The Story — The Necklace

She was one of those attractive young women who, through some cruel twist of fate, happened to be born into a family of modest government clerks. Without any dowry, any prospects, or any way of attracting a wealthy or distinguished husband, she had ended up marrying a minor official at the Board of Education. She was incessantly unhappy — not because she was naturally cruel, but because she had always felt she deserved something finer. Imagery

She suffered from the shabbiness of her apartment — the worn walls, the frayed chairs, the ugly curtains. She suffered at dinner, seated opposite her husband, who lifted the lid of the soup tureen with cheerful satisfaction, exclaiming that nothing could beat a good pot-pie. She dreamed instead of elegant banquets, gleaming silverware, and exquisite dishes. She had no fine dresses, no jewels — nothing. And yet she craved these things above all else.

She had one wealthy friend from her convent school days — Mme Forestier — but she avoided visiting her, because coming home afterwards left her weeping for days, overwhelmed by disappointment. Then one evening, her husband arrived home in high spirits, waving a large envelope. It contained an invitation from the Minister of Public Instruction and his wife to attend an evening function at the Minister's official residence the following Monday.

Instead of delight, Matilda flung the invitation onto the table with contempt, asking what she was supposed to wear to such an event. Her husband, who had expected gratitude, was bewildered. He stammered that her theatre dress seemed perfectly fine to him. At the sight of her weeping, he fell silent. After a pause, she told him calmly — wiping her eyes — that she simply had no suitable dress and would have to decline. He offered to buy her a new one and, after much deliberation, she named a figure of four hundred francs. He had been saving exactly that amount to buy himself a hunting gun, but he handed it over without complaint.

As the ball drew closer, a fresh problem surfaced: Matilda was miserable that she had no jewellery. Her husband suggested she wear fresh flowers, but she found the idea humiliating. Then he had a practical idea — why not borrow jewels from her old friend Mme Forestier? Matilda went immediately and was shown a large jewel case. She tried on bracelets, a pearl collar, and a Venetian cross before discovering, in a black satin box, a superb diamond necklace. Her hands trembled as she held it. She asked to borrow it. Mme Forestier agreed, and Matilda left, clutching her treasure. Symbolism

The evening of the ball was a triumph for Matilda. She was the most beautiful woman in the room — graceful, radiant, smiling, intoxicated with admiration. All the men wanted to know her name. She danced with joy, thinking of nothing except this glorious, intoxicating moment of success. Her husband, meanwhile, had fallen asleep in a side room at midnight with a group of other forgotten husbands.

They left the party around four in the morning. Matilda rushed out anxious not to be seen by the other women in her cheap wrap, which clashed so obviously with the elegance of her ball gown. They found no carriage and walked along the Seine, shivering in the cold. Eventually they found an old cab. Back home, Matilda stood before the mirror for one last look at herself in her glory — and then she screamed. The necklace was gone from her throat. Irony

A frantic search began. They overturned pockets and folds of clothing. Nothing. Loisel retraced the entire route on foot. He visited the police and the cab offices. He placed a newspaper advertisement offering a reward. Days passed. All hope died. Finally, Loisel declared with the gravity of a man aged by worry: they must replace the necklace. In a jeweller's shop at the Palais-Royal, they found an almost identical diamond necklace priced at forty thousand francs. They negotiated it down to thirty-six thousand. Loisel used his father's inheritance of eighteen thousand francs and borrowed the rest from usurers and money-lenders at ruinous rates of interest. The new necklace was returned to Mme Forestier, who accepted it coolly and did not open the box to inspect it. Irony

Then came the ten years of gruelling labour. They dismissed the maid, moved to cheaper lodgings in an attic. Matilda took on all the heavy household work — scrubbing floors, washing clothes, hauling water up steep stairs, shopping and bargaining at the markets with her last few coins. She became coarse and hard, with rough red hands and untidy hair. Imagery Her husband worked evenings copying accounts and nights doing freelance writing for five sous a page. Slowly, painfully, relentlessly, they paid off every centime of the debt. It took ten full years.

One Sunday morning, walking along the Champs-Élysées to recover from the exhaustion of the week, Matilda spotted Mme Forestier — still young, still beautiful, still as attractive as ever. She approached her and greeted her. Mme Forestier did not recognise this worn, haggard woman as her old friend and was puzzled to be addressed so familiarly. Matilda introduced herself. Mme Forestier exclaimed in shock. Matilda then told her everything — the loss of the necklace, the replacement, the decade of toil, the debt now finally paid. She spoke with simple, quiet pride. Mme Forestier stopped dead. Irony

"You say you bought a diamond necklace to replace mine?" Mme Forestier said slowly. "Yes — exactly like it. You never noticed?" Matilda replied with a smile of honest satisfaction. Mme Forestier took her hands, and with deep feeling said: "Oh, my poor Matilda! Mine were false. They were worth no more than five hundred francs!" Irony