İngilizce Hikaye Özetleri

Oliver Twist

Oliver Twist is born in a workhouse in a provincial town. His mother has been found very sick in the street, and she gives birth to Oliver just before she dies. Oliver is raised under the care of Mrs. Mann and the beadle Mr. Bumble in the workhouse. When it falls to Oliver’s lot to ask for more food on behalf of all the starving children in the workhouse, he is trashed, and then apprenticed to an undertaker, Mr. Sowerberry. Another apprentice of Mr. Sowerberry’s, Noah Claypole insults Oliver’s dead mother and the small and frail Oliver attacks him. However, Oliver is punished severely, and he runs away to London. Here he is picked up by Jack Dawkins or the Artful Dodger as he is called. The Artful Dodger is a member of the Jew Fagin’s gang of boys. Fagin has trained the boys to become pickpockets. The Artful Dodger takes Oliver to Fagin’s den in the London slums, and Oliver, who innocently does not understand that he is among criminals, becomes one of Fagin’s boys.
When Oliver is sent out with The Artful Dodger and another boy on a pickpocket expedition Oliver is so shocked when he realizes what is going on that he and not the two other boys are caught. Fortunately, the victim of the thieves, the old benevolent gentleman, Mr. Brownlow rescues Oliver from arrest and brings him to his house, where the housekeeper, Mrs. Bedwin nurses him back to life after he had fallen sick, and for the first time in his life he is happy.
However, with the help of the brutal murderer Bill Sikes and the prostitute Nancy Fagin kidnaps Oliver. Fagin is prompted to do this by the mysterious Mr. Monks. Oliver is taken along on a burglary expedition in the country. The thieves are discovered in the house of Mrs. Maylie and her adopted niece, Rose, and Oliver is shot and wounded. Sikes escapes. Rose and Mrs. Maylie nurse the wounded Oliver. When he tells them his story they believe him, and he settles with them. While living with Rose and Mrs. Maylie Oliver one day sees Fagin and Monks looking at him in through a window. Nancy discovers that Monks is plotting against Oliver for some reason, bribing Fagin to corrupt his innocence. Nancy also learns that there is some kind of connection between Rose and Oliver; but after having told Rose’s adviser and friend Dr. Losberne about it on the steps of London Bridge, she is discovered by Noah Claypole, who in the meantime has become a member of Fagin’s gang, and Sykes murders her. On his frantic flight away from the crime Sykes accidentally and dramatically hangs himself. Fagin and the rest of the gang are arrested. Fagin is executed after Oliver has visited him in the condemned cell in Newgate Prison. The Artful Dodger is transported after a court scene in which he eloquently defends himself and his class.
Monks’ plot against Oliver is disclosed by Mr. Brownlow. Monks is Oliver’s half-brother seeking all of the inheritance for himself. Oliver’s father’s will states that he will leave money to Oliver on the condition that his reputation is clean. Oliver’s dead mother and Rose were sisters. Monks receives his share of the inheritance and goes away to America. He dies in prison there, and Oliver is adopted by Mr. Brownlow.

Sir Gawain and the Green Knight


It was New Year at the court of King Arthur. The King, Queen and all the knights of the Round Table were celebrating. Suddenly the door opened and everybody turned round. A knight rode into the room on a magnificent horse. The knight and his horse were completely green!
The strange green knight got off his horse and spoke. `I know that King Arthur and his knights are famous for their bravery. I have come to test their bravery with a little game. Here Is my axe. One of you brave knights must try to cut off my head. But, next year, on the same day, t will try to do the same to that knight:
A brave and honest knight, Sir Gawain, stood up and said: ‘I will do it: With no hesitation, he took the axe and cut off the Green Knight’s head. Then the strangest thing happened. The Green Knight picked up his head, got on his horse and left the room!
Ten months later, Sir Gawain went off to find the Green Knight. He came to a magnificent castle. The lord of the castle invited him to stay for the New Year. Sir Gawain and the lord made an agreement. They agreed to give each other anything they received.
The next day, the lord of the castle went out hunting. Sir Gawain stayed in bed. Suddenly, the lady of the castle, the lord’s wife, came into his room. She was beautiful. She kissed Sir Gawain
and then left. When the lord of the castle returned, he gave Sir Gawatn a deer he had caught. Sir Gawaln gave the lord a kiss.
The next day the same thing happened. On the third day, the lady of the castle kissed Sir Gawain and then gave him a special belt. She said it would save his life. Sir Gawain did not give the belt to the lord of the castle because he thought it might be useful when he went to see the Green Knight.
On New Year’s day, Sir Gawain went to meet the Green Knight. As they had agreed, the Green Knight took the axe. He was going to cut off Sir . Gawain’s head, when suddenly he stopped. He tried a second time, but again stopped. The third time, he cut Sir Gawain’s neck a little, but didn’t hurt him.
Sir Gawain was angry. He said: `Why did you try three times? We agreed only oncei’ The Green Knight told him that he was, in fact, the lord of the castle. `i didn’t cut you the first two times because you were honest for two daysl But on the third day, you didn’t tell me about the belt. So 1 had to cut you!’
Sir Gawain returned to King Arthur’s court. He was sad because he had not been honest. He decided to wear the belt around his neck for the rest of his life. He told King Arthur: `When i become arrogant, I can look at the belt and remember that I am not a perfect knight.`

Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens

It was Christmas Eve.Ebenezer Scrooge was in his office, the office of Scrooge and Marley. His clerk, poor Bob Cratchit, was working. Suddenly, Scrooges young nephew came into the office.`Hello uncle. Merry Christmas!’ he said happily. ‘Do
you want to come and have Christmas dinner with us tomorrow?’ ‘Christmas?’ Scrooge replied. `Bah! Humbug!’ Scrooge hated Christmas and he refused his nephew’s invitation for dinner on Christmas Day. His nephew went away. Later two men came to the office, asking for money for the poor. `Bah! Are there no prisons for these people?’ Scrooge refused to give even a penny.
Tlıen, when it was time to close the office, Bııh Cratchit asked for the day off, because it was Christmas.
`All right,’ Scrooge said, `but he here early the next morning!’
That evening Scrooge was sitting in front of his fire at lıoıne when, suddenly, lie saw a ghost in front of lıinı. ‘Who are YOU?’ Scrooge asked nervously.
`In life, I was Jacob Marley, your partner. I am wearing these chains and I can never be in peace, because when I lived, I only thought about money. But I am here to help you. You
have a chance to escape my terrible destiny. Tonight three ghosts will visit you.’ Then the ghost of Marle}• disappeared.
Scrooge went to bed and fell asleep. But in the night lie woke tip. The figure of a strange old man appeared near his bed.
`I am the Ghost of Christmas Past. Of your past,’ it told Scrooge. The ghost took Scrooge to scenes of
Christmases from the past. In one scene Scrooge saw himself as a boy at school. l ie was reading a
book. All the other boys had gone home for Christmas. In another scene Scrooge saw himself as a young man.
He was talking to his girlfriend, who he didn’t marry because she didn’t have any money. Scrooge began to feel sadder and sadder. ‘Stop! Show me no more!’ he cried. Finally the ghost brought him home and Scrooge fell asleep again. Later that night, Scrooge woke up again. `I am the Ghost of Christmas Present. LAx)k at me!’ said the second ghost, laughing. He was a large man with a beard, wearing a green robe. He took Scrooge to the house of Bob Cratchit and his fiunily. It was cold in the house and &ıh and his family were sitting around a very small Christmas pudding.
`What a wonderful pudding. Merry Christmas everyone!’ cried Bob.
Scrooge felt sad, because he could see how poor the Cratchits »•ere: Bob’s smallest child, Tiny Tim, was weak and ill. The ghost finally took Scrooge to a very poor area of London. There were two poor children out in the street.
`Can’t »•e do something to help these children?’ he asked the ghost, who repeated what Scrooge had said before.
`Are there no prisons.'’ The ghost laughed and disappeared.
Then, the third ghost appeared. He was dressed in black and looked …
`Are you the Ghost of Christmas Future?’ Scrooge asked nervously. .
Tlıe ghost did not answer. It took Scrooge and showed lıiı» scenes of the future. In one, people were talking ahuııt Scrooge,.-, death, bur not one person was unhappy about it. The ghost also took him to the Cratchit family. The family was very sad. The little boy, Tiny Tıııı, had died.
The next morning, Scrooge opened his window and asked, What day is it today!
`Why sir, it’s Christmas Day,’ replied a Young boy in the street.
Scrooge was very happy. He gave money to the boy to buy an enormous turkey for the Cratchit family. Then he went out into the street.
`Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas!’ He wished everybody he saw Merry Christmas. He met the man who had asked for money for the poor and gave him a large sum of money. Scrooge then went and visited his nephew and had the best Christmas dinner in his life. The next day he went to his office early. He waited for Bob Cratchit.
‘You are late!’ said Scrooge in an angry voice.
`Yes, I’m very sorry …’ replied poor Bob.
`In that case, I’m afraid I’m going to … increase your salary! Merry Christmas, Bob!’
From that day, Scrooge was the happiest man in the world. He gave money to the poor. He helped &ıh Cratchit’s family.
And people always said of him: ‘He knew how to celebrate Christmas.’

The Cask of Amontillado by EDGAR ALLAN POE

The thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne as I best could; but when he ventured upon insult, I vowed revenge. You, who so well know the nature of my soul, will not suppose, however, that I gave utterance to a threat. At length I would be avenged; this was a point definitely settled–but the very definitiveness with which it was resolved precluded the idea of risk. I must not only punish, but punish with impunity. A wrong is unredressed when retribution overtakes its redresser. It is equally unredressed when the avenger fails to make himself felt as such to him who has done the wrong.
It must be understood that neither by word nor deed had I given Fortunato cause to doubt my good-will. I continued, as was my wont, to smile in his face, and he did not perceive that my smile now was at the thought of his immolation.
He had a weak point–this Fortunato–although in other regards he was a man to be respected and even feared. He prided himself on his connoisseurship in wine. Few Italians have the true virtuoso spirit. For the most part their enthusiasm is adopted to suit the time and opportunity–to practise imposture upon the British and Austrian millionaires. In painting and gemmary, Fortunato, like his countrymen, was a quack–but in the matter of old wines he was sincere. In this respect I did not differ from him materially: I was skillful in the Italian vintages myself, and bought largely whenever I could.
It was about dusk, one evening during the supreme madness of the carnival season, that I encountered my friend. He accosted me with excessive warmth, for he had been drinking much. The man wore motley. He had on a tight-fitting party-striped dress, and his head was surmounted by the conical cap and bells. I was so pleased to see him that I thought I should never have done wringing his hand.
I said to him: “My dear Fortunato, you are luckily met. How remarkably well you are looking to-day! But I have received a pipe of what passes for Amontillado, and I have my doubts.”
“How?” said he. “Amontillado? A pipe? Impossible! And in the middle of the carnival!”
“I have my doubts,” I replied; “and I was silly enough to pay the full Amontillado price without consulting you in the matter. You were not to be found, and I was fearful of losing a bargain.”
“Amontillado!”
“I have my doubts.”
“Amontillado!”
“And I must satisfy them.”
“Amontillado!”
“As you are engaged, I am on my way to Luchesi. If any one has a critical turn, it is he. He will tell me– ”
“Luchesi cannot tell Amontillado from Sherry.”
“And yet some fools will have it that his taste is a match for your own.”
“Come, let us go.”
“Whither?”
“To your vaults.”
“My friend, no. I will not impose upon your good nature. I perceive you have an engagement. Luchesi–”
“I have no engagement–come.”
“My friend, no. It is not the engagement, but the severe cold with which I perceive you are afflicted. The vaults are insufferably damp, They are encrusted with nitre.”
“Let us go, nevertheless. The cold is merely nothing. Amontillado! You have been imposed upon. And as for Luchesi, he cannot distinguish Sherry from Amontillado.”
Thus speaking, Fortunato possessed himself of my arm. Putting on a mask of black silk, and drawing a roquelaure closely about my person, I suffered him to hurry me to my palazzo.
There were no attendants at home; they had absconded to make merry in honour of the time. I had told them that I should not return until the morning, and had given them explicit orders not to stir from the house. These orders were sufficient, I well knew, to insure their immediate disappearance, one and all, as soon as my back was turned.
I took from their sconces two flambeaux, and giving one to Fortunato, bowed him through several suites of rooms to the archway that led into the vaults. I passed down a long and winding staircase, requesting him to be cautious as he followed. We came at length to the foot of the descent, and stood together on the damp ground of the catacombs of the Montresors.
The gait of my friend was unsteady, and the bells upon his cap jingled as he strode.
“The pipe,” said he.
“It is farther on,” said I; “but observe the white webwork which gleams from these cavern walls.”
He turned towards me, and looked into my eyes with two filmy orbs that distilled the rheum of intoxication.
“Nitre?” he asked, at length.
“Nitre,” I replied. “How long have you had that cough?”
“Ugh! ugh! ugh!–ugh! ugh! ugh!–ugh! ugh! ugh!–ugh! ugh! ugh! ugh! ugh! ugh!”
My poor friend found it impossible to reply. for many minutes.
“It is nothing,” he said at last.
“Come,” I said, with decision, “we will go back; your health is precious. You are rich, respected, admired, beloved; you are happy, as once I was. You are a man to be missed. For me it is no matter. We will go back; you will be ill, and I cannot be responsible. Besides, there is Luchesi–”
“Enough,” he said: “the cough is a mere nothing; it will not kill me. I shall not die of a cough.”
“True–true.” I replied; “and indeed, I had no intention of alarming you unnecessarily–but you should use all proper caution. A draught of this Medoc will defend us from the damps.”
Here I knocked off the neck of a bottle which I drew from a long row of its fellows that lay upon the mould.
“Drink,” I said, presenting him the wine.
He raised it to his lips with a leer. He paused and nodded to me familiarly, while his bells jingled.
“I drink,” he said, “to the buried that repose around us.”
“And I to your long life.”
He again took my arm, and we proceeded.
“These vaults,” he said, “are extensive.”
“The Montresors,” I replied, “were a great and numerous family.”
“I forget your arms.”
“A huge human foot d’or, in a field azure; the foot crushes a serpent rampant whose fangs are embedded in the heel.”
“And the motto?”
“Nemo me impune lacessit.”
“Good!” he said.
The wine sparkled in his eyes and the bells jingled. My own fancy grew warm with the Medoc. We had passed through walls of piled bones, with casks and puncheons intermingling, into the inmost recesses of the catacombs. I paused again, and this time I made bold to seize Fortunato by an arm above the elbow.
“The nitre!” I said; “see, it increases. It hangs like moss upon the vaults. We are below the river’s bed. The drops of moisture trickle among the bones. Come, we will go back ere it is too late. Your cough– ”
“It is nothing,” he said; “let us go on. But first, another draught of the Medoc.”
I broke and reached him a flagon of De Grâve. He emptied it at a breath. His eyes flashed with a fierce light. He laughed, and threw the bottle upward with a gesticulation I did not understand.
I looked at him in surprise. He repeated the movement–a grotesque one.
“You do not comprehend?” he said.
“Not I,” I replied.
“Then you are not of the brotherhood.”
“How?”
“You are not of the masons.”
“Yes, yes,” I said, “yes, yes.”
“You? Impossible! A mason?”
“A mason,” I replied.
“A sign,” he said.
“It is this,” I answered, producing a trowel from beneath the folds of my roquelaure.
“You jest,” he exclaimed, recoiling a few paces. “But let us proceed to the Amontillado.”
“Be it so,” I said, replacing the tool beneath the cloak, and again offering him my arm. He leaned upon it heavily. We continued our route in search of the Amontillado. We passed through a range of low arches, descended, passed on, and, descending again, arrived at a deep crypt, in which the foulness of the air caused our flambeaux rather to glow than flame.
At the most remote end of the crypt there appeared another less spacious. Its walls had been lined with human remains, piled to the vault overhead, in the fashion of the great catacombs of Paris. Three sides of this interior crypt were still ornamented in this manner. From the fourth the bones had been thrown down, and lay promiscuously upon the earth, forming at one point a mound of some size. Within the wall thus exposed by the displacing of the bones we perceived a still interior recess, in depth about four feet, in width three, in height six or seven. It seemed to have been constructed for no especial use within itself, but formed merely the interval between two of the colossal supports of the roof of the catacombs, and was backed by one of their circumscribing walls of solid granite.
It was in vain that Fortunate, uplifting his dull torch, endeavored to pry into the depth of the recess. Its termination the feeble light did not enable us to see.
“Proceed,” I said; “herein is the Amontillado. As for Luchesi–”
“He is an ignoramus,” interrupted my friend, as he stepped unsteadily forward, while I followed immediately at his heels. In an instant he had reached the extremity of the niche, and finding his progress arrested by the rock, stood stupidly bewildered. A moment more and I had fettered him to the granite. In its surface were two iron staples, distant from each other about two feet, horizontally. From one of these depended a short chain, from the other a padlock. Throwing the links about his waist, it was but the work of a few seconds to secure it. He was too much astounded to resist. Withdrawing the key, I stepped back from the recess.
“Pass your hand,” I said, “over the wall; you cannot help feeling the nitre. Indeed it is very damp. Once more let me implore you to return. No? Then I must positively leave you. But I must first render you all the little attentions in my power.”
“The Amontillado!” ejaculated my friend, not yet recovered from his astonishment.
“True,” I replied; “the Amontillado.”
As I said these words I busied myself among the pile of bones of which I have before spoken. Throwing them aside, I soon uncovered a quantity of building-stone and mortar. With these materials and with the aid of my trowel, I began vigorously to wall up the entrance of the niche.
I had scarcely laid the first tier of the masonry when I discovered that the intoxication of Fortunato had in a great measure worn off. The earliest indication I had of this was a low moaning cry from the depth of the recess. It was not the cry of a drunken man. There was then a long and obstinate silence. I laid the second tier, and the third, and the fourth; and then I heard the furious vibrations of the chain. The noise lasted for several minutes, during which, that I might hearken to it with the more satisfaction, I ceased my labours and sat down upon the bones. When at last the clanking subsided, I resumed the trowel, and finished without interruption the fifth, the sixth, and the seventh tier. The wall was now nearly upon a level with my breast. I again paused, and holding the flambeaux over the masonwork, threw a few feeble rays upon the figure within.
A succession of loud and shrill screams, bursting suddenly from the throat of the chained form, seemed to thrust me violently back. For a brief moment I hesitated–I trembled. Unsheathing my rapier, I began to grope with it about the recess; but the thought of an instant reassured me. I placed my hand upon the solid fabric of the catacombs, and felt satisfied. I reapproached the wall. I replied to the yells of him who clamoured. I reëchoed–I aided–I surpassed them in volume and in strength. I did this, and the clamourer grew still.
It was now midnight, and my task was drawing to a close. I had completed the eighth, the ninth, and the tenth tier. I had finished a portion of the last and the eleventh; there remained but a single stone to be fitted and plastered in. I struggled with its weight; I placed it partially in its destined position. But now there came from out the niche a low laugh that erected the hairs upon my head. It was succeeded by a sad voice, which I had difficulty in recognising as that of the noble Fortunato. The voice said:
“Ha! ha! ha!–he! he! he!–a very good joke indeed–an excellent jest. We will have many a rich laugh about it at the palazzo–he! he! he!–over our wine–he! he! he!”
“The Amontillado!” I said.
“He! he! he!–he! he! he!–yes, the Amontillado. But is it not getting late? Will not they be awaiting us at the palazzo–the Lady Fortunato and the rest? Let us be gone.”
“Yes,” I said, “let us be gone.”
“For the love of God, Montresor!”
“Yes,” I said, “for the love of God!”
But to these words I hearkened in vain for a reply. I grew impatient. I called aloud:
“Fortunato!”
No answer. I called again:
“Fortunato!”
No answer still. I thrust a torch through the remaining aperture and let it fall within. There came forth in return only a jingling of the bells. My heart grew sick–on account of the dampness of the catacombs. I hastened to make an end of my labour. I forced the last stone into its position; I plastered it up. Against the new masonry I reërected the old rampart of bones. For the half of a century no mortal has disturbed them. In pace requiescat.