英语剧本4人版短剧项链

《项链》就不错Necklace The girl was one of those pretty and charming young creatures who sometimes are born, as if by a slip of fate, into a family of clerks. She had no dowry, 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. 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 nor rank, for beauty, grace and charm take the place of family and birth. Natural ingenuity, instinct for what is elegant, a supple mind are their sole hierarchy, 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 and all luxuries. She was distressed at the poverty of her dwelling, at the bareness of the walls, at the shabby 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 antechambers hung with Oriental tapestry, illumined by tall bronze candelabra, 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 and 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 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 marvellous 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. Every one 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 weeping. 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, 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-stricken. 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 a Venetian 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 rapture, with passion, intoxicated by pleasure, 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 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 to escape 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 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 calamity. 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 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. 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 and 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 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? 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 cares of the kitchen. She washed the dishes, using her dainty fingers and rosy nails on greasy pots and pans. She washed the soiled linen, 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 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--madame!--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! It was worth at most only five hundred francs!"

The girl was one of those pretty and charming young creatures who sometimes are born, as if by a slip of fate, into a family of clerks. She had no dowry, 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. 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 nor rank, for beauty, grace and charm take the place of family and birth. Natural ingenuity, instinct for what is elegant, a supple mind are their sole hierarchy, 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 and all luxuries. She was distressed at the poverty of her dwelling, at the bareness of the walls, at the shabby 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 antechambers hung with Oriental tapestry, illumined by tall bronze candelabra, 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 and 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 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 marvellous 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.项链（剧本）（法）莫泊桑编剧（按姓氏笔画排列）：陈隽、陈馨怡、郑倩、黄歆义人物（按出场顺序）：玛蒂尔德（欧阳璐） 老板娘（杨倩）上帝（赵捷毅） 路瓦栽（王冬越）佛来思节（周珏） 男宾一（华志斌）男宾二（季思远） 男宾三（孙怡）甲1（顾嘉威） 甲2（周卿）舞者（孙佳龙、马奕宁、潘磊、陈新）马夫（郑苏炯） 老板1（陈开放） 老板2（陈雁麟）导演：陈馨怡第一幕 与上帝的对话（一个妇人在地上拖地，她胡乱地挽着头发，歪斜地系着裙子，露出一双通红的手，旁边，凶悍的老板娘双手插在腰上）老：快点！你要是偷懒的话，我就扣你工钱！玛：（大声）知道了，知道了，我一定好好干。（老板娘离开，玛来到窗前，望着天空，放下了手中的拖把）玛：上帝啊，为什么要这样不公平，为什么，为什么！（大声）（上帝在天上望着）上帝：唉！我可怜的孩子，你是多么地不幸，可我又无能为力，这是命运的安排是你人生的劫数，我可怜的孩子，你曾经是多么美丽的女子，可惜命运差错，让你成为了小职员的女儿，最后，还是和教育部的小书记结了婚。请允许我告诉世人你的不幸，孩子，你的内心我很明白，很清楚，我知道你想要什么，但是，但是……玛：如果我生长在高雅奢华的家庭（陶醉）那该多好——东方的帷幕，高脚的青铜灯宽大的桌椅，还有，还有精巧的机器，珍奇的古玩，扑鼻的小客室（水桶被打翻）噢，天哪（痛苦的神情），真希望活在梦境之中，而用不着整天面对着那一切，用不着去竭尽精力偿还原本应属于我的一切！（继续拖地）上帝：十年以前的那一次（叹息）改变了你的命运，哎，只记得那是很久以前的事情了。第二幕 计划借链上帝：一天晚上，路回家，圆桌上铺着一块三天没洗的桌布，玛依旧心情低落，可路却满心地愉悦。（路揭开了锅盖子）路：（惊喜）啊！好香的肉汤！再没有比这更好的了！（玛惆怅）（路从包里拿出请柬，玛蒂尔德接过请柬）玛：教育部长乔治·朗伯诺及夫人，恭请路瓦栽先生与夫人于一月十八日（星期一）光临教育部礼堂，参加夜会。（她把信慢慢放下，思索了一会，然后把信往丈夫的怀中一丢）玛：你叫我拿着这东西怎么办！ 路：（结结巴巴，手足无措的）但是，亲爱的，我原以为你一定很喜欢的，你从 来不出门，这是一个机会，一个，一个好机会！（愁苦的，委屈的）我费了多大力气才弄到手！大家都希望得到，可是很难得到，一向很少发给职员。你在那里可以看见所有的官员。玛：（怨怼的看着路瓦栽，身子一侧）你打算叫我怎么去呢！？ 路：（快步走到玛蒂尔德面前，结结巴巴的）“你上戏院子穿的那件衣裳，我觉得就很好，照我看……（玛用手擦了擦眼泪，抽抽泣泣地哭了起来） 路：（惊慌失措的）你，你怎么了！怎么哭了，你怎么了！ 玛：（平静）没有什么，只是没有一件像样的衣服，我不能去参加这个夜会。你 的同事，谁的妻子打扮得比我好，就把这请柬送给谁去吧！（说到这里，又哭了出来）路：好吧，玛蒂尔德。做一身合适的衣服，你在别的场合也能穿，很朴素的，得 多少钱呢？ 玛；（想了几秒钟，迟疑的踱了几步）准数呢，我不知道，不过我想，有四百法 郎就可以办到。 路；（退了几步，抬头看了看天花板，决然的）好吧！我给你四百法郎。不过你 得把这件长衣裙做得好看些。上帝：夜会的日子近了，但是路瓦栽夫人显得郁闷、不安、忧愁。她的衣服却做好了，她丈夫有一天晚上对她说—— 路：（关心的）你怎么了？看看这三天来你非常奇怪，是不是得了什么病了？ 玛；（埋怨的）我处处带着穷酸气，就算衣服做好了，但是我连一件可以作为点缀的首饰也没有，你叫我怎么去参加这个夜会！ 路； 戴上几多鲜花吧！别在胸前与肩上装点一下，这个时节是很时兴的！ 玛；（不依）在阔太太中，这样的点缀算得了什么呢，难也难看死了！ 路；（一拍手，站起，喜悦的）你不是有一个叫佛的朋友吗！你和她的交情非比寻常，去问她借几件首饰是不成问题的！ 玛：真的呢！我怎么就没有想到。 第三幕 借链失链 上帝：玛叙述了原委，把一切都告诉了佛，也开始了这厄运的一切佛：挑吧，亲爱的。 玛：（高兴的）哦！太谢谢您了，佛！（玛在镜子前看这又看那，，犹豫不决，不知道该拿起哪件，放下哪件。） 玛；（犹豫的）再没有别的了吗？ 佛：还有呢，你自己找吧，我不知道哪样合你的意。 （玛跳了起来，发抖，迟疑了一会儿）玛：你能借我这件吗？我只借这一件。（拿起一挂精美的钻石项链） 佛：（不屑地看了看）当然可以。 玛：（狂喜的）哦！你太好了！谢谢谢谢，你真是我的福星。（搂住佛的脖子，狂热地亲她）玛：真的太感谢了！（飞奔而去）（玛参加宴会）（室内，众男宾与众女宾。路与两男宾被冷落在角落里，睡着了，心中狂喜，尽力地控制自己，脸上还是高贵的样子，所有的男宾马上停下讲话，一齐盯着她看，玛微笑着做出雍容华贵的姿态，马上就有男宾来邀她跳舞） （男宾们开始交头接耳）男宾一：那女子是谁？男宾二：不清楚，她可真漂亮啊，看看有谁认识她，好做介绍。男宾三：小姐，我能请你跳只舞吗？（伸出手，弯下腰）玛：当然可以！ （玛见如此英俊绅士前来邀舞，兴奋之情难以言表，眼角瞟了一眼四周女宾，女宾脸上嫉妒又羡慕的神情令她大为畅快，炫耀般与男宾三走到中央，翩翩起舞，陶醉了……）（凌晨四时，舞会结束。） （路把一件很朴素的家常衣服披在她的肩上） 玛：（冷冷地）我不要披这件衣服！（把衣服拉下） 路：不披衣服要着凉的。（玛还是把衣服拉下，不管丈夫，独自朝门外走） 路；等等，玛，你到外边要着凉的！我去叫一辆马车来。（离去） 喂，马车——（破马车缓缓而来）路：，车夫，快一点，（对玛说）我十点种还要到部里去（车夫应声）玛：啊————————————！！！！！！！！！！！ 路；什么事情！！ 玛：（极度惊慌的）我…………我………………我………………我丢了佛的那条项链！！！！哦！天哪！！！怎么办！！！！路：什么？……怎么啦！！……………怎么会有这样的事！！！来，快找找！（他们在长衣裙褶里，大衣褶里寻找，在所有的口袋里寻找，然而始终没有找到。） 路：你确定离开舞会的时候它还在？玛：（惶恐地确认）是的，在教育部的走廊上我还摸过它呢！路：一定是丢在车里了！玛：是的，很可能，你记得车的号码吗？ 路：（颓废的）没有！！！ （他们惊慌地面面相觑。末后，路瓦栽重新穿好衣服。） 路；（决然的）你先回去，快回去，我去吧我们走过的路再走一遍，看看会不会找到。 （家里）（七点钟光景，一脸沮丧）玛：怎么样了？路：没有没有找到，我去过警察厅，还到所有车行去找，凡是有一线希望的地方，我都已经找过了。（沉默）玛：上帝啊，为什么，为什么你要这样愚弄我！路；（平静却有些生硬的）应该给你朋友写信了，说你把项链的搭钩弄坏了，正在修理，这 样我们才会有周转的时间。 （玛不住点头，急忙去写信） 第四幕 借贷还链路：（沮丧）都一个星期过去了，没有希望了（停顿）应该想法赔偿这件首饰了。玛：是的（拿出合子）我们按盒子上的招牌字号去找那家珠宝店去。（店里）老板：太太.这挂项链不是我卖出的，我只卖出这个盒子。玛：是吗，那该怎么办，老板求求你了，能不能告诉我们这附近有没有卖这项链的商店。老板：有.让我想想（过了一会儿），在皇宫街的一家店里有。（来到店里）玛：（看到项链，惊讶）是的，就是这串。路：老板，这串项链能不能再便宜一点。乙：哦.先生.你也是知道的，我们做的也是小买卖，赚不了几个字，不过假若你是诚心要的话，那我就打个九折，三万六如何。路：（晴天霹雳.咬咬牙）老板，就这样说定了，但你可千万不要就把它卖了，至少在三天里，如果三天后我们找到原先自己丢失的那一串，你能够回收吗？乙：当然可以，不过价钱嘛。玛：怎么样。乙：这样吧，三万四成交，如何。路：（惊讶. 咬咬牙）就这样吧！（路上）路：你先回去，把我父亲留给我的一万八千法郎取出来，然后，我去找亲戚朋友借去……。上帝：于是，路瓦栽开始东借西凑，他向许多人求助，向这个借一千法郎，向那个借五百法郎，（路瓦栽在向别人借钱），他和放高利贷的人和各种不同国籍的人借钱，签定许多的契约，他顾不得后半世的生活了，我可怜的孩子，他未来的苦恼，将重重地压在他身上的残酷的危困，肉体的苦楚，精神的折磨。终于，他得到了那串项链。（玛来到佛家）佛：（不高兴，不满意地看着）你应当早点还给我，也许我早就要用它了。（把盒子随手放在旁边）很晚了，你也应该回去歇着了，我看你好像十分憔悴。第五幕 公园相遇上帝：从此，这个可怜的女子将设法偿还那笔可怕的债务，她刷洗杯盘碗碟，在油腻的盆沿上和锅底上磨粗了她粉嫩的手指，每天早晨，她把垃圾从楼上提到街上，再把水从楼下提到楼上，她给一个小店的老板娘做事，已经顾不得应有的尊严，顾不得满足自己内心的虚荣，他们夫妻俩月月还一些旧债，再去借一些新债，来延清时月。就这样，十年过去了，债也还清了，全都还清了。老板：这是你今天的工钱，你可以下班了。玛：是的，多谢你了（接过钱，走了）玛：（喃喃自语）反正明天是周末，倒不如到公园去走走，舒散一下也好。（来到公园）玛：（看到一个妇人走来，是佛，吃惊） （犹豫，自语）我要不要上去和她打招呼呢？（上前）你好，珍妮！佛：（吃惊，停顿打量了一会）可是……太太…..我不知道，你一定是认错了。（边走边聊）玛：没有错，我是玛蒂尔德，路自栽。佛：啊（尖叫）我可怜的玛蒂尔德，你怎么变成这样了……。玛：（叹口气）是的，多年不见面了，这些年来我忍受着许多苦楚……而且.而且都是因为你……。佛：因为我？这是怎么讲的？玛：你一定记得你借给我的那挂项链吧！我戴了去参加教育部夜会的那挂。佛：记得，怎么样呢？玛：怎么样，我把它给丢了。佛：哪儿的话，你不是已经还给我了吗？玛：我还给你的是另一挂，跟你那挂完全相同。你瞧，我和路自栽花了十年工夫，才付清了它应有的代价，你知道，对于我们这样什么也没有的人，这可不是容易的啊！不过，事情总算了结了，我倒是十分高兴的。佛：（停住了脚步）你是说你买了一挂钻石项链赔给我吗？玛：对啊，你当时没看出来吗？简直是一模一样的啊。（天真而得意地笑了）。佛：唉，我可怜的玛蒂尔德！可是，可是（抓住她的手），可是我那一挂是假的，最多值五百法郎！……

《项链》英文剧本Necklace The girl was one of those pretty and charming young creatures who sometimes are born, as if by a slip of fate, into a family of clerks. She had no dowry, 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. 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 nor rank, for beauty, grace and charm take the place of family and birth. Natural ingenuity, instinct for what is elegant, a supple mind are their sole hierarchy, 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 and all luxuries. She was distressed at the poverty of her dwelling, at the bareness of the walls, at the shabby 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 antechambers hung with Oriental tapestry, illumined by tall bronze candelabra, 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 and 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 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 marvellous 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. Every one 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 weeping. 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, 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-stricken. 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 a Venetian 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 rapture, with passion, intoxicated by pleasure, 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 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 to escape 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 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 calamity. 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 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. 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 and 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 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? 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 cares of the kitchen. She washed the dishes, using her dainty fingers and rosy nails on greasy pots and pans. She washed the soiled linen, 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 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--madame!--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! It was worth at most only five hundred francs!"

世上的漂亮动人的女子，每每像是由于命运的差错似地，出生在一个小职员的家庭；我们现在要说的这一个正是这样。她没有陪嫁的资产，没有希望，没有任何方法使得一个既有钱又有地位的人认识她，了解她，爱她，娶她；到末了，她将将就就和教育部的一个小科员结了婚。SHEwasoneofthoseprettyandcharminggirls,;andsheletthemmakeamatchforherwithalittleclerkintheDepartmentofEducation.