Green Blue Modern Training Module Cover A4 Document

GRADE 10
LEARNING FROM DIFFERENT

WORLD LITERATURE
Module Duration: 60 minutes per day, 8 weeks

Subject Area: English
Marvin E. Parparan
Editor
A Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Course

Bachelor in Secondary Education Major in English St.
Francis Xavier COllege San Francisco, Agusan del Sur
2023-2024
Table of Contents
Module Overview.....................................................................4
About the Editor.....................................................................5
Week 1: THE LOVE WITH NO EXEMPTION
( CUPID AND PSYCHE )......................................7-16
Comprehension Questions
Activity 1: CHARACTER ANALYSIS
Activity 2: CREATIVE WRITING
Activity 3: MODERN PARALLELS
Activity 4: REFLEXIVE JOURNALING
Activity 5: MUSIC COMPOSITION
Week 2: CONSEQUENCES OF BEING GREED
(THE NECKLACE)By Guy de Maupassant....................17-23
Activity 1: ALTERNATE ENDING
Activity 2: CHARACTER COMPARISON
Activity 3: COMPARATIVE ANALYSIS
Activity 4: ALTERNATE TITLE
Activity 5:PLOT DIAGRAM
Week 3: THE UNLOVED WOMAN
(YELLOW WALLPAPER) By Charlotte Perkins Gilma.24-36
Activity 1: SYMBOLISM HUNT
Activity 2: SETTING DESCRIPTION
Activity 4: POETRY
Activity 5: VISUAL MOOD BOARD
Week 4: THE WISE LOVER
(THE GIFT OF MAGI)By O’ Henry..............................37-44
Activity 1: VOCABULARY BUILDING
Activity 3: STORY SEQUENCING CARD
Activity 4: CREATIVE EXCHANGE GIFT
Activity 5: MULTIPLE CHOICE
Table of Contents
Week 5: REFLECTING TO STORY
(MAMMON AND THE ARCHER) By O’ Henry.....................45-50
Activity 1: CHARACTER PROFILE
Activity 2: REFLECTION ON PERSONAL VALUES
Activity 3: THEMES AND VARIATION
Activity 4:REAL-WORLD APPLICATION
Activity 5: REFLECTION ON MORALITY
Week 6: THE DARK NIGHT
( NIGHT) By Ellie Wiesel...........................................................51-55
Activity 1: THEME EXPLORATION
Activity 2: 7PERSONAL REFLECTION
Activity 3: ALTERNATE THE ENDING
Activity 4: CHARACTER MAP
Activity 5: FILL ME!
Week 7: MEUSAULT JOURNEY
( THE STRANGER) By Albert Camus.......................................56-61
Activity 1: CONFLICT RESOLUTION MAP
Activity 2: CHARACTER RELATIONSHIP
Activity 3: LITERARY ANALYSIS ESSAY
Activity 4: SYMBOLIC ARTWORK
Activity 5: MATCH ME!
Week 8: BROKEN INTO PIECES
(THE LAST LEAF) By O’Henry................................................62-67
Activity 4: LETTER TO THE CHARACTER
Activity 5: SYMBOLISM EXPLORATION
Module Overview
World literature is a broad and diverse field encompassing

literary works from different cultures, regions, and periods.
The study of world literature seeks to explore and understand
the commonalities and unique characteristics of literary
traditions across the globe. It involves the examination of
works written in various languages and cultural contexts,
providing a comprehensive view of the human experience
through literature.
The module may include contemporary works from
emerging authors, providing students with insights into the
evolving landscape of world literature. In essence, a world
literature module aims to broaden students' perspectives,
foster cultural understanding, and celebrate the rich diversity
of literary expressions worldwide. Moreover, this module is
made with by examining first the activities and literature that
is fit for the Grade 10-Learners, so that they will able be able
to understand the activities and the literatures.
It also aim to unfolds the different works of the famous

world literature Authors. Through this module we can
explore to different cultures, traditions and stories.
About the Editor
Hi! I am Marvin E. Parparan. I live in Purok 4-A,

Brgy. Alegria, San Francisco Agusan Del Sur. I am 21
years old. I graduated from Agusan Del Sur National
High School (ASNHS) taking General Academic Strand
(GAS). Now, I am currently studying at the home of
Xavier Knight at Saint Francis Xavier College, taking my
second-choice course Bachelor of Secondary Education
Major in English. Since when I was in elementary the
dream work that I manifest is to become a police but
sadly, even at my age I am still scared of different kinds
of insects that’s why I think that being a police is not for
me.
I made this module because I want to help my co-

students to read and explore different Literature, I don’t
want reading story but through this activity I learned and
I explore and read the beautiful works of different
famous authors.
Week 1: THE LOVE WITH NO EXEMPTION
Objectives: At the end of the discussion the

students will be able to:
A. Read the story entitled " CUPID AND PSYCH” By

Lucius Apuleius and relate it to real-life situations;
B. answers the level of comprehension questions;
C. answers the five different activities related to the
story.
Literature: CUPID AND PSYCHE (By: Lucius Apuleius)
Activities:
Activity 3: MODERN PARALLELS.
Activity 4: REFLEXIVE JOURNALING
Activity 5: MUSIC COMPOSITION
Instructional Procedure
CUPID AND PYSCHE

BY:LUCIUS APULEIUS
A certain king and queen had three daughters. The charms of the two elder were more
than common, but the beauty of the youngest was so wonderful that the poverty of
language is unable to express its due praise. The fame of her beauty was so great that
strangers from neighboring countries came in crowds to enjoy the sight, and looked on
her with amazement, paying her that homage which is due only to Venus herself. In fact
Venus found her altars deserted, while men turned their devotion to this young virgin.
As she passed along, the people sang her praises, and strewed her way with chaplets
and flowers.
This homage to the exaltation of a mortal gave great offense to the real Venus. Shaking
her ambrosial locks with indignation, she exclaimed, "Am I then to be eclipsed in my
honors by a mortal girl? In vain then did that royal shepherd, whose judgment was
approved by Jove himself, give me the palm of beauty over my illustrious rivals, Pallas
and Juno. But she shall not so quietly usurp my honors. I will give her cause to repent
of so unlawful a beauty."
Thereupon she calls her winged son Cupid, mischievous enough in his own nature, and
rouses and provokes him yet more by her complaints. She points out Psyche to him and
says, "My dear son, punish that contumacious beauty; give your mother a revenge as
sweet as her injuries are great; infuse into the bosom of that haughty girl a passion for
some low, mean, unworthy being, so that she may reap a mortification as great as her
present exultation and triumph."
Cupid prepared to obey the commands of his mother. There are two fountains in
Venus's garden, one of sweet waters, the other of bitter. Cupid filled two amber vases,
one from each fountain, and suspending them from the top of his quiver, hastened to
the chamber of Psyche, whom he found asleep. He shed a few drops from the bitter
fountain over her lips, though the sight of her almost moved him to pity; then touched
her side with the point of his arrow. At the touch she awoke, and opened eyes upon
Cupid (himself invisible), which so startled him that in his confusion he wounded
himself with his own arrow. Heedless of his wound, his whole thought now was to
repair the mischief he had done, and he poured the balmy drops of joy over all her
silken ringlets.
Psyche, henceforth frowned upon by Venus, derived no benefit from all her charms.
True, all eyes were cast eagerly upon her, and every mouth spoke her praises; but
neither king, royal youth, nor plebeian presented himself to demand her in marriage.
Her two elder sisters of moderate charms had now long been married to two royal
princes; but Psyche, in her lonely apartment, deplored her solitude, sick of that
beauty which, while it procured abundance of flattery, had failed to awaken love.
Her parents, afraid that they had unwittingly incurred the anger of the gods,
consulted the oracle of Apollo, and received this answer, "The virgin is destined for
the bride of no mortal lover. Her future husband awaits her on the top of the
mountain. He is a monster whom neither gods nor men can resist."
This dreadful decree of the oracle filled all the people with dismay, and her parents
abandoned themselves to grief. But Psyche said, "Why, my dear parents, do you now
lament me? You should rather have grieved when the people showered upon me
undeserved honors, and with one voice called me a Venus. I now perceive that I am a
victim to that name. I submit. Lead me to that rock to which my unhappy fate has
destined me."
Accordingly, all things being prepared, the royal maid took her place in the
procession, which more resembled a funeral than a nuptial pomp, and with her
parents, amid the lamentations of the people, ascended the mountain, on the summit
of which they left her alone, and with sorrowful hearts returned home.
While Psyche stood on the ridge of the mountain, panting with fear and with eyes full
of tears, the gentle Zephyr raised her from the earth and bore her with an easy motion
into a flowery dale. By degrees her mind became composed, and she laid herself down
on the grassy bank to sleep.
When she awoke refreshed with sleep, she looked round and beheld nearby a pleasant
grove of tall and stately trees. She entered it, and in the midst discovered a fountain,
sending forth clear and crystal waters, and fast by, a magnificent palace whose august
front impressed the spectator that it was not the work of mortal hands, but the happy
retreat of some god. Drawn by admiration and wonder, she approached the building
and ventured to enter.
Every object she met filled her with pleasure and amazement. Golden pillars
supported the vaulted roof, and the walls were enriched with carvings and paintings
representing beasts of the chase and rural scenes, adapted to delight the eye of the
beholder. Proceeding onward, she perceived that besides the apartments of state there
were others filled with all manner of treasures, and beautiful and precious productions
of nature and art.
While her eyes were thus occupied, a voice addressed her, though she saw no one,
uttering these words, "Sovereign lady, all that you see is yours. We whose voices you
hear are your servants and shall obey all your commands with our utmost care and
diligence. Retire, therefore, to your chamber and repose on your bed of down, and
when you see fit, repair to the bath. Supper awaits you in the adjoining alcove when it
pleases you to take your seat there."
Psyche gave ear to the admonitions of her vocal attendants, and after repose and the
refreshment of the bath, seated herself in the alcove, where a table immediately
presented itself, without any visible aid from waiters or servants, and covered with the
greatest delicacies of food and the most nectareous wines. Her ears too were feasted
with music from invisible performers; of whom one sang, another played on the lute,
and all closed in the wonderful harmony of a full chorus.
She had not yet seen her destined husband. He came only in the hours of darkness and
fled before the dawn of morning, but his accents were full of love, and inspired a like
passion in her. She often begged him to stay and let her behold him, but he would not
consent. On the contrary he charged her to make no attempt to see him, for it was his
pleasure, for the best of reasons, to keep concealed.
"Why should you wish to behold me?" he said. "Have you any doubt of my love? Have
you any wish ungratified? If you saw me, perhaps you would fear me, perhaps adore
me, but all I ask of you is to love me. I would rather you would love me as an equal
than adore me as a god."
This reasoning somewhat quieted Psyche for a time, and while the novelty lasted she
felt quite happy. But at length the thought of her parents, left in ignorance of her fate,
and of her sisters, precluded from sharing with her the delights of her situation, preyed
on her mind and made her begin to feel her palace as but a splendid prison. When her
husband came one night, she told him her distress, and at last drew from him an
unwilling consent that her sisters should be brought to see her.
So, calling Zephyr, she acquainted him with her husband's commands, and he,
promptly obedient, soon brought them across the mountain down to their sister's
valley. They embraced her and she returned their caresses.
"Come," said Psyche, "enter with me my house and refresh yourselves with whatever
your sister has to offer."
Then taking their hands she led them into her golden palace, and committed them to
the care of her numerous train of attendant voices, to refresh them in her baths and at
her table, and to show them all her treasures. The view of these celestial delights caused
envy to enter their bosoms, at seeing their young sister possessed of such state and
splendor, so much exceeding their own.
They asked her numberless questions, among others what sort of a person her husband
was. Psyche replied that he was a beautiful youth, who generally spent the daytime in
hunting upon the mountains.
The sisters, not satisfied with this reply, soon made her confess that she had never seen
him. Then they proceeded to fill her bosom with dark suspicions. "Call to mind," they
said, "the Pythian oracle that declared you destined to marry a direful and tremendous
monster. The inhabitants of this valley say that your husband is a terrible and
monstrous serpent, who nourishes you for a while with dainties that he may by and by
devour you. Take our advice. Provide yourself with a lamp and a sharp knife; put them
in concealment that your husband may not discover them, and when he is sound asleep,
slip out of bed, bring forth your lamp, and see for yourself whether what they say is
true or not. If it is, hesitate not to cut off the monster's head, and thereby recover your
liberty."
Psyche resisted these persuasions as well as she could, but they did not fail to have their
effect on her mind, and when her sisters were gone, their words and her own curiosity
were too strong for her to resist. So she prepared her lamp and a sharp knife, and hid
them out of sight of her husband. When he had fallen into his first sleep, she silently
rose and uncovering her lamp beheld not a hideous monster, but the most beautiful and
charming of the gods, with his golden ringlets wandering over his snowy neck and
crimson cheek, with two dewy wings on his shoulders, whiter than snow, and with
shining feathers like the tender blossoms of spring.
As she leaned the lamp over to have a better view of his face, a drop of burning oil fell
on the shoulder of the god. Startled, he opened his eyes and fixed them upon her. Then,
without saying a word, he spread his white wings and flew out of the window. Psyche,
in vain endeavoring to follow him, fell from the window to the ground.
Cupid, beholding her as she lay in the dust, stopped his flight for an instant and said,
"Oh foolish Psyche, is it thus you repay my love? After I disobeyed my mother's
commands and made you my wife, will you think me a monster and cut off my head?
But go; return to your sisters, whose advice you seem to think preferable to mine. I
inflict no other punishment on you than to leave you for ever. Love cannot dwell with
suspicion." So saying, he fled away, leaving poor Psyche prostrate on the ground,
filling the place with mournful lamentations.
When she had recovered some degree of composure she looked around her, but the
palace and gardens had vanished, and she found herself in the open field not far from
the city where her sisters dwelt. She repaired thither and told them the whole story of
her misfortunes, at which, pretending to grieve, those spiteful creatures inwardly
rejoiced.
"For now," said they, "he will perhaps choose one of us." With this idea, without
saying a word of her intentions, each of them rose early the next morning and
ascended the mountain, and having reached the top, called upon Zephyr to receive her
and bear her to his lord; then leaping up, and not being sustained by Zephyr, fell
down the precipice and was dashed to pieces.
Psyche meanwhile wandered day and night, without food or repose, in search of her
husband. Casting her eyes on a lofty mountain having on its brow a magnificent
temple, she sighed and said to herself, "Perhaps my love, my lord, inhabits there," and
directed her steps thither.
She had no sooner entered than she saw heaps of corn, some in loose ears and some in
sheaves, with mingled ears of barley. Scattered about, lay sickles and rakes, and all the
instruments of harvest, without order, as if thrown carelessly out of the weary reapers'
hands in the sultry hours of the day.
This unseemly confusion the pious Psyche put an end to, by separating and sorting
everything to its proper place and kind, believing that she ought to neglect none of the
gods, but endeavor by her piety to engage them all in her behalf. The holy Ceres,
whose temple it was, finding her so religiously employed, thus spoke to her, "Oh
Psyche, truly worthy of our pity, though I cannot shield you from the frowns of
Venus, yet I can teach you how best to allay her displeasure. Go, then, and voluntarily
surrender yourself to your lady and sovereign, and try by modesty and submission to
win her forgiveness, and perhaps her favor will restore you the husband you have
lost."
Psyche obeyed the commands of Ceres and took her way to the temple of Venus,
endeavoring to fortify her mind and ruminating on what she should say and how best
propitiate the angry goddess, feeling that the issue was doubtful and perhaps fatal.
Venus received her with angry countenance. "Most undutiful and faithless of servants,"
said she, "do you at last remember that you really have a mistress? Or have you rather
come to see your sick husband, yet laid up of the wound given him by his loving wife?
You are so ill favored and disagreeable that the only way you can merit your lover
must be by dint of industry and diligence. I will make trial of your housewifery." Then
she ordered Psyche to be led to the storehouse of her temple, where was laid up a great
quantity of wheat, barley, millet, vetches, beans, and lentils prepared for food for her
pigeons, and said, "Take and separate all these grains, putting all of the same kind in a
parcel by themselves, and see that you get it done before evening." Then Venus
departed and left her to her task. But Psyche, in a perfect consternation at the
enormous work, sat stupid and silent, without moving a finger to the inextricable heap.
While she sat despairing, Cupid stirred up the little ant, a native of the fields, to take
compassion on her. The leader of the anthill, followed by whole hosts of his six-legged
subjects, approached the heap, and with the utmost diligence taking grain by grain,
they separated the pile, sorting each kind to its parcel; and when it was all done, they
vanished out of sight in a moment.
Venus at the approach of twilight returned from the banquet of the gods, breathing
odors and crowned with roses. Seeing the task done, she exclaimed, "This is no work of
yours, wicked one, but his, whom to your own and his misfortune you have enticed."
So saying, she threw her a piece of black bread for her supper and went away.
Next morning Venus ordered Psyche to be called and said to her, "Behold yonder grove
which stretches along the margin of the water. There you will find sheep feeding
without a shepherd, with golden-shining fleeces on their backs. Go, fetch me a sample
of that precious wool gathered from every one of their fleeces."
Psyche obediently went to the riverside, prepared to do her best to execute the
command. But the river god inspired the reeds with harmonious murmurs, which
seemed to say, "Oh maiden, severely tried, tempt not the dangerous flood, nor venture
among the formidable rams on the other side, for as long as they are under the
influence of the rising sun, they burn with a cruel rage to destroy mortals with their
sharp horns or rude teeth. But when the noontide sun has driven the cattle to the
shade, and the serene spirit of the flood has lulled them to rest, you may then cross in
safety, and you will find the woolly gold sticking to the bushes and the trunks of the
trees."
Thus the compassionate river god gave Psyche instructions how to accomplish her
task, and by observing his directions she soon returned to Venus with her arms full of
the golden fleece; but she received not the approbation of her implacable mistress, who
said, "I know very well it is by none of your own doings that you have succeeded in this
task, and I am not satisfied yet that you have any capacity to make yourself useful.
But I have another task for you. Here, take this box and go your way to the infernal
shades, and give this box to Proserpine and say, 'My mistress Venus desires you to send
her a little of your beauty, for in tending her sick son she has lost some of her own.' Be
not too long on your errand, for I must paint myself with it to appear at the circle of
the gods and goddesses this evening.
"Psyche was now satisfied that her destruction was at hand, being obliged to go with
her own feet directly down to Erebus. Wherefore, to make no delay of what was not to
be avoided, she goes to the top of a high tower to precipitate herself headlong, thus to
descend the shortest way to the shades below. But a voice from the tower said to her,
"Why, poor unlucky girl, do you design to put an end to your days in so dreadful a
manner? And what cowardice makes you sink under this last danger who have been so
miraculously supported in all your former?" Then the voice told her how by a certain
cave she might reach the realms of Pluto, and how to avoid all the dangers of the road,
to pass by Cerberus, the three-headed dog, and prevail on Charon, the ferryman, to
take her across the black river and bring her back again. But the voice added, "When
Proserpine has given you the box filled with her beauty, of all things this is chiefly to be
observed by you, that you never once open or look into the box nor allow your
curiosity to pry into the treasure of the beauty of the goddesses."
Psyche, encouraged by this advice, obeyed it in all things, and taking heed to her ways
traveled safely to the kingdom of Pluto. She was admitted to the palace of Proserpine,
and without accepting the delicate seat or delicious banquet that was offered her, but
contented with coarse bread for her food, she delivered her message from Venus.
Presently the box was returned to her, shut and filled with the precious commodity.
Then she returned the way she came, and glad was she to come out once more into the
light of day.
But having got so far successfully through her dangerous task a longing desire seized
her to examine the contents of the box. "What," said she, "shall I, the carrier of this
divine beauty, not take the least bit to put on my cheeks to appear to more advantage
in the eyes of my beloved husband!" So she carefully opened the box, but found
nothing there of any beauty at all, but an infernal and truly Stygian sleep, which being
thus set free from its prison, took possession of her, and she fell down in the midst of
the road, a sleepy corpse without sense or motion.
Comprehension Questions:
1. How does the story of Cupid and Psyche reflect themes of love, trust, and
the consequences of curiosity?
2. What role do the gods and goddesses play in shaping the fate of Psyche,
and how do their actions contribute to the unfolding of the narrative?
3. In what ways does Psyche's character evolve throughout the story, and how
does her journey serve as a metaphorical exploration of personal growth and
resilience?
4. Analyze the symbolism behind the tasks assigned to Psyche by Venus. How
do these tasks represent challenges and trials commonly found in mythology?
5. How does the resolution of the story emphasize the enduring nature of true
love and the potential for redemption, especially considering the intervention
of Jupiter and the divine elements in the narrative?
Assessment Procedure:

Direction:Write a detailed character analysis, exploring their traits, motivations,
conflicts, and how they contribute to the overall themes of the work.

Direction: Write a short story that revolves around a mysterious object. Explore
how the characters interact with this object, and build tension as the story
unfolds. Consider incorporating elements of suspense, surprise, and resolution.
Activity 3: Modern Parallels

Direction: Love Stories in Popular Culture Identify and analyze modern love
stories in movies, literature, or television that share similarities with the themes
present in the Cupid and Psyche myth. Explore how these stories incorporate
elements of love, trust, and challenges similar to the ancient myth. Write a
comparative essay.
Activity 4: Reflective Journaling
Direction: Personal Growth
Imagine you are Psyche, and create a reflective journal chronicling your
personal growth and emotional journey throughout the various challenges
you faced. Discuss moments of self-discovery, resilience, and the lessons
learned.
Activity 5: Music Composition

Directions: Compose original music or lyrics inspired by the emotions and
themes present in the Cupid and Psyche narrative.
Week 2
CONSEQUENCES OF BEING GREEDY
Objectives: At the end of the discussion the students will be

able to:
A. Read the story entitled " THE NECKLACE” By Guy de

Maupassant and relate it to real-life situations;
C. answers the five different activities related to the story.
Literature: THE NECKLACE (By: Guy de Maupassant)
Activities:
Activity 2: CHARACTER COMPARISON
Activity 4: ALTERNATE TITLE
Activity 5: PLOT DIAGRAM
THE NECKLACE
BY GUY DE MAUPASSANT
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! . . .
1. What motivates Mathilde to borrow a necklace for the party?

2. How does Mathilde's perception of her social status impact her decisions
throughout the story?
3. Describe the turning point in the story and its consequences for Mathilde and
her husband.
4. What is the significance of the necklace in the story, both symbolically and
practically?
5. Reflect on the irony in the ending of "The Necklace" and its implications for
the characters.
Activity 1: Alternate Ending

Direction: Write an alternate ending for the story, considering different choices
Mathilde could have made and how it would impact the outcome.
Activity 2: Character Comparison

Directions In a Venn diagram , compare and contrast the characters of Mathilde
Loisel and Madame Forestier. Explore their personalities, values, and the impact
they have on each other.
Activity 3: Comparative Analysis

Directions: Compare "The Necklace" with another short story or literary work
that explores similar themes, such as the consequences of materialism or the
pursuit of societal status.
Activity 4: Alternate Title

Directions: Make an alternate title for the story that reflects its central themes or
events. Discuss the significance of their chosen titles.
Activity 5: Plot Diagram

Direction: Have students create a plot diagram illustrating the exposition, rising
action, climax, falling action, and resolution of "The Necklace."
Week 3
THE UNLOVED WOMAN

able to:
A. Read the story entitled " THE YELLOW WALLPAPER" By

Charlotte Perkins Gilman and relate it to real-life situations;
Literature: THE YELLOW WALLPAPER (By: Charlotte

Perkins Gilman)
Activities:
Activity 1: SYMBOLISM HUNT
Activity 3: COMPARATIVE ANALYSIS.
Activity 4: POETRY
Activity 5: VISUAL MOOD BOARD
THE YELLOW WALLPAPER

BY: CHARLOTTE PERKINS GILMAN
It is very seldom that mere ordinary people like John and myself secure ancestral halls
for the summer.
A colonial mansion, a hereditary estate, I would say a haunted house, and reach the
height of romantic felicity—but that would be asking too much of fate!
Still I will proudly declare that there is something queer about it.
Else, why should it be let so cheaply? And why have stood so long untenanted?
John laughs at me, of course, but one expects that in marriage.
John is practical in the extreme. He has no patience with faith, an intense horror of
superstition, and he scoffs openly at any talk of things not to be felt and seen and put
down in figures.
John is a physician, and perhaps—(I would not say it to a living soul, of course, but this
is dead paper and a great relief to my mind)—perhaps that is one reason I do not get
well faster.
You see, he does not believe I am sick!
And what can one do?
If a physician of high standing, and one’s own husband, assures friends and relatives
that there is really nothing the matter with one but temporary nervous depression—a
slight hysterical tendency—what is one to do?
My brother is also a physician, and also of high standing, and he says the same thing.
So I take phosphates or phosphites—whichever it is, and tonics, and journeys, and air,
and exercise, and am absolutely forbidden to “work” until I am well again.
Personally, I disagree with their ideas.
Personally, I believe that congenial work, with excitement and change, would do me
good.
But what is one to do?
I did write for a while in spite of them; but it does exhaust me a good deal—having to be
so sly about it, or else meet with heavy opposition.
I sometimes fancy that in my condition if I had less opposition and more society and
stimulus—but John says the very worst thing I can do is to think about my condition,
and I confess it always makes me feel bad.
So I will let it alone and talk about the house.
The most beautiful place! It is quite alone, standing well back from the road, quite three
miles from the village. It makes me think of English places that you read about, for there
are hedges and walls and gates that lock, and lots of separate little houses for the
gardeners and people.
There is a delicious garden! I never saw such a garden—large and shady, full of box-
bordered paths, and lined with long grape-covered arbors with seats under them.
There were greenhouses, too, but they are all broken now.
There was some legal trouble, I believe, something about the heirs and co-heirs;
anyhow, the place has been empty for years.
That spoils my ghostliness, I am afraid; but I don’t care—there is something strange
about the house—I can feel it.
I even said so to John one moonlight evening, but he said what I felt was a draught,
and shut the window.
I get unreasonably angry with John sometimes. I’m sure I never used to be so sensitive.
I think it is due to this nervous condition.
But John says if I feel so I shall neglect proper self-control; so I take pains to control
myself,—before him, at least,—and that makes me very tired.
I don’t like our room a bit. I wanted one downstairs that opened on the piazza and
had roses all over the window, and such pretty old-fashioned chintz hangings! but
John would not hear of it.
He said there was only one window and not room for two beds, and no near room for
him if he took another.
He is very careful and loving, and hardly lets me stir without special direction.
I have a schedule prescription for each hour in the day; he takes all care from me, and
so I feel basely ungrateful not to value it more.
He said we came here solely on my account, that I was to have perfect rest and all the
air I could get. “Your exercise depends on your strength, my dear,” said he, “and your
food somewhat on your appetite; but air you can absorb all the time.” So we took the
nursery, at the top of the house.
It is a big, airy room, the whole floor nearly, with windows that look all ways, and air
and sunshine galore. It was nursery first and then playground and gymnasium, I
should judge; for the windows are barred for little children, and there are rings and
things in the walls.
The paint and paper look as if a boys’ school had used it. It is stripped off—the paper
—in great patches all around the head of my bed, about as far as I can reach, and in a
great place on the other side of the room low down. I never saw a worse paper in my
life. One of those sprawling flamboyant patterns committing every artistic sin.
It is dull enough to confuse the eye in following, pronounced enough to constantly

irritate, and provoke study, and when you follow the lame, uncertain curves for a little
distance they suddenly commit suicide—plunge off at outrageous angles, destroy
themselves in unheard-of contradictions. The color is repellant, almost revolting; a
smouldering, unclean yellow, strangely faded by the slow-turning sunlight. It is a dull
yet lurid orange in some places, a sickly sulphur tint in others. No wonder the children
hated it! I should hate it myself if I had to live in this room long. There comes John,
and I must put this away,—he hates to have me write a word. We have been here two
weeks, and I haven’t felt like writing before, since that first day.
I am sitting by the window now, up in this atrocious nursery, and there is nothing to
hinder my writing as much as I please, save lack of strength. John is away all day, and
even some nights when his cases are serious. I am glad my case is not serious! But these
nervous troubles are dreadfully depressing. John does not know how much I really
suffer. He knows there is no reason to suffer, and that satisfies him. Of course it is only
nervousness. It does weigh on me so not to do my duty in any way! I meant to be such
a help to John, such a real rest and comfort, and here I am a comparative burden
already! Nobody would believe what an effort it is to do what little I am able—to dress
and entertain, and order things.
It is fortunate Mary is so good with the baby. Such a dear baby! And yet I cannot be
with him, it makes me so nervous. I suppose John never was nervous in his life. He
laughs at me so about this wallpaper! At first he meant to repaper the room, but
afterwards he said that I was letting it get the better of me, and that nothing was worse
for a nervous patient than to give way to such fancies. He said that after the wallpaper
was changed it would be the heavy bedstead, and then the barred windows, and then
that gate at the head of the stairs, and so on. “You know the place is doing you good,”
he said, “and really, dear, I don’t care to renovate the house just for a three months’
rental.”
“Then do let us go downstairs,” I said, “there are such pretty rooms there.” Then he
took me in his arms and called me a blessed little goose, and said he would go down
cellar if I wished, and have it whitewashed into the bargain. But he is right enough
about the beds and windows and things. It is as airy and comfortable a room as any
one need wish, and, of course, I would not be so silly as to make him uncomfortable
just for a whim. I’m really getting quite fond of the big room, all but that horrid paper.
Out of one window I can see the garden, those mysterious deep-shaded arbors, the
riotous old-fashioned flowers, and bushes and gnarly trees. Out of another I get a
lovely view of the bay and a little private wharf belonging to the estate.
There is a beautiful shaded lane that runs down there from the house. I always fancy I
see people walking in these numerous paths and arbors, but John has cautioned me not
to give way to fancy in the least. He says that with my imaginative power and habit of
story-making a nervous weakness like mine is sure to lead to all manner of excited
fancies, and that I ought to use my will and good sense to check the tendency. So I try.
I think sometimes that if I were only well enough to write a little it would relieve the
press of ideas and rest me. But I find I get pretty tired when I try. It is so discouraging
not to have any advice and companionship about my work.
When I get really well John says we will ask Cousin Henry and Julia down for a long
visit; but he says he would as soon put fire-works in my pillow-case as to let me have
those stimulating people about now. I wish I could get well faster. But I must not think
about that. This paper looks to me as if it knew what a vicious influence it had!
There is a recurrent spot where the pattern lolls like a broken neck and two bulbous
eyes stare at you upside-down.
I get positively angry with the impertinence of it and the everlastingness. Up and down
and sideways they crawl, and those absurd, unblinking eyes are everywhere. There is
one place where two breadths didn’t match, and the eyes go all up and down the line,
one a little higher than the other.
I never saw so much expression in an inanimate thing before, and we all know how
much expression they have! I used to lie awake as a child and get more entertainment
and terror out of blank walls and plain furniture than most children could find in a
toy-store.
I remember what a kindly wink the knobs of our big old bureau used to have, and
there was one chair that always seemed like a strong friend.
I used to feel that if any of the other things looked too fierce I could always hop into
that chair and be safe.
The furniture in this room is no worse than inharmonious, however, for we had to
bring it all from downstairs. I suppose when this was used as a playroom they had to
take the nursery things out, and no wonder! I never saw such ravages as the children
have made here.
The wallpaper, as I said before, is torn off in spots, and it sticketh closer than a
brother—they must have had perseverance as well as hatred.
Then the floor is scratched and gouged and splintered, the plaster itself is dug out here
and there, and this great heavy bed, which is all we found in the room, looks as if it
had been through the wars.
But I don’t mind it a bit—only the paper.
There comes John’s sister. Such a dear girl as she is, and so careful of me! I must not
let her find me writing.
She is a perfect, and enthusiastic housekeeper, and hopes for no better profession. I
verily believe she thinks it is the writing which made me sick!
But I can write when she is out, and see her a long way off from these windows.
There is one that commands the road, a lovely, shaded, winding road, and one that
just looks off over the country. A lovely country, too, full of great elms and velvet
meadows.
This wallpaper has a kind of sub-pattern in a different shade, a particularly irritating
one, for you can only see it in certain lights, and not clearly then.
But in the places where it isn’t faded, and where the sun is just so, I can see a strange,
provoking, formless sort of figure, that seems to sulk about behind that silly and
conspicuous front design.
There’s sister on the stairs!
Well, the Fourth of July is over! The people are gone and I am tired out. John thought
it might do me good to see a little company, so we just had mother and Nellie and the
children down for a week.
Of course I didn’t do a thing. Jennie sees to everything now.
But it tired me all the same.
John says if I don’t pick up faster he shall send me to Weir Mitchell in the fall.
But I don’t want to go there at all. I had a friend who was in his hands once, and she
says he is just like John and my brother, only more so!
Besides, it is such an undertaking to go so far.
I don’t feel as if it was worth while to turn my hand over for anything, and I’m getting
dreadfully fretful and querulous.
I cry at nothing, and cry most of the time.
Of course I don’t when John is here, or anybody else, but when I am alone.
And I am alone a good deal just now. John is kept in town very often by serious cases,
and Jennie is good and lets me alone when I want her to.
So I walk a little in the garden or down that lovely lane, sit on the porch under the
roses, and lie down up here a good deal.
I’m getting really fond of the room in spite of the wallpaper. Perhaps because of the
wallpaper.
It dwells in my mind so!
I lie here on this great immovable bed—it is nailed down, I believe—and follow that
pattern about by the hour. It is as good as gymnastics, I assure you. I start, we’ll say, at
the bottom, down in the corner over there where it has not been touched, and I
determine for the thousandth time that I will follow that pointless pattern to some sort
of a conclusion.
I know a little of the principle of design, and I know this thing was not arranged on
any laws of radiation, or alternation, or repetition, or symmetry, or anything else that I
ever heard of.
It is repeated, of course, by the breadths, but not otherwise.
Looked at in one way each breadth stands alone, the bloated curves and flourishes—a
kind of “debased Romanesque” with delirium tremens—go waddling up and down in
isolated columns of fatuity.
But, on the other hand, they connect diagonally, and the sprawling outlines run off in
great slanting waves of optic horror, like a lot of wallowing seaweeds in full chase.
The whole thing goes horizontally, too, at least it seems so, and I exhaust myself in
trying to distinguish the order of its going in that direction.
They have used a horizontal breadth for a frieze, and that adds wonderfully to the
confusion.
There is one end of the room where it is almost intact, and there, when the cross-lights
fade and the low sun shines directly upon it, I can almost fancy radiation after all,—the
interminable grotesques seem to form around a common centre and rush off in
headlong plunges of equal distraction.
It makes me tired to follow it. I will take a nap, I guess.
I don’t know why I should write this.
I don’t want to.
I don’t feel able.
And I know John would think it absurd. But I must say what I feel and think in some
way—it is such a relief!
But the effort is getting to be greater than the relief.
Half the time now I am awfully lazy, and lie down ever so much.
John says I musn’t lose my strength, and has me take cod-liver oil and lots of tonics
and things, to say nothing of ale and wine and rare meat.
Dear John! He loves me very dearly, and hates to have me sick. I tried to have a real
earnest reasonable talk with him the other day, and tell him how I wish he would let
me go and make a visit to Cousin Henry and Julia.
But he said I wasn’t able to go, nor able to stand it after I got there; and I did not
make out a very good case for myself, for I was crying before I had finished.
It is getting to be a great effort for me to think straight. Just this nervous weakness, I
suppose. And dear John gathered me up in his arms, and just carried me upstairs and
laid me on the bed, and sat by me and read to me till it tired my head.
He said I was his darling and his comfort and all he had, and that I must take care of
myself for his sake, and keep well.
He says no one but myself can help me out of it, that I must use my will and self-
control and not let any silly fancies run away with me.
There’s one comfort, the baby is well and happy, and does not have to occupy this
nursery with the horrid wallpaper.
If we had not used it that blessed child would have! What a fortunate escape! Why, I
wouldn’t have a child of mine, an impressionable little thing, live in such a room for
worlds.
I never thought of it before, but it is lucky that John kept me here after all. I can stand
it so much easier than a baby, you see.
Of course I never mention it to them any more,—I am too wise,—but I keep watch of
it all the same.
There are things in that paper that nobody knows but me, or ever will.
Behind that outside pattern the dim shapes get clearer every day.
It is always the same shape, only very numerous.
And it is like a woman stooping down and creeping about behind that pattern. I don’t
like it a bit. I wonder—I begin to think—I wish John would take me away from here!
It is so hard to talk with John about my case, because he is so wise, and because he
loves me so.
But I tried it last night.
It was moonlight. The moon shines in all around, just as the sun does.
I hate to see it sometimes, it creeps so slowly, and always comes in by one window or
another.John was asleep and I hated to waken him, so I kept still and watched the
moonlight on that undulating wallpaper till I felt creepy.
The faint figure behind seemed to shake the pattern, just as if she wanted to get out.
I got up softly and went to feel and see if the paper did move, and when I came back
John was awake.
“What is it, little girl?” he said. “Don’t go walking about like that—you’ll get cold.”
I thought it was a good time to talk, so I told him that I really was not gaining here, and
that I wished he would take me away.
“Why darling!” said he, “our lease will be up in three weeks, and I can’t see how to leave
before.
“The repairs are not done at home, and I cannot possibly leave town just now. Of course
if you were in any danger I could and would, but you really are better, dear, whether you
can see it or not. I am a doctor, dear, and I know. You are gaining flesh and color, your
appetite is better. I feel really much easier about you.”
“I don’t weigh a bit more,” said I, “nor as much; and my appetite may be better in the
evening, when you are here, but it is worse in the morning when you are away.”
“Bless her little heart!” said he with a big hug; “she shall be as sick as she pleases! But
now let’s improve the shining hours by going to sleep, and talk about it in the morning!”
“And you won’t go away?” I asked gloomily.
“Why, how can I, dear? It is only three weeks more and then we will take a nice little trip
of a few days while Jennie is getting the house ready. Really, dear, you are better!”
“Better in body perhaps”—I began, and stopped short, for he sat up straight and looked
at me with such a stern, reproachful look that I could not say another word.
“My darling,” said he, “I beg of you, for my sake and for our child’s sake, as well as for
your own, that you will never for one instant let that idea enter your mind! There is
nothing so dangerous, so fascinating, to a temperament like yours. It is a false and
foolish fancy. Can you not trust me as a physician when I tell you so?”
So of course I said no more on that score, and we went to sleep before long. He thought
I was asleep first, but I wasn’t,—I lay there for hours trying to decide whether that front
pattern and the back pattern really did move together or separately.
On a pattern like this, by daylight, there is a lack of sequence, a defiance of law, that is a
constant irritant to a normal mind.
The color is hideous enough, and unreliable enough, and infuriating enough, but the
pattern is torturing.
You think you have mastered it, but just as you get well under way in following, it turns
a back somersault and there you are. It slaps you in the face, knocks you down, and
tramples upon you. It is like a bad dream.
The outside pattern is a florid arabesque, reminding one of a fungus. If you can imagine
a toadstool in joints, an interminable string of toadstools, budding and sprouting in
endless convolutions,—why, that is something like it.
That is, sometimes!
There is one marked peculiarity about this paper, a thing nobody seems to notice but
myself, and that is that it changes as the light changes.
When the sun shoots in through the east window—I always watch for that first long,
straight ray—it changes so quickly that I never can quite believe it.
That is why I watch it always.
By moonlight—the moon shines in all night when there is a moon—I wouldn’t know it
was the same paper.
At night in any kind of light, in twilight, candlelight, lamplight, and worst of all by
moonlight, it becomes bars! The outside pattern I mean, and the woman behind it is as
plain as can be.
I didn’t realize for a long time what the thing was that showed behind,—that dim sub-
pattern,—but now I am quite sure it is a woman.
By daylight she is subdued, quiet. I fancy it is the pattern that keeps her so still. It is so
puzzling. It keeps me quiet by the hour.
I lie down ever so much now. John says it is good for me, and to sleep all I can.
Indeed, he started the habit by making me lie down for an hour after each meal.
It is a very bad habit, I am convinced, for, you see, I don’t sleep.
And that cultivates deceit, for I don’t tell them I’m awake,—oh, no!
The fact is, I am getting a little afraid of John.
He seems very queer sometimes, and even Jennie has an inexplicable look.
It strikes me occasionally, just as a scientific hypothesis, that perhaps it is the paper!
I have watched John when he did not know I was looking, and come into the room
suddenly on the most innocent excuses, and I’ve caught him several times looking at the
paper! And Jennie too. I caught Jennie with her hand on it once.
She didn’t know I was in the room, and when I asked her in a quiet, a very quiet voice,
with the most restrained manner possible, what she was doing with the paper she turned
around as if she had been caught stealing, and looked quite angry—asked me why I
should frighten her so!
Then she said that the paper stained everything it touched, that she had found yellow
smooches on all my clothes and John’s, and she wished we would be more careful!
Did not that sound innocent? But I know she was studying that pattern, and I am
determined that nobody shall find it out but myself!
Life is very much more exciting now than it used to be. You see I have something more
to expect, to look forward to, to watch. I really do eat better, and am more quiet than I
was.
John is so pleased to see me improve! He laughed a little the other day, and said I
seemed to be flourishing in spite of my wallpaper.
I turned it off with a laugh. I had no intention of telling him it was because of the
wallpaper—he would make fun of me. He might even want to take me away.
I don’t want to leave now until I have found it out. There is a week more, and I think
that will be enough.
I’m feeling ever so much better! I don’t sleep much at night, for it is so interesting to
watch developments; but I sleep a good deal in the daytime.
In the daytime it is tiresome and perplexing.
There are always new shoots on the fungus, and new shades of yellow all over it. I
cannot keep count of them, though I have tried conscientiously.
It is the strangest yellow, that wallpaper! It makes me think of all the yellow things I ever
saw—not beautiful ones like buttercups, but old foul, bad yellow things.
But there is something else about that paper—the smell! I noticed it the moment we
came into the room, but with so much air and sun it was not bad. Now we have had a
week of fog and rain, and whether the windows are open or not, the smell is here.
It creeps all over the house.
I find it hovering in the dining-room, skulking in the parlor, hiding in the hall, lying in
wait for me on the stairs.
It gets into my hair.

Even when I go to ride, if I turn my head suddenly and surprise it—there is that smell!
Such a peculiar odor, too! I have spent hours in trying to analyze it, to find what it
smelled like.
It is not bad—at first, and very gentle, but quite the subtlest, most enduring odor I ever
met.
In this damp weather it is awful. I wake up in the night and find it hanging over me.
It used to disturb me at first. I thought seriously of burning the house—to reach the
smell. But now I am used to it. The only thing I can think of that it is like is the color of
the paper! A yellow smell.
There is a very funny mark on this wall, low down, near the mopboard. A streak that
runs round the room. It goes behind every piece of furniture, except the bed, a long,
straight, even smooch, as if it had been rubbed over and over.
I wonder how it was done and who did it, and what they did it for. Round and round
and round—round and round and round—it makes me dizzy!
I really have discovered something at last.
Through watching so much at night, when it changes so, I have finally found out.
The front pattern does move—and no wonder! The woman behind shakes it!
Sometimes I think there are a great many women behind, and sometimes only one, and
she crawls around fast, and her crawling shakes it all over.
Then in the very bright spots she keeps still, and in the very shady spots she just takes
hold of the bars and shakes them hard.
And she is all the time trying to climb through. But nobody could climb through that
pattern—it strangles so; I think that is why it has so many heads.
They get through, and then the pattern strangles them off and turns them upside-down,
and makes their eyes white!
If those heads were covered or taken off it would not be half so bad.
I think that woman gets out in the daytime!
And I’ll tell you why—privately—I’ve seen her!
I can see her out of every one of my windows!
It is the same woman, I know, for she is always creeping, and most women do not creep
by daylight.
I see her on that long shaded lane, creeping up and down. I see her in those dark grape
arbors, creeping all around the garden.
I see her on that long road under the trees, creeping along, and when a carriage comes
she hides under the blackberry vines.
I don’t blame her a bit. It must be very humiliating to be caught creeping by daylight!
I always lock the door when I creep by daylight. I can’t do it at night, for I know John
would suspect something at once.
And John is so queer now, that I don’t want to irritate him. I wish he would take
another room! Besides, I don’t want anybody to get that woman out at night but myself.
I often wonder if I could see her out of all the windows at once.
But, turn as fast as I can, I can only see out of one at one time.
And though I always see her she may be able to creep faster than I can turn!
I have watched her sometimes away off in the open country, creeping as fast as a cloud
shadow in a high wind.
If only that top pattern could be gotten off from the under one! I mean to try it, little by
little.
I have found out another funny thing, but I shan’t tell it this time! It does not do to trust
people too much.
There are only two more days to get this paper off, and I believe John is beginning to
notice. I don’t like the look in his eyes.
And I heard him ask Jennie a lot of professional questions about me. She had a very
good report to give.
She said I slept a good deal in the daytime. John knows I don’t sleep very well at night,
for all I’m so quiet! He asked me all sorts of questions, too, and pretended to be very
loving and kind. As if I couldn’t see through him! Still, I don’t wonder he acts so,
sleeping under this paper for three months. It only interests me, but I feel sure John and
Jennie are secretly affected by it. Hurrah! This is the last day, but it is enough. John is to
stay in town over night, and won’t be out until this evening. Jennie wanted to sleep with
me—the sly thing! but I told her I should undoubtedly rest better for a night all alone.
That was clever, for really I wasn’t alone a bit! As soon as it was moonlight, and that
poor thing began to crawl and shake the pattern, I got up and ran to help her. I pulled
and she shook, I shook and she pulled, and before morning we had peeled off yards of
that paper. A strip about as high as my head and half around the room. And then when
the sun came and that awful pattern began to laugh at me I declared I would finish it to-
day! We go away to-morrow, and they are moving all my furniture down again to leave
things as they were before. Jennie looked at the wall in amazement, but I told her
merrily that I did it out of pure spite at the vicious thing.
She laughed and said she wouldn’t mind doing it herself, but I must not get tired. How
she betrayed herself that time! But I am here, and no person touches this paper but me
—not alive! She tried to get me out of the room—it was too patent! But I said it was so
quiet and empty and clean now that I believed I would lie down again and sleep all I
could; and not to wake me even for dinner—I would call when I woke. So now she is
gone, and the servants are gone, and the things are gone, and there is nothing left but
that great bedstead nailed down, with the canvas mattress we found on it.
We shall sleep downstairs to-night, and take the boat home to-morrow. I quite enjoy
the room, now it is bare again. How those children did tear about here! This bedstead is
fairly gnawed! But I must get to work. I have locked the door and thrown the key down
into the front path. I don’t want to go out, and I don’t want to have anybody come in,
till John comes. I want to astonish him. I’ve got a rope up here that even Jennie did not
find. If that woman does get out, and tries to get away, I can tie her! But I forgot I
could not reach far without anything to stand on! This bed will not move! I tried to lift
and push it until I was lame, and then I got so angry I bit off a little piece at one corner
—but it hurt my teeth. Then I peeled off all the paper I could reach standing on the
floor. It sticks horribly and the pattern just enjoys it! All those strangled heads and
bulbous eyes and waddling fungus growths just shriek with derision! I am getting angry
enough to do something desperate.
To jump out of the window would be admirable exercise, but the bars are too strong
even to try. Besides I wouldn’t do it. Of course not. I know well enough that a step like
that is improper and might be misconstrued. I don’t like to look out of the windows
even—there are so many of those creeping women, and they creep so fast. I wonder if
they all come out of that wallpaper as I did? But I am securely fastened now by my
well-hidden rope—you don’t get me out in the road there! I suppose I shall have to get
back behind the pattern when it comes night, and that is hard! It is so pleasant to be
out in this great room and creep around as I please! I don’t want to go outside. I won’t,
even if Jennie asks me to. For outside you have to creep on the ground, and everything
is green instead of yellow. But here I can creep smoothly on the floor, and my shoulder
just fits in that long smooch around the wall, so I cannot lose my way. Why, there’s
John at the door! It is no use, young man, you can’t open it! How he does call and
pound! Now he’s crying for an axe. It would be a shame to break down that beautiful
door! “John dear!” said I in the gentlest voice, “the key is down by the front steps,
under a plantain leaf!” That silenced him for a few moments.
Then he said—very quietly indeed, “Open the door, my darling!” “I can’t,” said I. “The
key is down by the front door under a plantain leaf!” And then I said it again, several
times, very gently and slowly, and said it so often that he had to go and see, and he got
it, of course, and came in. He stopped short by the door. “What is the matter?” he
cried. “For God’s sake, what are you doing!” I kept on creeping just the same, but I
looked at him over my shoulder. “I’ve got out at last,” said I, “in spite of you and Jane!
And I’ve pulled off most of the paper, so you can’t put me back!” Now why should that
man have fainted? But he did, and right across my path by the wall, so that I had to
creep over him every time!
1. What is the narrator's initial attitude toward the yellow wallpaper, and
how does it evolve throughout the story?
2. How does the setting of the story contribute to the overall atmosphere and
the narrator's sense of confinement?
3. Analyze the role of John, the narrator's husband, in her descent into
madness. How does their relationship impact her mental state?
4. What symbolic significance does the yellow wallpaper hold in the story?
5. How does it reflect the narrator's mental and emotional state?
Activity 1: Symbolism Hunt:

Direction: Identify and analyze symbols in the story, such as the room, the
wallpaper, and the barred windows. Discuss their meanings and contributions
to the narrative.
Activity 2: Setting Description

Directions: Describe the setting of the narrator's room and use sensory details
and consider how the setting contributes to the story's atmosphere.
Activity 3: Comparative Analysis

Directions: Compare and contrast "The Yellow Wallpaper" with another work
of literature that explores similar themes. How do different authors approach
the portrayal of mental health and societal expectations?
Activity 4: Poetry Inspired by Themes

Direction: Write a poem inspired by the themes and emotions conveyed in
"The Yellow Wallpaper." Use the narrative as a muse for exploring your own
creative expression.
Activity 5: Visual Mood Board

Directions: Create a visual mood board using images, colors, and textures that
represent the atmosphere and emotions conveyed in "The Yellow Wallpaper."
Week 4
THE WISE COUPLE
Objectives: At the end of the discussion the students will

be able to:
A. Read the story entitled " THE GIFT OF MAGI" by

O’Henry and relate it to real-life situations;
Literature: THE GIFT OF MAGI (By: O’Henry)
Activities:
Activity 1: VOCABULARY BUILDING
Activity 3: STORY SEQUENCING CARD
Activity 4: CREATIVE EXCHANGE GIFT
Activity 5: MULTIPLE CHOICE
THE GIFT OF MAGI

BY: O HENRY
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.”
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. Per- haps 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 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 lim 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. 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 eighty-seven cents?"
At seven, Jim's dinner was ready for him.
lim 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 lim 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 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." lim 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!" 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." lim 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.
1. What motivates Della to sell her hair?

2. Why does Jim sell his prized possession?
3. How do Jim and Della feel when they exchange their gifts? Explain.
4. What is the significance of the title "The Gift of the Magi"?
5. How does the story explore the theme of sacrifice?
Activity 1: Vocabulary Building

Directions: Compile a list of challenging vocabulary from the story, define the
words and make a sentence using the words.
Activity 2: Comparative Analysis with Film

Direction: Watch a film adaptation of "The Gift of the Magi" and compare it to
the written version. Discuss how visual elements enhance or alter the story's
interpretation.
Activity 3: Story Sequencing Cards

Direction: Develop sets of story sequencing cards for students to arrange in
chronological order. This tactile activity aids in understanding narrative
structure and plot development.
Activity 4: Creative Gift Exchange

Direction: Write what version of a sacrificial gift. What would you be willing to
give up for someone you love?
Activity 5: Multiple choice

Direction: Choose the letter of the correct answer.
1.What is the main theme of "The Gift of the Magi"?

a) Love
b) Sacrifice
c) Greed
d) Betrayal
2.What are the names of the main characters in the story?

a) Jim and Della
b) Tom and Daisy
c) Harry and Sally
d) Jack and Jill
3.What is the special occasion for which the characters buy gifts?
a) Christmas
b) Valentine's Day
c) Anniversary
d) Birthday
4.What does Della sell to buy a gift for Jim?

a) Her hair
b) Her clothes
c) Her jewelry
d) Her books
5.What does Jim sell to buy a gift for Della?

a) His watch
b) His car
c) His guitar
d) His bicycle
6.Where does the majority of the story take place?

a) New York
b) Chicago
c) London
d) Paris
7.How do Jim and Della feel when they exchange their gifts?
a) Happy
b) Regretful
c) Surprised
d) Indifferent
8.What is the moral lesson conveyed in "The Gift of the Magi"?

a) Material possessions are the key to happiness
b) True love involves sacrifice
c) Never trust others with your secrets
d) Greed leads to downfall
9.What is the significance of the title "The Gift of the Magi"?
a) It refers to the biblical Magi who brought gifts to baby Jesus
b) It symbolizes the magical nature of the gifts
c) It reflects the wisdom of the characters
d) It has no specific meaning
10.How does the story conclude?

a) Jim and Della break up
b) They discover the true value of their gifts
c) A stranger helps them financially
d) The story ends with a cliffhanger
Week 5
REFLECTING WITH THE STORY

able to:
A. Read the story entitled " MAMMON AND THE ARCHER"

by O’Henry and relate it to real-life situations;
Literature: MAMMON AND THE ARCHER (By: O’Henry)
Activities:
Activity 1: CHARACTER PROFILE
Activity 2: REFLECTION ON PERSONAL VALUES
Activity 3: THEMES AND VARIATION
Activity 4: REAL-WORLD APPLICATION
Activity 5: REFLECTION ON MORALITY
MAMMON AND THE ARCHER

BY: O HENRY
Old Anthony Rockwall, who had made millions of dollars by making and selling
Rockwall’s soap, stood at a window of his large Fifth Avenue house. He was looking
out at his neighbor, G. Van Schuylight Suffolk-Jones. This neighbor was a proud
member of a proud old New York family. He came out of his door and got into a cab.
He looked once quickly, as usual, at Anthony Rockwall’s house. The look showed that
Suffolk-Jones was a very important man,
while a rich soapmaker was nothing.
“I will have this house painted red, white, and blue next sum-
mer,” said the Soap King to himself. “And we’ll see how he likes that.” And then
Anthony Rockwall turned around and shouted, “Mike!”
in a loud voice. He never used a bell to call a servant. Tell my son,” he said when the
servant came, “to come to me before he leaves the house.”
When young Rockwall entered the room, the old man put down the newspaper he had
been reading. “Richard,” said Anthony Rockwall, “what do you pay for the soap that
you use?” Richard had finished college six months before, and he had come home to
live. He had not yet learned to understand his father. He was always being surprised.
He said, “Six dollars for twelve pieces.”
“And your clothes?”
“About sixty dollars, usually.”
“You are a gentleman,” said his father. “I have heard of young men
who pay twenty-four dollars for twelve pieces of soap, and more than a hundred for
clothes. You have as much money to throw away as anyone else has. But what you do
is reasonable. I myself use Rockwall Soap, because it is the best. When you pay more
than ten cents for a piece of soap, you are paying for a sweet strong smell and a name.
“But fifty cents is good for a young man like you. You are a gentleman. People say
that if a man is not a gentleman, his son can’t be a gentleman; but perhaps his son’s son
will be a gentleman. But they are wrong. Money does it faster than that. Money has
made you a gentleman. It has almost made me a gentleman. I have become very much
like the two gentlemen who own the houses on each side of us. My manners are now
almost as bad as theirs. But they still can’t sleep at night because a soapmaker lives in
this house.”
“There are some things that money can’t do,” said the young man rather sadly.
“Don’t say that,” said old Anthony. “Money is successful every time. I don’t know
anything you can’t buy with it. Tell me something that money can’t buy. And I want
you to tell me something more. Something is wrong with you. I’ve seen it for two
weeks. Tell me.
Let me help you. In twenty-four hours I could have eleven million dollars here in my
hands. Are you sick?”
“Some people call it sickness.” "Oh!" said Anthony. "What's her name? Why don't you
ask her to marry you? She would be glad to do it. You have money, you are good-
looking, and you are a good boy. Your hands are clean. You have no Rockwall Soap
on them." "I haven't had a chance to ask her," said Richard.
"Make a chance," said Anthony. "Take her for a walk in the park.
Or walk home with her from church."
"You don't know the life of a rich girl, father. Every hour and minute of her time is
planned. I must have her, or the world is worth nothing to me. And I can't write to say
I love her. I can't do that."
"Do you tell me," said the old man, "that with all my money you can't get an hour or
two of a girl's time?" "I've waited too long. She's going to Europe the day after tomor-
row. She's going to be there two years. I'm allowed to see her alone tomorrow evening
for a few minutes. She's coming to the city on a train. I'm going to meet her with a cab.
Then we'll drive fast to the theater where she must meet her mother and some other
people. Do you think she would listen to me then? No. Or in the theater? No. Or after
the theater? No! No, father, this is one trouble that your money can't help. We can't
buy one minute of time with money. If we could, rich people would live longer. There's
no hope of talking with Miss Lantry before she sails." "Richard, my boy," said old
Anthony, "I'm glad you're not really sick. You say money won't buy time? Perhaps it
won't buy all of time, but I've seen it buy some little pieces."
That evening his sister Ellen came to Anthony, to talk about the troubles that lovers
have. "He told me all about it," said brother Anthony. "I told him he could have all the
money he wanted. Then he began to say that money was no use to him. He said money
couldn't help." "Oh, Anthony," said Ellen, "I wish you wouldn't think so much of
money.
Money is no help for love. Love is all powerful. If he had only spoken to her earlier!
She could never say no to our Richard. But now I fear it is too late. All your gold
cannot buy happiness for your son. At eight the next evening Ellen took an old gold
ring and gave it to Richard. "Wear it tonight," she said. "Your mother gave it to me.
She asked me to give it to you when you had found the girl you loved." Young
Rockwall took the ring and tried to put it on his little finger. It was too small. He put it
inside his coat, in a place where he thought it would be safe. And then he called for his
cab. At the station he met Miss Lantry.
"We must not keep my mother and the others waiting," said she. "To Wallack's Theater
as fast as you can drive," said Richard to the cabby. They rolled along Forty-second
Street to Broadway and from there to Thirty-fourth Street. Then young Richard
quickly ordered the cabby to stop. "I've dropped a ring," he said, getting out.
It was my mother's and I don't want to lose it. This will take only a minute. I saw where
it fell." In less than a minute he was again in the cab with the ring. But within that
minute, a wagon had stopped in front of the cab. The cabby tried to pass on the left, but
a cab was there. He tried to pass on the right, but another cab was there. He could not
go back. He was caught where he was and could not move in any direction. These
sudden stops of movement will happen in the city. Instead of moving along the street in
their usual orderly way, all the wagons and cabs will suddenly be mixed together and
stopped. Why don't you drive further?" said Miss Lantry. "We'll be late." Richard stood
up in the cab and looked around. He saw a stream of cabs and wagons and everything
else on wheels rolling toward the corner where Broadway, Sixth Avenue and Thirty-
fourth Street meet. They came from all directions. And more and more were rolling
toward them. More and more were caught there. Drivers and cabbies shouted.
Everyone on wheels in New York City seemed to be hurrying to this place. "I'm very
sorry," said Richard. He sat down again. "We can't move. They won't get this straight in
an hour. If I hadn't dropped the ring, we_
"Let me see the ring," said Miss Lantry. "Since we really can't hurry, I don't care. I
didn't want to go to the theater. I don't like the theater." At eleven that night someone
stopped at the door of Anthony's room "Come in," shouted Anthony. He had been
reading and he put down his book. It was Ellen. "They are going to be married
Anthony," she said. "She has promised to marry our Richard. On their way to the
theater their cab was stopped in the street. It was two hours before it could move again.
"And oh, brother Anthony, don't ever talk about the power of money again.
It was a little ring, a true love ring, that was the cause of our Richard finding his
happiness. He dropped it in the street and had to get out and find it. And before they
could continue, the cab was caught among the others. He told her of his love there in
the cab. Money is nothing, Anthony. True love is everything." "I'm glad the boy got
what he wanted," said old Anthony. "I told him I didn't care how much money-" "But,
brother Anthony, what could your money do?" "Sister," said Anthony Rockwall. "I'm
reading a book with a good story in it. It's a wild adventure story, but I like it. And I
want to find what happens next. I wish you would let me go on reading." The story
should end here. I wish it would. I'm sure you too wish it would end here. But we must
go on to the truth. The next day a person with red hands and a blue necktie, whose
name was Kelly, came to Anthony Rockwall's house to see Anthony. "That was good
soap we made," said Anthony. "I gave you $5,000 yesterday."
"I paid out $300 more of my own money," said Kelly. "It cost more than I expected. I
got the cabs, most of them, for $5, but anything with two horses was $10. I had to pay
most to the cops $50 I paid to two, and the others $20 and $25. But didn't it work
beautifully, Mr. Rockwall? They were all on time. And it was two hours before anyone
could move." "Thirteen hundred--there you are, Kelly," said Anthony, giving him the
money.
A thousand for you, and the $300 of your own money that you had to spend. You like
money, do you, Kelly?" "I do," said Kelly. Anthony stopped Kelly when he was at the
door. "Did you see," asked he, "anywhere in the street yesterday a little fat boy with no
clothes on? Carrying arrows?" Kelly looked surprised. "No. I didn't. But if he was like
that, with no clothes, perhaps the cops caught him." "I thought Cupid wouldn't be there,"
Anthony said, laughing. "Good-bye, Kelly.'
1. Why does Anthony Rockwall decide to have his house painted red, white,
and blue next summer?
2. What is Richard Rockwall's financial attitude towards soap and clothing?
3. Why does Richard feel he cannot propose to Miss Lantry in the given
circumstances?
4. How does Richard's plan to propose to Miss Lantry get disrupted?
5. What role does the old gold ring play in the resolution of the story, and
how does it highlight the theme of true love over money?
Activity 1: Character Profile Project

Direction: Create detailed character profiles for Anthony Rockwall and Richard.
Explore their personalities, motivations, and how their views on money and love
evolve. This project encourages a deeper understanding of character development.
Activity 2: Reflection on Personal Values

Direction: Make a reflection of your own values and attitudes towards money,
love, and time.
Activity 3: Themes and Variations Short Stories
Direction: Create short stories inspired by the themes of love, money, and time
explored in the original story. These variations allow for creative expression
while connecting to the core narrative elements.
Activity 4: Real-world Application Essay

Direction: Write an essay exploring how the themes and lessons from the story
can be applied to real-life situations or current societal issues.
Activity 5: Reflection on Morality

Direction: Prompt students to write reflective essays on the moral choices
made by characters in the story. Encourage them to explore the consequences
of these choices and the ethical dilemmas presented.
Week 6
THE DARK NIGHT

able to:
A. Read the story entitled “ NIGHT”By Elie Wiesel and

relate it to real-life situations;
Literature: NIGHT (By:Elie Wiesel)
Activities:
Activity 1: THEME EXPLORATION
Activity 2: PERSONAL REFLECTION
Activity 4: CHARACTER MAP
Activity 5: FILL ME!
NIGHT
BY ELIE WIESEL
Jewish teenager who, when the memoir begins, lives in his hometown of Sighet, in
Hungarian Transylvania. Eliezer studies the Torah (the first five books of the Old
Testament) and the Kabbalah (a doctrine of Jewish mysticism). His instruction is cut
short, however, when his teacher, Moishe the Beadle, is deported. In a few months,
Moishe returns, telling a horrifying tale: the Gestapo (the German secret police force)
took charge of his train, led everyone into the woods, and systematically butchered
them. Nobody believes Moishe, who is taken for a lunatic.
In the spring of 1944, the Nazis occupy Hungary. Not long afterward, a series of
increasingly repressive measures are passed, and the Jews of Eliezer’s town are forced
into small ghettos within Sighet. Soon they are herded onto cattle cars, and a
nightmarish journey ensues. After days and nights crammed into the car, exhausted
and near starvation, the passengers arrive at Birkenau, the gateway to Auschwitz.
Upon his arrival in Birkenau, Eliezer and his father are separated from his mother and
sisters, whom they never see again. In the first of many “selections” that Eliezer
describes in the memoir, the Jews are evaluated to determine whether they should be
killed immediately or put to work. Eliezer and his father seem to pass the evaluation,
but before they are brought to the prisoners’ barracks, they stumble upon the open-pit
furnaces where the Nazis are burning babies by the truckload.
The Jewish arrivals are stripped, shaved, disinfected, and treated with almost
unimaginable cruelty. Eventually, their captors march them from Birkenau to the main
camp, Auschwitz. They eventually arrive in Buna, a work camp, where Eliezer is put to
work in an electrical-fittings factory. Under slave-labor conditions, severely
malnourished and decimated by the frequent “selections,” the Jews take solace in
caring for each other, in religion, and in Zionism, a movement favoring the
establishment of a Jewish state in Palestine, considered the holy land. In the camp, the
Jews are subject to beatings and repeated humiliations. A vicious foreman forces
Eliezer to give him his gold tooth, which is pried out of his mouth with a rusty spoon.
The prisoners are forced to watch the hanging of fellow prisoners in the camp
courtyard. On one occasion, the Gestapo even hang a small child who had been
associated with some rebels within Buna. Because of the horrific conditions in the
camps and the ever-present danger of death, many of the prisoners themselves begin to
slide into cruelty, concerned only with personal survival. Sons begin to abandon and
abuse their fathers. Eliezer himself begins to lose his humanity and his faith, both in
God and in the people around him.
After months in the camp, Eliezer undergoes an operation for a foot injury. While he is
in the infirmary, however, the Nazis decide to evacuate the camp because the Russians
are advancing and are on the verge of liberating Buna. In the middle of a snowstorm,
the prisoners begin a death march: they are forced to run for more than fifty miles to
the Gleiwitz concentration camp. Many die of exposure to the harsh weather and
exhaustion. At Gleiwitz, the prisoners are herded into cattle cars once again. They
begin another deadly journey: one hundred Jews board the car, but only twelve remain
alive when the train reaches the concentration camp Buchenwald. Throughout the
ordeal, Eliezer and his father help each other to survive by means of mutual support
and concern. In Buchenwald, however, Eliezer’s father dies of dysentery and physical
abuse. Eliezer survives, an empty shell of a man until April 11, 1945, the day that the
American army liberates the camp.
1. What was Moishe the Beadle's horrifying tale, and how did the people in
Sighet react to it?
2. Describe the journey Eliezer and his father endured after being forced onto
cattle cars.
3. What was their destination, and what atrocities did they witness along the
way?
4. What were the conditions like in the concentration camps, particularly in
Auschwitz and Buna? How did the prisoners cope with the harsh treatment?
5. Discuss the impact of the constant "selections" on the Jewish prisoners and
how it affected their relationships and sense of humanity.
Activity 1: Theme Exploration

Direction: Explore a specific theme in "Night," such as the loss of faith,
resilience, or the dehumanizing effects of the Holocaust. Provide examples
from the text to support your analysis.
Activity 2: Personal Reflection

Direction: Write a personal reflection on the emotional impact of reading
"Night." Discuss how the memoir has influenced your understanding of
history, empathy, and the human spirit.
Activity 3: Alter the Ending

Direction: Rewrite the ending of "Night" with a different outcome. How
would the story change if Eliezer's father survived, or if the liberation
happened in a different way?
Activity 4: Create a Character Map

Direction: Make a character map highlighting the relationships and
interactions between key characters in "Night." Include information about
their roles, personalities, and how they contribute to the narrative.
Activity 5: Fill Me!
Direction: Fill the missing words.
1.Eliezer's teacher, Moishe the Beadle, tells a horrifying tale about the Gestapo
taking charge of his train and systematically butchering everyone in the
________.
2.In the spring of 1944, the Nazis occupy ________.
3.Eliezer and his father are separated from his mother and sisters upon their
arrival at ________.
4.In the first of many “selections,” the Jews are evaluated to determine whether
they should be killed immediately or put to work, and Eliezer and his father
seem to pass the evaluation at ________.
5.Eliezer is put to work in an electrical-fittings factory in the work camp
________.
6.The Jews in the camp find solace in caring for each other, in religion, and in
________, a movement favoring the establishment of a Jewish state in Palestine.
7.A vicious foreman forces Eliezer to give up his gold tooth, which is pried out
of his mouth with a ________.
8.The prisoners are forced to watch the hanging of fellow prisoners in the camp
courtyard at ________.
9.Eliezer undergoes an operation for a foot injury while he is in the infirmary at
________.
10.Eliezer's father dies of dysentery and physical abuse in the concentration
camp ________.
Week 7
MEURSAULTJOURNEY

able to:
A. Read the story entitled “ THE STRANGER” By Albert

Camus and relate it to real-life situations;
Literature: THE STRANGER (By: Albert Camus)
Activities:
Activity 1: CONFLICT RESOLUTION CHART
Activity 2: CHARACTER RELATIONSHIP
Activity 3: LITERARY ANALYSIS ESSAY
Activity 4: SYMBOLIC ARTWORK
Activity 5: MATCH ME!
THE STRANGER
BY ALBERT CAMUS
The narrator, is a young man living in Algiers. After receiving a telegram informing him
of his mother’s death, he takes a bus to Marengo, where his mother had been living in
an old persons’ home. He sleeps for almost the entire trip. When he arrives, he speaks to
the director of the home. The director allows Meursault to see his mother, but
Meursault finds that her body has already been sealed in the coffin. He declines the
caretaker’s offer to open the coffin.
That night, Meursault keeps vigil over his mother’s body. Much to his displeasure, the
talkative caretaker stays with him the whole time. Meursault smokes a cigarette, drinks
coffee, and dozes off. The next morning, before the funeral, he meets with the director
again. The director informs him that Thomas Perez, an old man who had grown very
close to Meursault’s mother, will be attending the funeral service. The funeral
procession heads for the small local village, but Perez has difficulty keeping up and
eventually faints from the heat. Meursault reports that he remembers little of the
funeral. That night, he happily arrives back in Algiers.
The next day, Meursault goes to the public beach for a swim. There, he runs into Marie
Cardona, his former co-worker. The two make a date to see a comedy at the movie
theater that evening. After the movie they spend the night together. When Meursault
wakes up, Marie is gone. He stays in bed until noon and then sits on his balcony until
evening, watching the people pass on the street.
The following day, Monday, Meursault returns to work. He has lunch with his friend
Emmanuel and then works all afternoon. While walking upstairs to his apartment that
night, Meursault runs into Salamano, an old man who lives in his building and owns a
mangy dog. Meursault also runs into his neighbor, Raymond Sintes, who is widely
rumored to be a pimp. Raymond invites Meursault over for dinner. Over the meal,
Raymond recounts how he beat up his mistress after he discovered that she had been
cheating on him. As a result, he got into a fight with her brother. Raymond now wants
to torment his mistress even more, but he needs Meursault to write a letter to lure his
mistress back to him. Meursault agrees and writes the letter that night.
The following Saturday, Marie visits Meursault at his apartment. She asks Meursault
if he loves her, and he replies that “it didn’t mean anything,” but probably not. The
two then hear shouting coming from Raymond’s apartment. They go out into the hall
and watch as a policeman arrives. The policeman slaps Raymond and says that he will
be summoned to the police station for beating up his mistress. Later, Raymond asks
Meursault to testify on his behalf, and Meursault agrees. That night, Raymond runs
into Salamano, who laments that his dog has run away.
Marie asks Meursault if he wants to marry her. He replies indifferently but says that
they can get married if she wants to, so they become engaged. The following Sunday,
Meursault, Marie, and Raymond go to a beach house owned by Masson, one of
Raymond’s friends. They swim happily in the ocean and then have lunch. That
afternoon, Masson, Raymond, and Meursault run into two Arabs on the beach, one of
whom is the brother of Raymond’s mistress. A fight breaks out and Raymond is
stabbed. After tending to his wounds, Raymond returns to the beach with Meursault.
They find the Arabs at a spring. Raymond considers shooting them with his gun, but
Meursault talks him out of it and takes the gun away. Later, however, Meursault
returns to the spring to cool off, and, for no apparent reason, he shoots Raymond’s
mistress’s brother.
Meursault is arrested and thrown into jail. His lawyer seems disgusted at Meursault’s
lack of remorse over his crime, and, in particular, at Meursault’s lack of grief at his
mother’s funeral. Later, Meursault meets with the examining magistrate, who cannot
understand Meursault’s actions. The magistrate brandishes a crucifix and demands
that Meursault put his faith in God. Meursault refuses, insisting that he does not
believe in God. The magistrate cannot accept Meursault’s lack of belief, and
eventually dubs him “Monsieur Antichrist.”
One day, Marie visits Meursault in prison. She forces herself to smile during the visit,
and she expresses hope that Meursault will be acquitted and that they will get married.
As he awaits his trial, Meursault slowly adapts to prison life. His isolation from
nature, women, and cigarettes torments him at first, but he eventually adjusts to living
without them, and soon does not even notice their absence. He manages to keep his
mind occupied, and he sleeps for most of each day.
Meursault is taken to the courthouse early on the morning of his trial. Spectators and
members of the press fill the courtroom. The subject of the trial quickly shifts away
from the murder to a general discussion of Meursault’s character, and of his reaction
to his mother’s death in particular.
The director and several other people who attended the vigil and the funeral are called to
testify, and they all attest to Meursault’s lack of grief or tears. Marie reluctantly testifies
that the day after his mother’s funeral she and Meursault went on a date and saw a
comedic movie. During his summation the following day, the prosecutor calls Meursault
a monster and says that his lack of moral feeling threatens all of society. Meursault is
found guilty and is sentenced to death by beheading.
Meursault returns to prison to await his execution. He struggles to come to terms with
his situation, and he has trouble accepting the certainty and inevitability of his fate. He
imagines escaping and he dreams of filing a successful legal appeal. One day, the
chaplain comes to visit against Meursault’s wishes. He urges Meursault to renounce his
atheism and turn to God, but Meursault refuses. Like the magistrate, the chaplain
cannot believe that Meursault does not long for faith and the afterlife.
Meursault suddenly becomes enraged, grabs the chaplain, and begins shouting at him.
He declares that he is correct in believing in a meaningless, purely physical world. For
the first time, Meursault truly embraces the idea that human existence holds no greater
meaning. He abandons all hope for the future and accepts the “gentle indifference of the
world.” This acceptance makes Meursault feel happy.
1. What prompts Meursault's journey to Marengo at the beginning of the story?

2. How does Meursault react to the news of his mother's death and his visit to
her body in the old persons' home?
3. Describe Meursault's relationship with Marie Cardona and the events that
unfold after they meet at the public beach.
4. What role does Raymond Sintes play in the narrative, and how does
Meursault become involved in Raymond's affairs?
5. What events transpire during the visit to Masson's beach house, leading to a
confrontation with the Arabs and Meursault's fateful decision?
Activity 1: Conflict Resolution Chart

Direction: Analyze the conflicts in the story, including Meursault's
indifference, his relationship with Marie, and the trial. Discuss how these
conflicts are resolved or left unresolved.
Activity 2: Character Relationships

Direction: Explore the relationships between Meursault and other characters
like Marie, Raymond, and the chaplain. Discuss how these relationships
influence Meursault's actions and decisions.
Activity 3: Literary Analysis Essay

Direction: Craft an essay analyzing the themes of existentialism and absurdity
in "The Stranger." Support your points with evidence from the text.
Activity 4: Symbolic Artwork

Direction: Create artwork that symbolically represents a theme or character
from the story. Include an artist's statement explaining the choices made and
the intended symbolism.
Activity5: Match Me!

Direction: Match the items in "Column A" with their corresponding items in
"Column B
1.What is the protagonist's name in "The Stranger"?

2.Where does Meursault travel after receiving the telegram about his mother's
death?
3.What event leads to Meursault meeting Marie Cardona?
4.Who asks Meursault to write a letter to lure back his mistress?
5.What does the prosecutor call Meursault during the trial?
6.What does Meursault do when the chaplain urges him to turn to God?
7.Which character faints from the heat during the funeral procession?
8.What is the occupation of Meursault's friend Emmanuel?
9.Where do Meursault, Marie, and Raymond spend a day after the trial?
10.How does the story conclude for Meursault?
Column B:
A. Meursault
B. Marengo
C. Meeting Marie at the public beach
D. Raymond Sintes
E. Monster
F. Refuses and becomes enraged
G. Thomas Perez
H. Meursault's colleague
I. Masson's beach house
J. Embraces the "gentle indifference of the world"
Week 8
BROKEN INTO PIECES

able to:
A. Read the story entitled “ THE LAST LEAF” By O’Henry

and relate it to real-life situations;
Literature: THE LAST LEAF (By: O’Henry)
Activities:
Activity 4: LETTER TO A CHARACTER
Activity 5: SYMBOLISM EXPLORATION
THE LAST LEAF

BY: O. HENRY
In a small part of the city west of Washington Square, the streets have gone wild. They
turn in different directions. They are broken into small pieces called “places.” One
street goes across itself one or two times. A painter once discovered something possible
and valuable about this street. Suppose a painter had some painting materials for which
he had not paid. Suppose he had no money. Suppose a man came to get the money.
The man might walk down that street and suddenly meet himself coming back, with-
out having received a cent!
This part of the city is called Greenwich Village. And to old
Greenwich Village the painters soon came. Here they found rooms they like, with good
light and at a low cost.
Sue and Johnsy lived at the top of a building with three floors. One of these young
women came from Maine, the other from California. They had met at a restaurant on
Eighth Street. There they discovered that they liked the same kind of art, the same kind
of food, and the same kind of clothes. So they decided to live and work together.
That was in the spring.
Toward winter a cold stranger entered Greenwich Village. No one could see him. He
walked around touching one person here and another there with his icy fingers. He was
a bad sickness. Doctors called him Pneumonia. On the east side of the city he hurried,
touching many people; but in the narrow streets of Greenwich Village he did not
move so quickly.
Mr. Pneumonia was not a nice old gentleman. A nice old gentleman would not hurt a
weak little woman from California. But Mr. Pneumonia touched Johnsy with his cold
fingers. She lay on her bed almost without moving, and she looked through the window
at the wall of the house next to hers.
One morning the busy doctor spoke to Sue alone in the hall, where Johnsy could not
hear.
“She has a very small chance,” he said. “She has a chance, if she wants to live. If people
don’t want to live, I can’t do much for them. Your little lady has decided that she is not
going to get well. Is there something that is troubling her?”
“She always wanted to go to Italy and paint a picture of the Bay of Naples,” said Sue.
“Paint! Not paint. Is there anything worth being troubled about? A man?”
“A man?” said Sue. “Is a man worth—No, doctor. There is not a man.”
“It is weakness,” said the doctor. “I will do all I know how to do. But when a sick
person begins to feel that he’s going to die, half my work is useless. Talk to her about
new winter clothes. If she were interested in the future, her chances would be better.”
After the doctor had gone, Sue went into the workroom to cry.
Then she walked into Johnsy's room. She carried some of her painting materials, and
she was singing.
Johnsy lay there, very thin and very quiet. Her face was turned toward the window. Sue
stopped singing, thinking that Johnsy was asleep.
Sue began to work. As she worked she heard a low sound, again and again. She went
quickly to the bedside.
Johnsy's eyes were open wide. She was looking out the window and counting counting
back.
"Twelve," she said; and a little later, "Eleven"; and then, "Ten," and, "Nine"; and then,
"Eight," and, "Seven,'
" almost together.
Sue looked out the window. What was there to count? There was only the side wall of
the next house, a short distance away. The wall had no window. An old, old tree grew
against the wall. The cold breath of winter had already touched it. Almost all its leaves
had fallen from its dark branches.
"What is it, dear?" asked Sue.
"Six," said Johnsy, in a voice still lower. "They're falling faster now.
Three days ago there were almost a hundred. It hurt my head to count them. But now
it's easy. There goes another one. There are only five now."
"Five what, dear? Tell your Sue."
"Leaves. On the tree. 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 a thing," said Sue. "It doesn't have any sense in it. What does
an old tree have to do with vou? Or with vour getting well? And you used to love that
tree so much. Don't be a little fool. The doctor told me your chances for getting well.
He told me this morning. He said you had very good chances! Try to eat a little now.
And then I'll go back to work. And then I can sell my picture, and then I can buy
something more for you to eat to make vou strong."
"You don't have to buy anything for me," said Johnsy. She still looked out the window.
"There goes another. No, I don't want anything to eat. Now there are four. I want to see
the last one fall before night. Then I'lI go, too."
"Johnsy, dear," said Sue, "will you promise me to close your eyes and keep them closed?
Will you promise not to look out the window until I finish working? I must have this
picture ready tomorrow. I need the light; I can't cover the window."
"Couldn't you work in the other room?" asked Johnsy coldly.
"I'd rather be here by you," said Sue. "And I don't want you to look at those leaves."
"Tell me as soon as you have finished," said Johnsy. She closed her eyes and lay white
and still. "Because I want to see the last leaf fall.
I have done enough waiting. I have done enough thinking. I want to go sailing down,
down, like one of those leaves."
"Try to sleep," said Sue. "I must call Behrman to come up here. I want to paint a man in
this picture, and I'll make him look like Behrman.
I won't be gone a minute. Don't try to move till I come back."
Old Behrman was a painter who lived on the first floor of their house. He was past sixty.
He had had no success as a painter. For forty years he had painted, without ever
painting a good picture. He had always talked of painting a great picture, a masterpiece,
but he had never yet started it.
He got a little money by letting others paint pictures of him. He drank too much. He still
talked of his great masterpiece. And he believed that it was his special duty to do
everything possible to help Sue and Johnsy.
Sue found him in his dark room, and she knew that he had been drinking. She could
smell it. She told him about Johnsy and the leaves on the vine. She said that she was
afraid that Johnsy would indeed sail down, down like the leaf. Her hold on the world
was growing weaker.
Old Behrman shouted his anger over such an idea.
"What!" he cried. "Are there such fools? Do people die because leaves drop off a tree? I
have not heard of such a thing. No, I will not come up and sit while you make a picture
of me. Why do you allow her to think such a thing? That poor little Johnsy!"
"She is very sick and weak," said Sue. "The sickness has put these strange ideas into her
mind. Mr. Behrman, if you won't come, you won't. But I don't think you're very nice."
"This is like a woman!" shouted Behrman. "Who said I will not come? Go. I come with
you. For half an hour I have been trying to say that I will come. God! This is not any
place for someone so good as Johnsy to lie sick. Some day I shall paint my masterpiece,
and we shall all go away from here. God! Yes."
Johnsy was sleeping when they went up. Sue covered the window, and took Behrman
into the other room. There they looked out the window fearfully at the tree. Then they
looked at each other for a moment without speaking. A cold rain was falling, with a little
snow in it too.
Behrman sat down, and Sue began to paint.
She worked through most of the night.
In the morning, after an hour's sleep, she went to Johnsy's bed-side. Johnsy with wide-
open eyes was looking toward the window. "I want to see," she told Sue.
Sue took the cover from the window. But after the beating rain and the wild wind that
had not stopped through the whole night, there still was one leaf to be seen against the
wall. It was the last on the tree. It was still dark green near the branch. But at the edges
it was turning yellow with age. There it was hanging from a branch nearly 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 today, and I shall die at the
same time. "Dear, dear Johnsy!" said Sue. "Think of me, if you won't think of yourself.
What would I do?" But Johnsy did not answer. The most lonely thing in the world is a
soul when it is preparing to go on its far journey. The ties that held her to friendship and
to earth were breaking, one by one.
The day slowly passed. As it grew dark, they could still see the leaf hanging from its
branch against the wall. And then, as the night came, the north wind began again to
blow. The rain still beat against the windows. When it was light enough the next
morning, Johnsy again commanded that she be allowed to see. The leaf was still there.
Johnsy lay for a long time looking at it. And then she called to Sue, who was cooking
something for her to eat. "I've been a bad girl, Sue," said Johnsy. "Something has made
that last leaf stay there to show me how bad I was. It is wrong to want to die. They try
to eat now. But first bring me a looking-glass, so that I can see myself. And then I'lI sit
up and watch you cook." An hour later she said, "Sue, some day I hope to paint the Bay
of Naples." The doctor came in the afternoon. Sue followed him into the hall outside
Johnsy's room to talk to him. "The chances are good," said the doctor. He took Sue's
thin, shaking hand in his. "Give her good care, and she'll get well. And now I must see
another sick person in this house. His name is Behrman. A painter, I believe.
Pneumonia, too. Mike is an old, weak man, and he is very ill.
There is no hope for him. But we take him to the hospital today. We'll make it as easy
for him as we can." The next day the doctor said to Sue: "She's safe. You have done it.
Food and care now--that's all." And that afternoon Sue came to the bed where Johnsy
lay. She put one arm around her. "I have something to tell you," she said. "Mr. Behrman
died of pneumonia today in the hospital. He was ill only two days. Someone found him
on the morning of the first day, in his room. He was helpless with pain."
"His shoes and his clothes were wet and as cold as ice. Everyone wondered where he had
been. The night had been so cold and wild.
"And then they found some things. There was a light that he had taken outside. And
there were his materials for painting. There was paint, green paint and yellow paint.
And-
"Look out the window, dear, at the last leaf on the wall. Didn't you wonder why it never
moved when the wind was blowing? Oh, my dear, it is Behrman's great masterpiece-he
painted it there the night that the last leaf fell."
1. What is the significance of the last leaf in O. Henry's story, and how does
it impact the main characters?
2. How does the theme of hope and determination play a role in the narrative
of "The Last Leaf"?
3. Describe the relationship between Sue and Johnsy and how it evolves
throughout the story.
4. What role does Mr. Behrman play in the development of the plot, and
how does his character contribute to the overall message of the story?
5. Analyze the setting of the story and discuss its influence on the characters'
emotions and decisions.
Activity 1: Character Analysis

Direction: Analyze the characters in "The Last Leaf," examining their
motivations, conflicts, and how they contribute to the story.
Activity 2: Setting Description

Direction: Write a detailed description of the setting in the story. Explore how
the setting influences the mood and tone of the narrative.
Activity 3: Alternate Ending

Direction: Create an alternate ending for the story. Consider how changing
key events could impact the overall message and themes.
Activity 4: Letter to a Character

Direction: Write a letter from one character to another, expressing their
thoughts and feelings about the events in the story.
Activity 5: Symbolism Exploration

Direction: Identify and explore the symbols present in the story. Explain the
deeper meanings and how they contribute to the overall theme.

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GRADE 10

LEARNING FROM DIFFERENT

Module Duration: 60 minutes per day, 8 weeks

A Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Course

World literature is a broad and diverse field encompassing

It also aim to unfolds the different works of the famous

Hi! I am Marvin E. Parparan. I live in Purok 4-A,

I made this module because I want to help my co-

Objectives: At the end of the discussion the

A. Read the story entitled " CUPID AND PSYCH” By

Literature: CUPID AND PSYCHE (By: Lucius Apuleius)

CUPID AND PYSCHE

Activity 1: CHARACTER ANALYSIS

Activity 2: CREATIVE WRITING

Activity 3: Modern Parallels

Activity 5: Music Composition

Objectives: At the end of the discussion the students will be

A. Read the story entitled " THE NECKLACE” By Guy de

Literature: THE NECKLACE (By: Guy de Maupassant)

1. What motivates Mathilde to borrow a necklace for the party?

Activity 1: Alternate Ending

Activity 2: Character Comparison

Activity 3: Comparative Analysis

Activity 4: Alternate Title

Activity 5: Plot Diagram

Objectives: At the end of the discussion the students will be

A. Read the story entitled " THE YELLOW WALLPAPER" By

Literature: THE YELLOW WALLPAPER (By: Charlotte

THE YELLOW WALLPAPER

It is dull enough to confuse the eye in following, pronounced enough to constantly

It gets into my hair.

Activity 1: Symbolism Hunt:

Activity 2: Setting Description

Activity 3: Comparative Analysis

Activity 4: Poetry Inspired by Themes

Activity 5: Visual Mood Board

Objectives: At the end of the discussion the students will

A. Read the story entitled " THE GIFT OF MAGI" by

Literature: THE GIFT OF MAGI (By: O’Henry)

THE GIFT OF MAGI

1. What motivates Della to sell her hair?

Activity 1: Vocabulary Building

Activity 2: Comparative Analysis with Film

Activity 3: Story Sequencing Cards

Activity 4: Creative Gift Exchange

Activity 5: Multiple choice

1.What is the main theme of "The Gift of the Magi"?

2.What are the names of the main characters in the story?

4.What does Della sell to buy a gift for Jim?

5.What does Jim sell to buy a gift for Della?

6.Where does the majority of the story take place?

8.What is the moral lesson conveyed in "The Gift of the Magi"?

10.How does the story conclude?

Objectives: At the end of the discussion the students will be

A. Read the story entitled " MAMMON AND THE ARCHER"

Literature: MAMMON AND THE ARCHER (By: O’Henry)

MAMMON AND THE ARCHER

Activity 1: Character Profile Project

Activity 2: Reflection on Personal Values

Activity 4: Real-world Application Essay

Activity 5: Reflection on Morality

Objectives: At the end of the discussion the students will be

A. Read the story entitled “ NIGHT”By Elie Wiesel and

Literature: NIGHT (By:Elie Wiesel)