The Necklace

By Guy de Maupassant

She was one of those pretty and charming girls, born, as if by an error of fate, into a family of clerks. She had no dowry, no expectations, no means of becoming known, understood, loved, or wedded by a 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 had no means, but she was as unhappy as if she had fallen from a higher rank; for women have no caste or breeding, their beauty, their grace, and their charm serving them in the place of birth and family. Their native finesse, their instinctive elegance, their pliancy of mind, are their only hierarchy, and make from women of the common 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 bareness of the walls, from the shabby chairs, from the ugliness of the curtains. All these things, which another woman of her class would not even have noticed, tormented her and made her indignant. The sight of the little Breton peasant who did her humble housework aroused in her despairing regrets and bewildering dreams.

She thought of silent antechambers hung with Oriental tapestries, lit by tall bronze sconces, and of two great footmen in knee-breeches who sleep in the deep armchairs, made drowsy by the oppressive heat of the hot-air stove. She thought of vast salons furnished with antique silks, of delicate pieces of furniture supporting priceless curiosities, and of coquettish boudoirs made for afternoon teas with intimate friends, for she longed to be envied, to be charming, to be sought after.

When she sat down to dinner opposite her husband, who uncovered the soup tureen with a delighted air, saying: "Oh! a good pot-au-feu! I don't know anything better than that..." she would dream of elegant dinners, of glittering silverware, of tapestries peopling the walls with ancient personages and with strange birds in the midst of a fairy forest. She thought of delicious dishes served on marvelous plates, of whispered gallantries acknowledged with a sphinx-like smile while eating the pink flesh of a trout or the wings of a grouse.

She had no elegant dresses, no jewels, nothing. And she loved nothing but these things; she felt that she was made for them. She would have so much liked to please, to be envied, to be charming, to be sought after.

One evening her husband came home with a triumphant air, holding a large envelope.

"Here," he said, "here is something for you."

She quickly tore open the paper and drew out a printed card bearing these words:

"The Minister of Public Instruction and Madame Georges Ramponneau beg Monsieur and Madame Loisel to do them the honor of spending the evening of Monday, January 18, at the Ministerial Mansion."

Instead of being delighted, as her husband had hoped, she threw the invitation petulantly upon the table, murmuring:

"What do you want me to do with that?"

"Why, my dear, I thought you would be pleased. You never go out, and this is an occasion! A beautiful one! I had great trouble getting it. Everybody wants them; they are very scarce, and not many go to clerks. You will see the whole official world there."

She looked at him with an irritated eye and declared impatiently:

"What do you want me to put on my back?"

He had not thought of that. He stammered:

"Why, the dress you wear when we go to the theater. It seems very nice to me..."

He stopped, astonished and dismayed, on seeing that his wife was weeping. Two great tears descended slowly from the corners of her eyes towards the corners of her mouth.

"What is the matter? What is the matter?" he faltered.

By a violent effort, she had controlled her vexation and replied in a calm voice, wiping her moist cheeks:

"Nothing. Only I have no dress, and consequently I cannot go to this ball. Give your card to some colleague whose wife is better fitted out than I am."

He was grieved, but answered:

"Let us see, Mathilde. How much would a suitable dress cost, a very simple one?"

She reflected for some seconds, making her calculations and also estimating the amount which she could ask for without bringing forth an immediate refusal and a frightened exclamation from the economical clerk.

Finally she replied, with some hesitation:

"I think that with four hundred francs I could manage it."

He grew a little pale, because he was laying aside just that amount to buy a rifle, so that he might be able to join some hunting parties the next summer, with a few friends who went lark-shooting on the plain of Nanterre.

However, he said:

"Very well. I will give you four hundred francs. But try to have a pretty dress."

The day of the ball approached, and Madame Loisel seemed sad, uneasy, anxious. Her dress was ready, however. Her husband said to her one evening:

"What is the matter? You have been acting strangely for two days."

And she replied:

"It annoys me not to have a single jewel, not a single stone, nothing to put on. I shall look like poverty itself. I would almost rather not go at all."

He resumed:

"You might wear natural flowers. They are very elegant at this season. For ten francs you can get two or three magnificent roses."

She was not convinced.

"No, there is nothing more humiliating than to look poor among rich women."

Then her husband cried:

"How stupid you are! Go find your friend Madame Forestier and ask her to lend you some jewels. You are intimate enough with her for that."

She uttered a cry of joy.

"It is true! I had not thought of that."

The next day she went to her friend and told of her distress.

Madame Forestier went to her mirrored wardrobe, took out a large jewel-case, brought it, opened it, and said to Madame Loisel:

"Choose, my dear."

She saw first some bracelets, then a pearl necklace, then a Venetian cross of gold and jewels of admirable workmanship. She tried on the ornaments before the glass, hesitated, could not decide to take them off or leave them. She kept asking:

"Have you nothing else?"

"Why, yes. Look for yourself. I do not know what will please you."

Suddenly she discovered, in a black satin box, a superb necklace of diamonds. Her heart began to beat with an immoderate desire. Her hands trembled as she took it. She fastened it around her throat, over her high-necked dress, and remained in ecstasy before her reflection.

Then she asked, with hesitation and anguish:

"Can you lend me this, only this?"

"Yes, certainly."

She threw her arms around her friend's neck, embraced her with passion, then fled with her treasure.

The day of the ball arrived. Madame Loisel was a great success. She was the prettiest of all, elegant, graceful, smiling, and full of joy. All the men stared at her, asked her name, tried to be introduced. All the attachés of the Cabinet wanted to waltz with her. The Minister himself noticed her.

She danced with intoxication, with passion, intoxicated by pleasure, thinking of nothing, in the triumph of her beauty, in the glory of her success, in a kind of cloud of happiness made up of all these tributes, of all the admiration, of all these awakened desires, of this victory so complete and so sweet to her heart.

She left the ball about four o'clock in the morning. Her husband had been sleeping since midnight, in a little deserted antechamber, with three other gentlemen whose wives were enjoying themselves.

He threw over her shoulders the wraps he had brought for her, the modest wraps of everyday life, the poverty of which contrasted with the elegance of the ball dress. She wished to flee, so as not to be remarked by the other women who were wrapping themselves in rich furs.

Loisel detained her:

"Wait a bit. You will catch cold outside. I will call a cab."

But she would not listen to him and descended the stairs rapidly. When they were in the street, they could not find a cab; and they began to hunt for one, hailing the coachmen whom they saw passing in the distance.

They walked towards the Seine, despairing, shivering with cold. Finally they found on the quay a carriage of the old kind, which only appears at night, as if it were ashamed of its shabbiness.

They were dropped off at their door, and she mounted the stairs to their apartment. It was all over for her. And he was thinking that he would have to be at the Ministry by ten o'clock.

She removed the wraps from her shoulders before the glass, for a final view of herself in her glory. Suddenly she uttered a cry. The necklace was no longer around her neck!

"What is the matter?" asked her husband, already half undressed.

"I have—I have—lost Madame Forestier's necklace!"

He stood up, bewildered.

"What! How! It is impossible!"

They searched in the folds of her dress, in the folds of her cloak, in her pockets, everywhere. They found nothing.

He asked:

"Are you sure you still had it when you left the ball?"

"Yes, I felt it in the vestibule of the Ministry."

"But if you had lost it in the street, we should have heard it fall. It must be in the cab."

"Yes. It is probable. Did you take the number?"

"No. And you, did you notice it?"

"No."

They looked at each other, utterly cast down. Finally Loisel dressed himself again.

"I am going," he said, "back over the whole route we came on foot, to see if I can find it."

And he went out. She remained in her ball dress, without the strength to go to bed, slumped in a chair, without fire, without a thought.

Her husband returned about seven o'clock. He had found nothing.

He went to the police, to the newspapers to offer a reward, to the cab companies, to everywhere, in short, that a trace of hope led him.

She waited all day, in the same state of distraction before this frightful disaster.

Loisel returned in the evening, his face pale, having discovered nothing.

"You must write to your friend," he said, "that you have broken the clasp of the necklace and that you are having it mended. That will give us time to turn around."

She wrote as he dictated.

At the end of a week, they had lost all hope.

Loisel, who had aged five years, declared:

"We must consider how to replace the jewel."

The next day they took the box which had contained it and went to the jeweler whose name was inside. He consulted his books.

"It was not I, madame, who sold the necklace; I merely furnished the case."

Then they went from jeweler to jeweler, searching for a necklace like the other, consulting their memories, both sick with chagrin and anguish.

They found in a shop at the Palais Royal a string of diamonds which seemed to them exactly like the one they had lost. It was valued at forty thousand francs. They could get it for thirty-six thousand.

So they begged the jeweler not to sell it for three days. And they made a bargain with him, that he would take back the necklace for thirty-four thousand francs if the first one was found before the end of February.

Loisel possessed eighteen thousand francs, which his father had left him. He borrowed the rest. He borrowed a thousand francs from one, five hundred from another, a hundred here, fifty there. He gave notes, made ruinous agreements, dealt with usurers, and all the race of lenders. He compromised all the rest of his existence.

Finally, he went to get the new necklace, laying down upon the jeweler's counter thirty-six thousand francs.

When Madame Loisel took back the necklace to Madame Forestier, the latter said to her in a frigid tone:

"You ought to have returned it sooner, for I might have needed it."

She did not open the case, which 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 her for a thief?

Madame Loisel experienced the horrible life of necessity. It was now necessary to do without the maid, to change their lodgings, to rent some garret under the roof. She learned the heavy work of the household, the odious cares of the kitchen. She washed the dishes, she wore out her pink nails scrubbing the greasy pots and the bottoms of the saucepans. She washed the dirty linen, their shirts, and their dishcloths, which she hung to dry on a line; she took down the refuse to the street each morning and brought up the water, stopping at each landing to catch her breath. 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 sou by sou.

Every month it was necessary to pay some notes, to renew others, to gain time.

At the end of ten years they had paid off 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 her hair badly dressed, her skirts askew, her hands red, she spoke in a loud voice, washing the floors with great swishes of water. But sometimes, when her husband was at the office, she would sit down near the window and think of that evening ball, where she had been so beautiful and so much admired.

What would have happened if she had not lost that necklace? Who knows? Who knows? How singular is life, and how full of changes! How small a thing will ruin or save one!

One Sunday, as she was walking in the Champs-Élysées to refresh herself from the labors of the week, she suddenly perceived a woman walking with 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. Why not?

She went up to her.

"Good day, Jeanne."

The other did not recognize her and was astonished to be addressed so familiarly by this common person. She stammered:

"But—Madame—I do not know—You must have made a mistake—"

"No, I am Mathilde Loisel."

Her friend uttered a cry.

"Oh! my poor Mathilde! How you have changed!"

"Yes, I have had a hard time since I last saw you; and many miseries... and all on account of you!"

"On account of me? How is that?"

"You recall the diamond necklace that you lent me to wear to the Ministerial Ball?"

"Yes. Well?"

"Well, I lost it."

"What are you talking about? You brought it back."

"I brought you back another exactly like it. And for this we have been paying for ten years. You will understand that it was not easy for us, who had nothing. . . . But it is finished and I am immensely proud."

Madame Forestier stopped short.

"You say that you bought a diamond necklace to replace mine?"

"Yes. You did not notice it, then? They were very much alike."

And she smiled with a proud and naive joy.

Madame Forestier, deeply moved, took her hands.

"Oh, my poor Mathilde! But mine was paste. It was worth at most five hundred francs! . . . "

Collaborative Mind Map: Character and Consequence in "The Necklace"

Objective: To visually map Mathilde Loisel's key choices and their subsequent consequences, analyzing how these choices demonstrate accountability.

Instructions:

1. Read the Story: Ensure everyone in your group has read Digital Short Story: 'The Necklace'.

2. Identify Key Choices: As a group, discuss and identify at least five major choices Mathilde Loisel makes throughout the story. These can be decisions, actions, or even significant inactions.

3. Map Consequences: For each choice, brainstorm and list the immediate and long-term consequences that resulted from that choice.

4. Consider Accountability: For each choice-consequence pair, discuss: How does Mathilde demonstrate accountability (or a lack thereof) for her actions?

5. Organize your Mind Map: Use a digital whiteboard tool (or large paper) to create your mind map. You can structure it like this:

   Mathilde's Choices & Consequences

   Choice 1: (What Mathilde chose/did)

   • Immediate Consequence:
     
     
     
   • Long-Term Consequence:
     
     
     
   • Accountability Reflection: (How does this show accountability or lack thereof?)
     
     
     
     
     
     

   Choice 2: (What Mathilde chose/did)

   • Immediate Consequence:
     
     
     
   • Long-Term Consequence:
     
     
     
   • Accountability Reflection: (How does this show accountability or lack thereof?)
     
     
     
     
     
     

   Choice 3: (What Mathilde chose/did)

   • Immediate Consequence:
     
     
     
   • Long-Term Consequence:
     
     
     
   • Accountability Reflection: (How does this show accountability or lack thereof?)
     
     
     
     
     
     

   Choice 4: (What Mathilde chose/did)

   • Immediate Consequence:
     
     
     
   • Long-Term Consequence:
     
     
     
   • Accountability Reflection: (How does this show accountability or lack thereof?)
     
     
     
     
     
     

   Choice 5: (What Mathilde chose/did)

   • Immediate Consequence:
     
     
     
   • Long-Term Consequence:
     
     
     
   • Accountability Reflection: (How does this show accountability or lack thereof?)
     
     
     
     
     
     

Be prepared to share your group's mind map and reflections with the class!