[adapted]

by
Guy De Maupassant

She was one of those pretty, charming young women who, as if by a mistake of fate, was born into a family of clerks. She had no money, no future, and no way to become famous, admired, loved, or married to a rich or important man. So, she married a simple clerk who worked in the office of the Board of Education.

She was plain because she could not afford pretty clothes or jewelry, but she was unhappy because she felt out of place. Women do not have a social rank or class of their own. Their charm, beauty, and grace are what make them special, instead of their family or background. Their natural elegance, quick thinking, and cleverness are their only nobility, making some daughters of poor families equal to great ladies.

She suffered all the time because she felt she was born for a life of luxury and comfort. She hated her small apartment, the old walls, the worn-out chairs, and the faded curtains. Another woman of her class might not have noticed these things, but for her, they were a constant source of pain and anger. The sight of her simple Breton maid, who helped around the small home, made her feel even more sad and filled her with hopeless dreams.

She imagined grand waiting rooms with beautiful Oriental decorations, lit by tall bronze lamps, with two large footmen in short trousers sleeping in big armchairs, made drowsy by the warm air from the heater. She thought of large living rooms decorated with old silk, filled with elegant furniture carrying priceless decorations. She dreamed of little, beautifully scented rooms, made for cozy afternoon chats with close friends—men who were famous and admired, whose attention every woman wanted.

When she sat down for dinner at the small round table, where the tablecloth had already been used for three days, she looked at her husband. He happily lifted the lid of the soup pot and said, “Oh! A good potpie! There’s nothing better than that!”

But instead of feeling happy, she thought of elegant dinners, of shining silverware, and of wall tapestries decorated with images of ancient people and rare birds in magical forests. She imagined delicious food served on beautiful plates, of soft whispers and sweet compliments, spoken gently while eating the pink flesh of a trout or a tender piece of chicken.

She had no fine dresses, no jewelry, nothing. And yet, she loved only those things. She felt that she was born for them. She had a deep desire to be admired, to be wanted, to be charming and surrounded by attention.

She had a rich friend, a schoolmate from the convent, but she did not like to visit her. Every time she came home from her friend’s house, she felt miserable. She would cry for days—out of sadness, regret, and disappointment.

One evening, her husband came home excited, holding a large envelope in his hand.

“Here,” he said. “This is for you.”

She quickly tore open the envelope and pulled out a printed card. On it were these words:

“The Minister of Public Instruction and Madame George Ramponneau invite Mr. and Mrs. Loisel to a ball on Monday evening, January 18, at the Minister’s residence.”

Instead of being happy, as her husband had hoped, she threw the invitation angrily onto the table and muttered:

“What do you expect me to do with that?”

“But, my dear, I thought this would make you happy. You never go out, and this is a wonderful opportunity! I had to work hard to get this invitation. Everyone wants one, and only a few are given to employees. You will see all the important people there.”

She looked at him with an annoyed expression and said impatiently:

“What do you expect me to wear to something like this?”

He had not thought of that. He hesitated and said:

“Why, the dress you wear when we go to the theater. I think it looks very nice.”

He stopped talking, shocked and upset, when he saw his wife start crying. Two big tears rolled slowly down from the corners of his eyes to the sides of his mouth. He stammered:

“What’s wrong? What’s wrong?”

She made a great effort to control her anger. Then, wiping the tears from her cheeks, she answered calmly:

“Nothing. It’s just that I have no dress, so I cannot go to this event. Give the invitation to one of your colleagues whose wife has better clothes than I do.”

He felt sad but replied:

“Let’s think about this, Matilda. How much would a suitable dress cost? Something simple that you could wear for other occasions too?”

She thought for a few seconds, trying to calculate an amount that she could ask for without making her husband immediately refuse or react with shock, since he was very careful with money.

Finally, she said in a hesitant voice:

“I don’t know exactly, but I think four hundred francs should be enough.”

He turned a little pale because he had saved exactly that amount to buy a hunting gun. He had planned to use it the next summer when he would go hunting with his friends in Nanterre, where they shot larks on Sundays.

Still, he said:

“Alright. I will give you four hundred francs. But try to buy a nice dress.”

The day of the ball was getting closer, and Madame Loisel seemed sad, nervous, and worried. Still, her dress was almost ready. One evening, her husband said to her:

“What’s wrong? You have been acting strangely for the past two or three days.”

She replied, “I am upset because I don’t have any jewelry—not even one stone—nothing to wear to make myself look elegant. I will look so poor. I would rather not go to this party.”

He said, “You could wear fresh flowers. At this time of year, they look very stylish. For ten francs, you could buy two or three beautiful roses.”

She was not convinced. “No,” she said. “Nothing is more embarrassing than looking poor among rich women.”

Then her husband suddenly shouted: “How foolish we are! Go to your friend Mrs. Forestier and ask her to lend you some jewelry. You know her well enough to do that.”

She let out a cry of joy. “That’s true!” she said. “I didn’t think of that.”

The next day, she went to her friend’s house and told her about her problem. Mrs. Forestier went to her wardrobe, which had glass doors, took out a large jewelry box, brought it over, opened it, and said: “Choose whatever you like, my dear.”

First, she saw some bracelets, then a pearl necklace, and then a Venetian cross made of gold and decorated with jewels. It was beautifully made. She tried on the jewelry in front of the mirror, hesitated, but couldn’t decide whether to take them or not. Then she asked:

“Do you have anything else?”

“Yes, of course. Look for yourself. I don’t know what you will like.”

Suddenly, she noticed a black satin box. Inside, there was a magnificent diamond necklace. Her heart started beating fast with overwhelming desire. Her hands shook as she picked it up. She placed it around her neck over her dress and stood there, completely amazed. Then, in a nervous and uncertain voice, she asked:

“Could you lend me this? Just this one?”

“Yes, of course.”

She threw her arms around her friend’s neck, hugged her with excitement, and then left quickly, taking her precious treasure with her.

The day of the ball arrived. Madame Loisel was a great success. She was the most beautiful of all—elegant, graceful, smiling, and full of joy. All the men noticed her, asked for her name, and wanted to be introduced to her. All the important officials wanted to dance with her. Even the Minister of Education paid attention to her.

She danced with excitement, with passion, feeling drunk with happiness. She thought of nothing else—only the joy of being beautiful, the pride of being admired, and the wonderful feeling of success. She felt like she was floating in a cloud of happiness, enjoying the attention, the admiration, and the unspoken desires of those around her. It was a perfect victory, one that was sweet to a woman’s heart.

She went home around four o’clock in the morning. Her husband had been half asleep in one of the small rooms since midnight, along with three other men whose wives were still enjoying themselves at the ball.

He placed a coat around her shoulders. It was a simple, everyday coat, not elegant at all, and it looked poor compared to her beautiful ball gown. She noticed this and wanted to leave quickly so that the other women, who were covering themselves in rich furs, would not see her.

Loisel stopped her: “Wait,” he said. “You will get cold outside. I will go find a cab.”

But she didn’t listen and hurried down the steps. When they reached the street, they couldn’t find a carriage. They started looking for one, waving at the coachmen they saw in the distance.