THE DIAMOND NECKLACE
The
girl was one of those pretty and charming young creatures who sometimes are
born, as if by a slip of fateالقدر , into a
family of clerks. She had no dowry مهر, no
expectations, no way of being known, understood, loved, married by any rich and
distinguished man; so she let herself be married to a little clerk of the Ministry
of Public Instruction وزارة
التعليم. She dressed plainly because she could not dress well,
but she was unhappy as if she had really fallen from a higher station; since with women
there is neither caste طبقة
اجتماعية nor rank ولارتبة اولقب , for beauty, grace and charm
take the place of family and birth. Natural ingenuityابداع ,
instinctغريزة /
فطرة for what is elegant, a supple مرن mind are
their sole hierarchy التسلسل الهرمى, and often
make of women of the people the equals of the very greatest ladies.
Mathilde
suffered ceaselessly, feeling herself born to enjoy all delicacies اشهى الاطعمة and
all luxuries. She was distressed at the poverty of her dwelling مسكن, at the
bareness of the walls, at the shabby متهالك chairs,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 despairing regrets and bewildering dreams. She thought
of silent ante-chambers hung with Oriental tapestry فرش , illumined
by tall bronze candelabra شمعدان, and of two
great footmen in knee breeches who sleep in the big armchairs, made drowsy by
the oppressive heat of the stove. She thought of long reception halls hung with
ancient silk, of the dainty cabinets containing priceless curiosities العجيبةand
of the little coquettish perfumed reception rooms made for chatting 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 in use three
days, opposite her husband, who uncovered the soup tureen سلطانية and
declared with a delighted air ,“Ah, the good soup! I don’t know anything better than
that,”
she thought of dainty dinners, of shining silverware,
of tapestry that 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 to which you
listen with a sphinxlike smile while you are eating the pink meat of a trout or
the wings of a quail.She had no gowns, no jewels, nothing. And she loved
nothing but that. She felt made for that. She would have liked so much 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 see any more because she felt
so sad when she came home.
But one evening her husband reached home with a
triumphant air and holding a large envelope in his hand.
There,” said he, “there is something for you.”She tore the paper quickly and drew out a printed card
which bore these words: The
Minister of Public Instruction and Madame Georges Ramponneau request the honor
of M. and Madame Loisel’s company at the palace of the Ministry on Monday
evening,
January 18th.
Instead of being delighted, as her husband had hoped,
she threw the invitation on the table crossly, muttering:What
do you wish me to do with that?”
“Why, my dear, I thought you would be glad. You never
go out, and this is such a fine opportunity. I had great trouble to get it. Everyone
wants to go; it is very select, and they are not giving many invitations to
clerks. The whole official world will
be there.”
She looked at him with an irritated glance and said
impatiently:
“And what do you wish me to put on my back?”
He had not thought of that. He stammered: Why, the gown
you go to the theatre in. It looks very well to me.”
He stopped, distracted, seeing that his wife was weepingتنتحب . Two great
tears ran slowly from the corners of her eyes toward the corners of her mouth.
“What’s the matter? What’s the matter?” he answered.
By a violent effort she conquered her grief and
replied in a calm voice, while she wiped her wet cheeks: Nothing. Only I have no gown ثوب, and,
therefore, I can’t go to this ball. Give your card to some colleague whose wife
is better equipped than I am.”
He was in despair. He resumed: Come, let us see, Mathilde. How much would it cost, a
suitable gown, which you could use on other occasions something very simple?”
She reflected several seconds, making her 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 hesitating: I don’t know exactly, but I think I could manage it
with four hundred francs.”
He grew 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 there of a Sunday.
But he said:Very well. I will give you four hundred francs. And
try to have a pretty gown.”
The day of the ball drew near and Madame Loisel seemed
sad, uneasy, anxious. Her frock was ready, however. Her husband said to her one
evening:
“What is the matter? Come, you have seemed very queer
these last three days.”
And she answered: It annoys me not to have a single piece of jewelry,
not a
single ornament, nothing to put on. I shall look
poverty strickenمنكوب
بالفقر. I would almost rather not go
at all.”
“You might wear natural flowers,” said her husband.
“They’re very stylish at this time of 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.”
“How stupid you are!” her husband cried. “Go look up
your friend, Madame Forestier, and ask her to lend you some jewels. You’re intimate
enough with her to do that.”
She uttered a cry of joy: True! I never thought of it.”
The next day she went to her friend and told her of
her distress.
Madame Forestier went to a wardrobe with a mirror,
took out a large jewel box, brought it back, opened it and said to Madame Loisel:Choose, my dear.”
She saw first some bracelets, then a pearl necklace,
then aVenetian gold cross set with precious stones, of admirable workmanship.
She tried on the ornaments before the mirror, hesitated and 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 further; I don’t know what you like.”
Suddenly she discovered, in a black satin box, a
superb diamond necklace, and her heart throbbed with an immoderate desire. Her
hands trembled as she took it. She fastened it round her throat, outside her
high-necked waist, and was lost in ecstasy at her reflection in the mirror.
Then she asked, hesitating, filled with anxious doubt:
“Will you lend me this, only this?”
“Why, yes, certainly.”
She threw her arms round her friend’s neck, kissed her
passionately, then fled with her treasure.
The night of the ball arrived. Madame Loisel was a
great success. She was prettier than any other woman present, elegant,graceful, smiling and wild with joy. All the men
looked at her,asked her name, sought to be introduced. All the
attaches of
the Cabinet wished to waltz with her. She was remarked
by the minister himself.
She danced with raptureنشوة , with
passionعاطفة , intoxicated by pleasure ثملة بهذه المتعة , forgetting
all in the triumph of her beauty, in the glory of her success, in a sort of
cloud of happiness comprised of all this homage, admiration, these awakened
desires and of that sense of triumph which is so sweet to woman’s heart.
She left the ball about four o’clock in the morning.
Her husband had been sleeping since midnight in a little deserted anteroom غرفة المدخل with
three other gentlemen whose wives were enjoying the ball.He
threw over her shoulders the wraps he had brought, the modest wraps of common
life, the poverty of which contrasted
with the elegance of the ball dress. She felt this and
wished toescape so as not to be remarked by the other women, who were enveloping
themselves in costly furs.
Loisel held her back, saying: “Wait a bit. You will
catch cold outside. I will call a cab.”
But she did not listen to him and rapidly descended
the stairs.
When they reached the street they could not find a
carriage and began to look for one, shouting after the cabmen passing at a
distance.
They went toward the Seine in despair, shivering with
cold.
At last they found on the quay رصيف الميناء one
of those ancient night cabs which, as though they were ashamed to show their
shabbiness during the day, are never seen round Paris until after dark.
It took them to their dwelling in the Rue des Martyrs,
and sadly they mounted the stairs to their flat. All was ended for her. As to
him, he reflected that he must be at the ministry at ten o’clock that morning.
She removed her wraps before the glass so as to see
herself once more in all her glory. But suddenly she uttered a cry. She no
longer had the necklace around her neck!
“What is the matter with you?” demanded her husband,
already half undressed.
She turned distractedly toward him.
“I have—I have—I’ve lost Madame Forestier’s necklace,”
she cried.
He stood up, bewildered.What!—how?
Impossible!”
They looked among the folds of her skirt, of her
cloak, in her pockets, everywhere, but did not find it.
“You’re sure you had it on when you left the ball?” he
asked.
“Yes, I felt it in the vestibule of the minister’s
house.”
“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 each other. At last
Loisel put on his clothes.
“I shall go back on foot,” said he, “over the whole
route, to see whether I can find it.”
He went out. She sat waiting on a chair in her ball
dress,without strength to go to bed, overwhelmed, without
any fire,without a thought.
Her husband returned 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 companies everywhere, in fact, whither he was urged
by the least spark of hope.
She waited
all day, in the same condition of mad fear before this terrible calamityمصيبة.
Loisel returned at night with a hollow, pale face. He
had discovered nothing.
“You must write to your friend,” said he, “that you
have broken the claspقفل 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. Loisel, who had aged five years, declared:
“We must consider how to replace that ornament.”
The next day they took the box that had contained it
and 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, trying to recall it, both sick with chagrin الحزن والكدرand
grief.
They found,
in a shop at the Palais Royal, a string of diamonds that seemed to them exactly
like the one they had lost.
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 should find the lost necklace before the end of February.
Loisel
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 signing a note without even knowing whether he could meet it; and, frightened
by the trouble yet to come, by the black misery that was about to fall upon
him, by the prospect of all the physical privations and moral tortures that he
was to suffer, he went to get the new necklace, laying upon the jeweler’s
counter thirty six thousand francs.
When Madame
Loisel took back the necklace Madame Forestier said to her with a chilly بارد 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 استبدال, what would
she have thought, what would she have said? Would she not have taken Madame
Loisel for a thief ?
Thereafter
Madame Loisel knew the horrible existence of the needy. She bore her part,
however, with sudden 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 بغيض cares of the kitchen. She washed the dishes,
using her dainty fingers and rosy nails on greasy دهنى pots and
pans. She washed the soiled linen الكتان المتسخ, the shirts
and the dishcloths, which she dried upon 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, a basket on her arm, bargaining, meeting with
impertinence, defending her miserable money, sou by sou.
Every month
they had to meet some notes, renew others, obtain more time.
Her husband worked evenings, making up a tradesman’s
accounts, and late at night he often copied manuscript for five sous a page.
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 Loisel 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 admired.
What would have happened if she had not lost that
necklace? Who knows? who knows? How strange and changeful is life! How small a
thing is needed to make or ruin us!
But one Sunday, having gone to take a walk in the
Champs Elysees to refresh herself after the labors of the week, she suddenly
perceived نظرت الى a
woman who was leading a child. It was Madame Forestier, still young, still
beautiful, still charming.
Madame Loisel felt moved. Should she speak to her? Yes, certainly. And
now that she had paid, she would tell her all about it. Why not?
She went up.
“Good-day, Jeanne.”
The other, astonished to be familiarly addressed by
this plain good-wife, did not recognize her at all and stammered: But madam!—I
do not know—You must have mistaken.”
“No. I am Mathilde Loisel.”
Her friend uttered a cry. Oh, my poor Mathilde! How you are changed!”
“Yes, I have had a pretty hard life, since I last saw
you, and great poverty and that because of you!”
“Of me! How so?”
“Do you remember that diamond necklace 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 exactly like it. And it has
taken us ten years to pay for it. You can understand that it was not easy for
us, for us who had nothing. At last it is ended, and I am very glad.”
Madame Forestier had stopped.
“You say that you bought a necklace of diamonds to
replace mine?”
“Yes. You never noticed it, then! They were very
similar.”
And she smiled with a joy that was at once proud and
ingenuous.
Madame Forestier, deeply moved, took her hands.
“Oh, my poor Mathilde! Why, my necklace was paste نسخة مقلدة! It was worth
at most only five hundred francs!”
