell."
Yuli was shocked to hear what Risma said because she didn't expect her friend to do that.
Yuli : "Why can you steal Risma, you know your money is lacking why do you dare to steal it."
Risma : (Shedding tears) "My mother is sick. I don't have much money to pay for snacks to eat, it's hard, I really want that candy."
Yuli is pensive, and her friend is in a lot of trouble. With her empathy, she wants to really help her close friend.
Yuli : "Alright, let's go to our Risma where you stole the candy."
Risma : "But later the game will pay Yul, I have no money."
Yuli : "It's okay if I have enough pocket money to pay for it."
Risma: "Thank you very much, Yuli." (with a happy tone)
They both rushed to the place to return the money from the candy that Risma took
Yuli : "Excuse me sir/ma'am, I want to return the money, then my friend took candy here but didn't pay."
Shop Assistant : "Ouhh yesterday yes, yes thanks deck tell his friend not to like stealing no matter what it is a despicable act."
Risma cry and while talking to the shop assistant.
Risma : "Yes, I'm sorry, Risma, I know it's wrong I won't be like that anymore, I promise."
Shop Assistant : "It's good if you already understand."
Yuli and Risma already paid and wanted to leave
Yuli : "Risma, I can not go to your house to visit your mother."
Risma : "Yes, you can Yul, let me queue."
Yuli and Risma rushed to Risma's house
Risma : "Assalamuaikum, there is Yuli, I want to visit Mom."
Mother Risma : "walaikumsalam let's go inside, son."
Yuli : "Look, my aunt isn't long, I just want to make a little donation for aunt and Risma, who knows, I can help aunt and Risma, this is from my aunt's savings"
