Nothing But Dreams

I was born in a family of clerks, but I know I was to be born in a higher rank. I am beautiful, charming, a woman of courteous manners, and even so I had no dowry, no expectations, no means of being known, understood, loved, nor wedded by any rich and distinguished man, instead I married an insignificant clerk of Public Instruction. I am as unhappy as if I had really fallen from my designated rank; I know I don't belong in the place in which I now stand. I want more, much more than just this impecunious dwelling, this repulsive look of the walls, the worn-out chairs, the unappealing look of the curtains, and just by looking at the Breton peasant it fills my heart with anger and sadness. I believe I deserve the silent antechamber hung with Asian tapestry, lit by a tall bronze candelabrum, and two great footmen in knee breeches who sleep in the big armchairs. I enjoy dreaming of 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. During supper I ponder upon dainty dinners, shining silverware, of tapestry that fills the walls with ancient personages and with strange birds flying in the midst of a fairy forest. I think of delicious dishes served on marvelous plates, the whispered gallantries which one listens to with a sphinxlike smile, while eating the pink flesh of a trout or the wings of a quail, but this is nothing more than a childish dream, I know I can never have everything I want.

The Invitation

One saddening morning, no different from any other, my husband left for work like any other usual day. I stayed by the window, and watched my husband make his way to his job. Today felt different, it felt gloomier compared to prior days. We were almost running out of things to eat, so I went to the nearest food market but the amount of money I had, did not seem to be enough. Today we were eating pot-au-feu again, and I was getting tired of the same. That day my husband came in with a big smile and an enormous white, shining envelope, and as usual I was my ungrateful, saddening self. When I asked him about the letter, he opened it and then read slowly, articulating word for word, as I became overwhelmed with joy and anger at the same time. “The Minister of Public Instruction and Mme. Georges Ramponneau request the honor of M. and Mme. Loisel's company at the palace of the Ministry on Monday evening, January 18th.”I knew what this meant, and I was not ready. I have no dresses, no jewels, nothing, and I know that if I was to even consider attending this ball, I needed to look prestigious, just like the rest of the women that would attend this ball, knowing this I answered in a discourteous manner, and I was not proud as the words flew out of my mouth, but it was too late to back out and they just came out "What do you want me to do with that?”

It's Just Not Enough

My husband had tried to do everything he could to get us into the ball, and I was ungrateful. Without even recognizing the effort he had made I turned the invitation down and tried to make it seem as if it did not matter. My husband, instead of becoming full of rage for my actions, he instead, worried, asked, "What's the matter? What's the matter? “I had nothing to wear, I did not have jewels, nor a fancy dress to wear to such a prestigious ball, but my husband had an idea, and it was the perfect one. My husband gave me five hundred francs he had saved up for a new gun, and instead he gave the money to me, but then yet again, I still had no jewels to wear. But I had a friend who had jewels and my husband had reminded me of that, therefore I went to Mme. Forestier, who took out many boxes of jewelry out and gave me multiple choices. Out of the many possible necklaces, rings and earrings I could have chosen, my eyes were set on one specific pearl necklace, in my eyes it was the prettiest of them all, it was perfect for my new dress. And so I borrowed the necklace, nothing else.

The Day of The Ball

The day of the ball had finally arrived; I felt excited, overwhelmed with joy, happier than I had ever been in my life. As I walked in the chamber full of people, I felt prettier than them all, elegant, gracious, and fulfilled with joy. I danced all night, my husband did not seem to be having as much fun as me, but it didn't matter because I felt as if I was in my designated place. I knew I belong there. When the night at the ball ended, my husband and I left the chamber quickly; I didn't want to be noticed by the other women, who were leaving the ball. It was a cold night, and my husband tried to put his raggedy wraps on my shoulder, as I felt this I wanted to escape, I felt the looks of the other women and ran down the stairs to look for a cab, throwing the worn out wraps on the floor. When we arrived home, I looked myself in the mirror one more time before officially ending the best night of my life, before ending the only chance I had to be in my designated rank. As I contemplated my image for one last time, I noticed something was different the necklace was missing. I told my husband about the tragedy, and he ran to the last places we had been to after the ball, but he had no luck. Due to the circumstances, we had no other choice than to buy a new one, and so we told Mme. Forestier that we were fixing the clasp, which I had broken. The new necklace had a cost of thirty-four thousand francs; we were in debt for eternity.

In the End

Now, ten years later I found myself looking completely different, I looked old now, the years had done me some damage, and the work I had to do to repay the necklace, had turned me into a loud, obnoxious housewife. I now looked like the rest of the population, I no longer was beautiful or charming, I no longer made a difference nor stood out in the crowd. I now looked as a woman of my given rank in society. But the necklace was finally paid off, and I had decided to take a small break and walk around the park, where I found Mme. Forestier. I approached her, and at first she did not recognize me, she had no idea who I was, but I told her and I explained everything to her. Only to find out the necklace was made of paste, and not of real pearls. It was worth at most five hundred francs, and not thirty-six thousand.