Bengali meaning of The Model Millionare Line by Line Bengali meaning of The Model Millionare

 Bengali meaning of The Model Millionare

Line by Line  Bengali meaning of The Model Millionare


Unless one is wealthy there is no use in being a charming fellow.

āϝāϤāĻ•্āώāĻŖ āύা āĻ•েāω āϧāύী, āϤāϤāĻ•্āώāĻŖ āφāĻ•āϰ্āώāĻŖীāϝ় āĻŽাāύুāώ āĻšāĻ“āϝ়াāϰ āĻ•োāύো āϞাāĻ­ āύেāχ।

Romance is the privilege of the rich, not the profession of the unemployed.

āĻĒ্āϰেāĻŽ āĻ•েāĻŦāϞ āϧāύীāĻĻেāϰ āĻ…āϧিāĻ•াāϰ, āĻŦেāĻ•াāϰ āĻŽাāύুāώেāϰ āĻĒেāĻļা āύāϝ়।

The poor should be practical and prosaic¹.

āĻ—āϰিāĻŦ āĻŽাāύুāώāĻ•ে āĻŦাāϏ্āϤāĻŦāĻŦাāĻĻী āĻ“ āĻāĻ•āϘেāϝ়ে āϜীāĻŦāύāϝাāĻĒāύāĻ•াāϰী āĻšāĻ“āϝ়া āωāϚিāϤ।

It is better to have a permanent income than to be fascinating.

āφāĻ•āϰ্āώāĻŖীāϝ় āĻšāĻ“āϝ়াāϰ āϚেāϝ়ে āϏ্āĻĨাāϝ়ী āφāϝ়েāϰ āĻ‰ā§ŽāϏ āĻĨাāĻ•া āĻ…āύেāĻ• āĻ­াāϞো।

These are the great truths of modern life which Hughie Erskine never realised.

āĻāĻ—ুāϞো āφāϧুāύিāĻ• āϜীāĻŦāύেāϰ āĻŦāĻĄ় āϏāϤ্āϝ, āϝা āĻšিāωāχ āφāϰ্‌āϏ্āĻ•িāύ āĻ•োāύোāĻĻিāύ āĻŦুāĻāϤে āĻĒাāϰেāύি।

Poor Hughie! Intellectually, we must admit, he was not of much importance.

āĻ…āϏāĻšাāϝ় āĻšিāωāχ! āĻŽেāϧাāϰ āĻĻিāĻ• āĻĨেāĻ•ে, āϏ্āĻŦীāĻ•াāϰ āĻ•āϰāϤেāχ āĻšāϝ়, āϤাāϰ āϤেāĻŽāύ āĻ—ুāϰুāϤ্āĻŦ āĻ›িāϞ āύা।

He never said a brilliant or even an ill-natured thing in his life.

āϏে āϜীāĻŦāύে āĻ•āĻ–āύো āωāϜ্āϜ্āĻŦāϞ āĻŦা āĻāĻŽāύāĻ•ি āϤিāĻ•্āϤ āĻ•িāĻ›ুāχ āĻŦāϞেāύি।

But then he was wonderfully good-looking, with his crisp brown hair, his clear-cut profile, and his grey eyes.

āĻ•িāύ্āϤু āϏে āĻ›িāϞ āφāĻļ্āϚāϰ্āϝ āϏুāύ্āĻĻāϰ, āϤাāϰ āĻ•ুঁāϚāĻ•াāύো āĻŦাāĻĻাāĻŽি āϚুāϞ, āϏ্āĻĒāώ্āϟ āĻŽুāĻ–াāĻŦāϝ়āĻŦ, āφāϰ āϧূāϏāϰ āϚোāĻ– āύিāϝ়ে।

He was as popular with men as he was with women, and he had every accomplishment² except that of making money.

āϏে āϝেāĻŽāύ āĻĒুāϰুāώāĻĻেāϰ āĻ•াāĻ›ে āϜāύāĻĒ্āϰিāϝ় āĻ›িāϞ, āϤেāĻŽāύি āύাāϰীāĻĻেāϰ āĻ•াāĻ›েāĻ“, āφāϰ āϤাāϰ āϏāĻŦ āϰāĻ•āĻŽ āϝোāĻ—্āϝāϤা āĻ›িāϞ — āĻ…āϰ্āĻĨ āωāĻĒাāϰ্āϜāύেāϰ āϝোāĻ—্āϝāϤা āĻ›াāĻĄ়া।

His father had bequeathed³ him his cavalry sword, and a History of the Peninsular War in fifteen volumes.

āϤাāϰ āĻŦাāĻŦা āϤাāĻ•ে āωāϤ্āϤāϰাāϧিāĻ•াāϰ āϏূāϤ্āϰে āĻĻিāϝ়ে āĻ—িāϝ়েāĻ›িāϞেāύ āύিāϜেāϰ āĻ…āĻļ্āĻŦাāϰোāĻšী āϤāϞোāϝ়াāϰ āφāϰ āĻĒেāύিāύāϏুāϞাāϰ āϝুāĻĻ্āϧেāϰ āχāϤিāĻšাāϏ āύাāĻŽেāϰ āĻĒāύেāϰো āĻ–āĻŖ্āĻĄেāϰ āĻŦāχ।

Hughie hung the first over his looking-glass, put the second on a shelf between Ruff's Guide and Bailey's Magazine, and lived on two hundred a year that an old aunt allowed him.

āĻšিāωāχ āĻĒ্āϰāĻĨāĻŽāϟি (āϤāϞোāϝ়াāϰ) āύিāϜেāϰ āφāϝ়āύাāϰ āĻ“āĻĒāϰ āĻুāϞিāϝ়ে āϰাāĻ–āϞ, āĻĻ্āĻŦিāϤীāϝ়āϟি (āĻŦāχ) āϰাāĻ–āϞ āϰাāĻĢ্‌āϏ āĻ—াāχāĻĄ āφāϰ āĻŦেāχāϞিāϏ āĻŽ্āϝাāĻ—াāϜিāύেāϰ āĻŽাāĻেāϰ āϤাāĻ•āϟিāϤে, āφāϰ āĻŦāĻ›āϰāĻĒ্āϰāϤি āϤাāϰ āĻāĻ• āĻŦৃāĻĻ্āϧা āĻ…āύ্āϟি āϝেāϟুāĻ•ু (āĻĻুāχāĻļো āĻĒাāωāύ্āĻĄ) āĻ­াāϤা āĻĻিāϤেāύ, āϤাāχ āĻĻিāϝ়ে āϜীāĻŦāύ āĻ•াāϟাāϤ।

He had tried everything.

āϏে āϏāĻŦ āĻ•িāĻ›ুāχ āϚেāώ্āϟা āĻ•āϰেāĻ›িāϞ।

He had gone on the Stock Exchange for six months; but what was a butterfly to do among bulls and bears?

āϏে āĻ›āϝ় āĻŽাāϏ āϏ্āϟāĻ• āĻāĻ•্āϏāϚেāĻž্āϜে āĻ•াāϜ āĻ•āϰেāĻ›িāϞ; āĻ•িāύ্āϤু āĻĒ্āϰāϜাāĻĒāϤিāϰ āĻŽāϤো āĻāĻ• āĻšাāϞāĻ•া āĻŽাāύুāώ āώাঁāĻĄ় āφāϰ āĻ­াāϞ্āϞুāĻ•েāϰ (āĻļেāϝ়াāϰāĻŦাāϜাāϰেāϰ āĻ­াāώাāϝ়) āĻ­িāĻĄ়ে āĻ•ী āĻ•āϰāĻŦে?

He had been a tea-merchant for a little longer, but had soon tired of pekoe and souchong.

āϏে āĻ•িāĻ›ুāĻĻিāύ āϚা-āĻŦ্āϝāĻŦāϏাāϝ়ীāĻ“ āĻ›িāϞ, āĻ•িāύ্āϤু āϤাāĻĄ়াāϤাāĻĄ়ি āĻĒিāĻ•ো āφāϰ āϏুāϚং āϚাāϝ়েāϰ āĻĒ্āϰāϤি āĻŦিāϰāĻ•্āϤ āĻšāϝ়ে āĻĒāĻĄ়েāĻ›িāϞ।

Then he had tried selling dry sherry.

āϤাāϰāĻĒāϰ āϏে āĻļুāĻ•āύো āĻļেāϰি (āĻāĻ• āϧāϰāύেāϰ āĻŽāĻĻ) āĻŦিāĻ•্āϰি āĻ•āϰাāϰ āϚেāώ্āϟা āĻ•āϰেāĻ›িāϞ।

That did not answer; the sherry was a little too dry.

āϏেāϟিāĻ“ āĻ•াāϜ āĻĻেāϝ়āύি; āĻļেāϰিāϟা āĻ›িāϞ āĻāĻ•āϟু āĻŦেāĻļিāχ āĻļুāĻ•āύো।

Ultimately he became nothing, a delightful, ineffectual young man with a perfect profile and no profession.

āĻļেāώ āĻĒāϰ্āϝāύ্āϤ āϏে āĻ•িāĻ›ুāχ āĻšāϤে āĻĒাāϰāϞ āύা—āĻāĻ•āϜāύ āĻŽāύোāϰāĻŽ āĻ•িāύ্āϤু āĻ…āĻ•াāϰ্āϝāĻ•āϰ āϝুāĻŦāĻ•, āϝাāϰ āύিāĻ–ুঁāϤ āĻŽুāĻ–াāĻŦāϝ়āĻŦ āφāĻ›ে āĻ•িāύ্āϤু āĻ•োāύো āĻĒেāĻļা āύেāχ।


To make matters worse, he was in love.

āĻĒāϰিāϏ্āĻĨিāϤি āφāϰāĻ“ āĻ–াāϰাāĻĒ āĻ•āϰাāϰ āĻŽāϤো, āϏে āĻĒ্āϰেāĻŽে āĻĒāĻĄ়েāĻ›িāϞ।

The girl he loved was Laura Merton, the daughter of a retired Colonel who had lost his temper and his digestion in India, and had never found either of them again.

āϝে āĻŽেāϝ়েāϟিāĻ•ে āϏে āĻ­াāϞোāĻŦাāϏāϤ, āϤাāϰ āύাāĻŽ āĻ›িāϞ āϞāϰা āĻŽাāϰ্āϟāύ—āϏে āĻ›িāϞ āĻāĻ• āĻ…āĻŦāϏāϰāĻĒ্āϰাāĻĒ্āϤ āĻ•āϰ্āύেāϞেāϰ āĻŽেāϝ়ে, āϝিāύি āĻ­াāϰāϤে āϤাāϰ āĻŽেāϜাāϜ āφāϰ āĻšāϜāĻŽāĻļāĻ•্āϤি āĻĻুāϟোāχ āĻšাāϰিāϝ়েāĻ›িāϞেāύ, āφāϰ āφāϰ āĻ•āĻ–āύো āϏেāĻ—ুāϞো āĻĢিāϰে āĻĒাāύāύি।

Laura adored him, and he was ready to kiss her shoe-strings.

āϞāϰা āϤাāĻ•ে āĻ­ীāώāĻŖ āĻ­াāϞোāĻŦাāϏāϤ, āφāϰ āϏে āϞāϰাāϰ āϜুāϤোāϰ āĻĢিāϤা āĻĒāϰ্āϝāύ্āϤ āϚুāĻŽু āĻ–েāϤে āĻĒ্āϰāϏ্āϤুāϤ āĻ›িāϞ।

They were the handsomest couple in London, and had not a penny-piece between them.

āϤাāϰা āĻ›িāϞ āϞāύ্āĻĄāύেāϰ āϏāĻŦāϚেāϝ়ে āϏুāύ্āĻĻāϰ āϜুāϟি, āĻ•িāύ্āϤু āϤাāĻĻেāϰ āĻ•াāĻ›ে āĻāĻ• āĻĒāϝ়āϏাāĻ“ āĻ›িāϞ āύা।

The Colonel was very fond of Hughie, but would not hear of any engagement.

āĻ•āϰ্āύেāϞ āĻšিāωāχāĻ•ে āĻ–ুāĻŦ āĻĒāĻ›āύ্āĻĻ āĻ•āϰāϤেāύ, āĻ•িāύ্āϤু āĻ•োāύো āĻŦাāĻ—āĻĻাāύেāϰ āĻ•āĻĨা āĻļুāύāϤেāχ āϚাāχāϤেāύ āύা।


 

"Come to me, my boy, when you have got ten thousand pounds of your own, and we will see about it," he used to say;

āϏে (āĻ•āϰ্āύেāϞ) āĻĒ্āϰাāϝ়āχ āĻŦāϞāϤেāύ, “āϝāĻ–āύ āϤুāĻŽি āύিāϜেāϰ āĻĻāĻļ āĻšাāϜাāϰ āĻĒাāωāύ্āĻĄ āωāĻĒাāϰ্āϜāύ āĻ•āϰāĻŦে, āϤāĻ–āύ āφāĻŽাāϰ āĻ•াāĻ›ে āĻāϏো, āϤাāϰāĻĒāϰ āφāĻŽāϰা āĻŦ্āϝাāĻĒাāϰāϟা āĻĻেāĻ–āĻŦ।”

and Hughie looked very glum¹¹ on those days, and had to go to Laura for consolation.

āφāϰ āϏেāϏāĻŦ āĻĻিāύে āĻšিāωāχ āĻ–ুāĻŦ āĻŦিāĻŽāϰ্āώ āĻŽুāĻ– āĻ•āϰāϤ, āφāϰ āϏাāύ্āϤ্āĻŦāύাāϰ āϜāύ্āϝ āϞāϰাāϰ āĻ•াāĻ›ে āϝেāϤ।

 

One morning, as he was on his way to Holland Park, where the Mertons lived,

āĻāĻ• āϏāĻ•াāϞে, āϝāĻ–āύ āϏে āĻšāϞ্āϝাāύ্āĻĄ āĻĒাāϰ্āĻ•েāϰ āĻĒāĻĨে āĻ›িāϞ, āϝেāĻ–াāύে āĻŽাāϰ্āϟāύ āĻĒāϰিāĻŦাāϰ āĻĨাāĻ•āϤ,

he dropped in to see a great friend of his, Alan Trevor.

āϏে āĻšāĻ াā§Ž āϤাāϰ āĻāĻ• āϘāύিāώ্āĻ  āĻŦāύ্āϧু, āĻ…্āϝাāϞাāύ āϟ্āϰেāĻ­āϰেāϰ āĻ•াāĻ›ে āĻĸুঁ āĻŽেāϰে āĻ—েāϞ।

Trevor was a painter.

āϟ্āϰেāĻ­āϰ āĻ›িāϞেāύ āĻāĻ•āϜāύ āϚিāϤ্āϰāĻ•āϰ।

Indeed, few people escape that nowadays.

āφāϏāϞে, āφāϜāĻ•াāϞ āĻ–ুāĻŦ āĻ•āĻŽ āϞোāĻ•āχ āĻāχ āĻĒেāĻļা āĻĨেāĻ•ে āϰেāĻšাāχ āĻĒাāύ।

But he was also an artist, and artists are rather rare.

āĻ•িāύ্āϤু āϤিāύি āĻļুāϧু āϚিāϤ্āϰāĻ•āϰāχ āύāύ, āĻāĻ•āϜāύ āĻĒ্āϰāĻ•ৃāϤ āĻļিāϞ্āĻĒীāĻ“ āĻ›িāϞেāύ, āφāϰ āĻĒ্āϰāĻ•ৃāϤ āĻļিāϞ্āĻĒী āĻ–ুāĻŦāχ āĻŦিāϰāϞ।

Personally he was a strange rough fellow, with a freckled¹² face and a red ragged beard.

āĻŦ্āϝāĻ•্āϤিāĻ—āϤāĻ­াāĻŦে āϤিāύি āĻ›িāϞেāύ āĻāĻ• āĻ…āĻĻ্āĻ­ুāϤ āϰুāĻ•্āώ āĻŽাāύুāώ, āϝাāϰ āĻŽুāĻ–ে āĻ›িāϞ āĻĢোঁāϟা-āĻĢোঁāϟা āĻĻাāĻ— (āĻĢ্āϰেāĻ•āϞāϏ) āφāϰ āϞাāϞ āĻ…āĻ—োāĻ›াāϞো āĻĻাāĻĄ়ি।

However, when he took up the brush he was a real master, and his pictures were eagerly sought after.

āϤāĻŦে, āϝāĻ–āύāχ āϤিāύি āϤুāϞি āĻšাāϤে āύিāϤেāύ, āϤāĻ–āύāχ āϤিāύি āĻšāϤেāύ āĻāĻ• āϏāϤ্āϝিāĻ•াāϰেāϰ āĻ“āϏ্āϤাāĻĻ, āφāϰ āϤাāϰ āĻ›āĻŦিāϰ āϜāύ্āϝ āĻŽাāύুāώেāϰ āϚাāĻšিāĻĻা āĻ›িāϞ āĻĒ্āϰāĻŦāϞ।

 

He had been very much attracted by Hughie at first, it must be acknowledged, entirely on account of his personal charm.

āĻļুāϰুāϤে āĻšিāωāχāϝ়েāϰ āĻĒ্āϰāϤি āϤিāύি āĻ­ীāώāĻŖ āφāĻ•ৃāώ্āϟ āĻšāϝ়েāĻ›িāϞেāύ, āϏ্āĻŦীāĻ•াāϰ āĻ•āϰāϤেāχ āĻšāϝ়, āϏāĻŽ্āĻĒূāϰ্āĻŖāĻ­াāĻŦে āϤাāϰ āĻŦ্āϝāĻ•্āϤিāĻ—āϤ āφāĻ•āϰ্āώāĻŖেāϰ āĻ•াāϰāĻŖে।

"The only people a painter should know," he used to say,

āϤিāύি āĻĒ্āϰাāϝ়āχ āĻŦāϞāϤেāύ, “āĻāĻ•āϜāύ āϚিāϤ্āϰāĻ•āϰāĻ•ে āĻ•েāĻŦāϞ āĻāχ āϧāϰāύেāϰ āĻŽাāύুāώāĻĻেāϰāχ āϚেāύা āωāϚিāϤ—

"are people who are bÃĒte¹³ and beautiful, people who are an artistic pleasure to look at and an intellectual repose to talk to.

—āϝাāϰা āĻĻেāĻ–āϤে āĻāĻ•āϟু āĻŦোāĻ•াāϏোāĻ•া āĻ•িāύ্āϤু āϏুāύ্āĻĻāϰ, āϝাāĻĻেāϰ āĻĻিāĻ•ে āϤাāĻ•াāύো āĻāĻ• āĻļিāϞ্āĻĒিāϤ āφāύāύ্āĻĻ āφāϰ āϝাāĻĻেāϰ āϏāĻ™্āĻ—ে āĻ•āĻĨা āĻŦāϞা āĻŽাāύāϏিāĻ• āφāϰাāĻŽ āĻĻেāϝ়।”

Men who are dandies¹⁴ and women who are darlings rule the world, at least they should do so."

“āϝেāϏāĻŦ āĻĒুāϰুāώ āϏৌāύ্āĻĻāϰ্āϝ āφāϰ āϏাāϜāĻ—োāϜে āĻ–্āϝাāϤ (āĻĄ্āϝাāύ্āĻĄি) āφāϰ āϝেāϏāĻŦ āύাāϰী āφāĻĻāϰেāϰ āĻĒাāϤ্āϰী, āϤাāϰাāχ āĻĒৃāĻĨিāĻŦী āĻļাāϏāύ āĻ•āϰে — āĻ…āύ্āϤāϤ āϤাāĻĻেāϰ āĻ•āϰা āωāϚিāϤ।”

 

However, after he got to know Hughie better,

āϤāĻŦে, āĻšিāωāχāĻ•ে āĻ­াāϞোāĻ­াāĻŦে āϜাāύাāϰ āĻĒāϰ,

he liked him quite as much for his bright buoyant¹⁵ spirits and his generous reckless nature,

āϤিāύি āϤাāĻ•ে āϏāĻŽাāύāĻ­াāĻŦে āĻĒāĻ›āύ্āĻĻ āĻ•āϰāϤেāύ āϤাāϰ āωāϜ্āϜ্āĻŦāϞ āĻ“ āĻĒ্āϰাāĻŖāĻŦāύ্āϤ āϏ্āĻŦāĻ­াāĻŦ āφāϰ āωāĻĻাāϰ āĻ•িāύ্āϤু āĻ•িāĻ›ুāϟা āĻŦেāĻĒāϰোāϝ়া āϚāϰিāϤ্āϰেāϰ āϜāύ্āϝ,

and had given him the permanent entrÊe¹⁶ to his studio.

āφāϰ āϤাāĻ•ে āϤাāϰ āϏ্āϟুāĻĄিāĻ“āϤে āϏ্āĻĨাāϝ়ীāĻ­াāĻŦে āĻĒ্āϰāĻŦেāĻļাāϧিāĻ•াāϰāĻ“ āĻĻিāϝ়ে āϰেāĻ–েāĻ›িāϞেāύ।

 

When Hughie came in he found Trevor putting the finishing touches to a wonderful life-size picture of a beggar-man.

āϝāĻ–āύ āĻšিāωāχ āĻĸুāĻ•āϞ, āϤāĻ–āύ āĻĻেāĻ–āϞ āϟ্āϰেāĻ­āϰ āĻāĻ• āĻ…āϏাāϧাāϰāĻŖ āϜীāĻŦāύ-āφāĻ•াāϰেāϰ āĻ­িāĻ–াāϰিāϰ āĻ›āĻŦিāϤে āĻļেāώ āϰāĻ™েāϰ āĻ›োঁāϝ়া āĻĻিāϚ্āĻ›েāύ।

The beggar himself was standing on a raised platform in a corner of the studio.

āĻ­িāĻ–াāϰি āύিāϜেāχ āϏ্āϟুāĻĄিāĻ“āϰ āĻāĻ• āĻ•োāĻŖে āωঁāϚু āĻĒ্āϞ্āϝাāϟāĻĢāϰ্āĻŽে āĻĻাঁāĻĄ়িāϝ়ে āĻ›িāϞ।

He was a wizened¹⁷ old man, with a face like wrinkled parchment, and a most piteous expression.

āϏে āĻ›িāϞ āĻāĻ• āĻļুāĻ•āύো-āϏুāĻ•āύো āĻŦৃāĻĻ্āϧ, āϝাāϰ āĻŽুāĻ– āĻ›িāϞ āĻ­াঁāϜ āĻĒāĻĄ়া āĻĒাāϰ্āϚāĻŽেāύ্āϟ āĻ•াāĻ—āϜেāϰ āĻŽāϤো, āφāϰ āĻŽুāĻ–ে āĻ›িāϞ āĻ­ীāώāĻŖ āĻ•āϰুāĻŖ āĻ…āĻ­িāĻŦ্āϝāĻ•্āϤি।

Over his shoulders was flung a coarse brown cloak, all tears and tatters;

āϤাāϰ āĻ•াঁāϧে āĻ›িāϞ āĻāĻ• āϰুāĻ•্āώ āĻŦাāĻĻাāĻŽি āϚাāĻĻāϰ, āϝা āϏāϰ্āĻŦāϤ্āϰ āĻ›েঁāĻĄ়া āφāϰ āϜীāϰ্āĻŖ।

his thick boots were patched and cobbled,

āϤাāϰ āĻŽোāϟা āĻŦুāϟāϜুāϤোāϤে āĻ›িāϞ āϜোāĻĄ়া āϞাāĻ—াāύো āĻ“ āϏেāϞাāχāϝ়েāϰ āĻĻাāĻ—,

and with one hand he leant on a rough stick,

āφāϰ āĻāĻ• āĻšাāϤে āϏে āĻ­āϰ āĻĻিāϝ়েāĻ›িāϞ āĻāĻ• āϰুāĻ•্āώ āϞাāĻ িāϰ āĻ“āĻĒāϰ,

while with the other he held out his battered¹⁸ hat for alms.

āφāϰ āĻ…āύ্āϝ āĻšাāϤে āĻŦাāĻĄ়িāϝ়ে āϧāϰেāĻ›িāϞ āϤাāϰ āĻĒুāϰāύো, āϜীāϰ্āĻŖ āϟুāĻĒি, āĻ­িāĻ•্āώাāϰ āϜāύ্āϝ।



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