Speaker 1: The necklace by Gui di Moposson. She was one of
those pretty and charming girls who are sometimes as if
by mistake of destiny. Born in a family of clerks,
she had no dowry, no expectations, no means of being known, understood, loved,
wedded by any rich and distinguished man, and she let
herself be married to a little clerk at the ministry
of public instruction. She dressed plainly because she could not
dress well, but she was as unhappy as though she
had really fallen from her proper station. Since with women
there is neither caste, nor rank, and beauty, grace and
charm act instead of family and birth, natural fineness instinct,
for what is elegant suppleness of wit, are their sole hierarchy,
and make from women of the people the equals of
the very greatest ladies. She suffered ceaselessly, feeling herself born
for all the delicacies and all the luxuries. She suffered
from the poverty of her dwelling, from the wretched look
of the walls, from the worn out chairs, from the
ugliness of the curtains, all those things of which another
woman of her rank would never even have been conscious.
Tortured her and made her angry. The sight of the
little Breton peasant who did her humble housework aroused in
her regrets, which were despairing and distracted dreams. She thought
of the silent antechambers hung with oriental tapestry, lit by
tall bronze candelabra, and of the two great footmen in
knee breeches who sleep in the big arm chairs, made
drowsy by the heavy warmth of the hot air stove.
She thought of the long salons fatted up with ancient silk,
of the delicate furniture carrying priceless curiosities, and of the coquettish,
perfumed boudoirs made for talks at five o'clock with intimate friends,
with men famous and sought after, whom all women envy
and whose attention they all desire. When she sat down
to dinner before the round table covered with a tablecloth
three days old, opposite her husband, who uncovered the soup
tureen and declared with an enchanted air, ah, the good
pole of fui, I don't know anything better than that.
She thought of dainty dinners, of shining silverware, of tapestry
which peopled the walls with ancient personages, and with strange
birds flying in the midst of a fairy forest. And
she thought of delicious dishes served on marvelous plates, and
of the whispered gallantries which you listened to with a
sphinx like smile while you are eating the pink flesh
of a trout or the wings of a quail. She
had no dresses, no jewels, nothing, and she loved nothing
but that she felt made for that. She would so
have liked to please, to be envied, to be charming,
to be sought after. She had a friend, a former
schoolmate at the convent, who was rich, and whom she
did not like to go to sea any more because
she suffered so much when she came back. But one
evening her husband returned home with a triumphant air and
holding a large envelope in his hand. There said he
here is something for you. She tore the paper sharply
and drew out a printed card which bore these words.
The Minister of Public Instruction and Madame George Ropinnaud requests
the honor of Monsieur and Madame Lussell's company at the
Palace of the Ministry on Monday evening, January eighteenth. Instead
of being delighted as her husband hoped, she threw the
invitation on the table with disdain, murmuring, what do you
want me to do with that? But, my dear, I
thought you would be glad you never go out. And
this is such a fine opportunity. I had awful trouble
to get it. Everyone wants to go. It is very
select and they are not giving many in vations to clerks.
The whole official world will be there. She looked at
him with an irritated eye, and she said, impatiently, and
what do you want me to put on my back?
He had not thought of that. He stammered, why the
dress you go to the theater in? It looks very
well to me. He stopped, distracted, seeing that his wife
was crying. Two great tears descended slowly from the corners
of her eyes toward the corners of her mouth. He stuttered,
what's the matter, what's the matter. But by a violent
effort she had conquered her grief, and she replied with
a calm voice while she wiped her wet cheeks. Nothing.
Only I have no dress, and therefore I can't go
to this ball. Give your card to some colleague whose
wife is better equipped than I. He was in despair.
He resumed, Come let us see, matild, how much would
it cost a suitable dress which you could use on
other occasions? Something very simple? She reflected several seconds, making
your calculations, and wondering also what sum she could ask
without drawing on herself, an immediate refusal and a frightened
exclamation from the economical clerk. Finally, she replied, hesitatingly, I
don't know exactly, but I think I could manage it
with four hundred francs. He had grown a little pale
because he was laying aside just that amount to buy
a gun and treat himself to a little shooting next
summer on the plain of Nanterre, with several friends who
went to shoot larks down there of a Sunday. But
he said, all right, I will give you four hundred
francs and try to have a pretty dress. The day
of the ball drew near, and Madame Loiselle seemed sad, uneasy, anxious.
Her dress was ready. However, her husband said to her
one evening, what is the matter? Come, you've been so
queer these last three days? And she answered, it annoys
me not to have a single jewel, not a single stone,
nothing to put on. I shall look like distress. I
should almost rather not go at all. He resumed, you
might wear natural flowers. It's very stylish at this time
of the year. For ten francs, you can get two
or three magnificent roses. She was not convinced. No, there's
nothing more humiliating than to look poor among other women
who are rich. But her husband cried, how stupid you are.
Go look up your friend, Madame Fororestier and ask her
to lend you some jewels. You're quite thick enough with
her to do that. She uttered a cry of joy.
It's true, I never thought of it. The next day
she went to her friend and told of her distress.
Madame Forestier went to a wardrobe with a glass door,
took out a large jewel box, brought it back, opened it,
and said to Madame Loiselle, choose, my dear. She saw,
first of all some bracelets, then a pearl necklace, then
a Venetian cross, gold and precious stones of admirable workmanship.
She tried on the armaments before the glass hesitated, could
not make up her mind. To part with them, to
give them back. She kept asking, haven't you any more? Why? Yes, Look,
I don't know what you like. All of a sudden
she discovered in a black satin box a superb necklace
of diamonds, and her heart began to beat with an
immoderate desire. Her hands trembled as she took it. She
fastened it at her throat, outside her high necked dress,
and remained lost in ecstasy at the sight of herself.
Then she asked, hesitating, filled with anguish, can you lend
me that? Only that? Why? Yes, certainly? She sprang upon
the necklace of her friend, kissed her passionately, then fled
with her treasure. The day of the ball arrived, Madame
Loiselle made a great success. She was prettier than them, all, elegant, gracious, smiling,
and crazy with joy. All the men looked at her,
asked her name, endeavored to be introduced. All the attaches
of the cabinet wanted to waltz with her. She was
remarked by the minister himself. She danced with intoxication, with passion,
made drunk by pleasure, forgetting all in the triumph of
her beauty. In the glory of her success, in a
sort of cloud of happiness, composed of all this homage,
of all this admiration, of all these awakened desires, and
of that sense of complete victory which is so sweet
to a woman's heart. She went away about four o'clock
in the morning. Her husband had been sleeping since midnight
in a little deserted ante room with three other gentlemen
whose wives were having a very good time. He threw
over her shoulders the wraps which he had brought, modest
raps of common life, whose poverty contrasted with the elegance
of the ball dress. She felt this and wanted to
escape so as not to be remarked by the other women,
who were enveloping themselves in costly furs. Lazelle held her back,
Wait a bit, you will catch cold outside. I will
go and call a cab. But she did not listen
to him, and rapidly descended the stairs. When they were
in the street, they did not find a carriage, and
they began to look for one, shouting after the cabmen,
whom they saw passing by at a distance. They went
down toward the sin in despair, shivering with cold. At last,
they found on the quay one of those ancient noctambulant coupets, which,
exactly as if they were ashamed to show their misery
during the day, are never seen round Paris until after nightfall.
It took them to their door in the Rue des Martyrs,
and once more sadly they climbed up homeward. All was
ended for her, and as to him, he reflected that
he must be at the ministry at ten o'clock. She
removed the wraps which covered her shoulders before the glass,
so as once more or to see herself in all
her glory. But suddenly she uttered a cry. She had
no longer the necklace around her neck. Her husband, already
half undressed, demanded, what is the matter with you? She
turned madly toward him. I have, I have I've lost
Madame Fortier's necklace. He stood up, distracted, What how impossible?
And they looked in the folds of her dress, in
the folds of her cloak, in her pockets, everywhere they
did not find it. He asked, you're sure you had
it on when you left the ball Yes, I felt
it in the vestibule of the palace. But if you
had lost it in the street. We should have heard
it fall. It must be in the cab, yes, probably
did you take his number? No? And you didn't you
notice it? No? They looked thunderstruck at one another. At last,
Laiselle put on his clothes. I shall go back on foot,
said he, over the whole route which we have taken
to see if I can't find it, And he went out.
She sat waiting on a chair in her ball dress,
without strength to go to bed, overwhelmed, without fire, without
a thought. Her husband came back about seven o'clock. He
had found nothing. He went to police headquarters, to the
newspaper offices to offer a reward. He went to the
cab company's everywhere in fact whither he was urged by
the least suspicion of hope. She waited all day in
the same condition of mad fear before this terrible calamity.
Lozel returned at night with a hollow, pale face. He
had discovered nothing. You must write to your friends, said he,
that you have broken the clasp of her necklace, and
that you are having it mended. That will give us
time to turn round, she wrote at his dictation. At
the end of a week, they had lost all hope,
and Loiselle, who had aged five years to declared, we
must consider how to replace that ornament. The next day
they took the box which had contained it, and they
went to the jeweler, whose name was found within. He
consulted his books. It was not I, madame, who sold
that necklace. I must simply have furnished the case. Then
they went from jeweler to jeweler, searching for a necklace
like the other, consulting their memories sick both of them
with chagrin and with anguish. They found in a shop
at the Palais Royal a string of diamonds which seemed
to them exactly like the one they looked for. It
was worth forty thousand francs. They could have it for
thirty six, so they begged the jeweler not to sell
it for three days yet, and they made a bargain
that he should buy it back for thirty four thousand
francs in case they found the other one before the
end of February. Loiselle possessed eighteen thousand francs, which his
father had left him. He would borrow the rest. He
did borrow, asking a thousand francs of one five hundred,
of another. Five louis here, three louis there. He gave notes,
took up ruinous obligations, dealt with usurers, and all the
race of lenders. He compromised all the rest of his life,
risked a signature without even knowing if he could meet it.
And frightened by the pains yet to come, by the
black misery which was about to fall upon him, by
the prospect of all the physical privations and of all
the moral tortures which he was about to suffer, he
went to get the new necklace, putting down upon the
merchant's counter thirty six thousand francs. When Madame Bloiselle took
back the necklace, Madame Fortier said to her, with a
chilly manner, you should have returned it sooner I might
have needed it. She did not open the case, as
her friend had so much feared. If she had detected
the substitution, what would she have thought? What would she
have said? Would she not have taken Madame Loisel for
a thief? Madame Bloiselle now knew the horrible existence of
the new She took her part moreover all on a
sudden with heroism that dreadful debt must be paid. She
would pay it. They dismissed their servant, They changed their lodgings.
They rented a garret under the roof. She came to
know what heavy housework meant, and the odious cares of
the kitchen. She washed the dishes, using her rosy nails
on the greasy pots and pans. She washed the dirty linen,
the shirts, and the dishcloths, which she dried up on
a line. She carried the slops down to the street
every morning, and carried up the water, stopping for breath
at every landing, and dressed like a woman of the people.
She went to the fruiterer, the grocer, the butcher, her
basket on her arm, bargaining, insulted, defending her miserable money,
soup by sous. Each month they had to meet some notes,
renew others, obtain more time. Her husband worked in the
evening makeing a fair copy of some tradesman's accounts, and
late at night he often copied manuscript for five sous
a page. And this life lasted ten years. At the
end of ten years they had paid everything, everything, with
the rates of usury and the accumulations of the compound interest.
Madame Loiselle looked old now she had become the woman
of impoverished households, strong and hard and rough, with frowsy hair,
skirts askew and red hands. She talked loud while washing
the floor with great swishes of water. But sometimes, when
her husband was at the office, she sat down near
the window, and she thought of that gay evening of
long ago, of that ball where she had been so
beautiful and so fetted. What would have happened if she
had not lost that necklace? Who knows? Who knows? How
life is strange and changeful, how little a thing is
needed for us to be lost or to be saved.
But one Sunday, having gone to take a walk on
the chend Lisee to refresh herself from the labors of
the week, she suddenly perceived a woman who was leading
a child. It was Madame Florestier, still young, still beautiful,
still charming. Madame Loiselle felt moved. Was she going to
speak to her? Yes, certainly, and now that she had paid,
she was going to tell her all about it? Why not?
She went up good da Jeanne the other astonished to
be familiarly addressed by this plain good wife did not
recognize her at all and stammered, But Madame, I do
not know. You must have mistaken. No, I am Matilde Bloisell.
Her friend uttered a cry, Oh my, poor Matilde, how
you are changed? Yes, I have had days hard enough,
since I have days wretched enough, and that because of you,
of me. How so do you remember that diamond necklace
which you lent me to wear at the ministerial ball? Yes? Well,
well I lost it. What do you mean you brought
it back? I brought you back another just like it,
And for this we have been ten years paying. You
can understand that it was not easy for us, us
who had nothing. At last it is ended, and I
am very glad. Madame Fforestier had stopped you say that
you brought a necklace of diamonds to replace mine. Yes,
you never noticed it. Then they were very like, and
she smiled with a joy which was proud and naive.
At once. Madame Forestier strongly moved took her two hands.
Oh my, poor Matilde, why my necklace was paced? It
was worth it most five hundred francs