C.D. Warner, et al., comp. The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.
From ‘Scrap of Paper’
By Victorien Sardou (1831–1908)
Suzanne—Louise!
Louise[coming in and closing the door behind her hastily]—I saw Prosper ride by the windows of the château—You did not return; and my impatience was so great, that I hastily threw on this shawl and came myself.[Laying down her shawl.]
Suzanne—What imprudence! If your husband had seen you,——
Louise—What matter, since we were both together—Have you got it?
Suzanne—The letter? No—he refuses to give it up.
Louise—He must have left it here. Find it—find it, I entreat you! I am so terrified—I dare hardly raise my eyes to look into my husband’s face—I fancy he suspects—knows everything.
Suzanne—What if he does know everything? You say the whole affair was only a most innocent little flirtation.
Louise—Of course it was—I was a thoughtless, romantic girl at the time, and saw no wrong; but my husband, under that semblance of apathy, conceals a highly sensitive nature. The bare suspicion of any previous attachment, even of the slightest flirtation, would wound that nature to the quick—The discovery of this letter might rouse all his jealous susceptibilities, and compromise our domestic happiness for ever.
Suzanne[sitting down]—Ah, my poor dear friend, what a warning you give to silly girls——
Louise—Not to write letters! Oh, yes—girls should never write!
Suzanne—They should rather beware of fostering absurd ideas, and fancying themselves in love.
Louise—But don’t let us lose any time—let us hunt about.
Suzanne[seated]—That’s the very thing I’m now doing.
Louise—What! Sitting there?
Suzanne—Yes, in my head—that’s the way I hunt.[The Baroness is turning over books, papers, etc., on the table.]But go your own way to work.
Louise—Oh, you put me out of all patience!
Suzanne[coolly]—My dear child, nature made woman weak, but gave her as compensation a sixth sense. Have you ever examined butterflies?
Louise—What an absurd question!
Suzanne[going to table, and taking up a case of butterflies]—They have got long, thin horns upon their heads to enable them to feel and appreciate objects at a distance. Look!
Louise—What do you mean?
Suzanne—The naturalists call them “antennæ.” Well, my dear, women too have “antennæ,” but of so delicate a nature that they are invisible. Sometimes they are made like tendrils, to entangle our natural enemy, man;—sometimes they are sharp and pointed, just to blind them, my dear.
Louise[turning away pettishly]—And you want to find my letter with your “antennæ”—a likely idea! I’d rather trust to my ten fingers.[Goes on opening all the drawers, etc.]
Suzanne—You shall see how I will use my “antennæ.” Yes, yes; open all the drawers—hunt away. Just see if you can’t find your letter in the guitar case. What a child you are!—Just look at that little bit of paper folded together, and put to steady the leg of the table.
Louise—This?
Suzanne—Yes.[Getting up.]It’s not worth the trouble, the paper is black and worn.
Louise—Yes: and he would never have put it there, where everybody can see it.[She continues to hunt about.]
Suzanne—It’s very clear you don’t know how to use your “antennæ.”—Your knowing man would be sure to make so little concealment of an object he wished to hide, that nobody would be likely to look for it in a place so open to inspection. I’ll wager now, that if we can’t find this unfortunate letter, it is because it is lying about somewhere before our very eyes.
Louise[who has been hunting about]—Nothing—nothing! but there’s another room here.
Suzanne—Go in, by all means. My right of search is unlimited.
Louise[opening the door]—If he should come back, though? No matter; you will give the alarm.[Exit into room.]
Suzanne[looking around her]—Where can it be? He’s clever enough to have put it simply under his letter-weight.[Lifts up letter-weight.]No!—in this vase? Nothing but visiting cards, and a stick of sealing-wax. In this jar?[Opens the tobacco-jar.]Tobacco—cigarette-papers—several letters crumpled and torn.[Reading superscription of letter.]“Monsieur Prosper Couramont, to the care of Mahony Brothers, Madrid.”[Goes on with several other letters, which she passes, as she speaks, from her right hand to her left.]“Monsieur Prosper Couramont,—to the care of the Reverend Mr. Huggins, Sandwich Islands!” “Monsieur Prosper Couramont,”—[stops and takes up last letter.]Stop! this letter has seen a good deal of the world. It must have been a very precious letter for him to have brought it all the way from the Sandwich Islands, and kept it so long;[weighing it in her hands]and yet it’s very light. There’s only the veriest scrap of paper in it. Now who, I should like to know, would have sent a letter all the way to the Sandwich Islands, costing no end of postage-money, which cannot contain much more than “How do you do?”—“Very well, I thank you.” It’s very odd—very![Calling.]Louise!
Louise[in the room]—I can’t find anything!
Suzanne—Louise, was the letter large?
Louise[within]—No; only half a sheet of note-paper folded in two.
Suzanne[feeling the envelope]—A half-sheet of note-paper folded in two.[Aloud.]On white paper?
Louise[as before]—No; pink.
Suzanne[holding the envelope up to the light]—It is pink!
Louise[as before]—I’ve found a box full of papers.
Suzanne—Have you, dear?—all right![Smelling the envelope.]It’s an old scrap of paper; all the perfume is gone;[holding up the envelope again]if I could see the writing![About to open the envelope.]He gave me permission to search everything that was open, and this envelope is open.[Checking herself.]Stop, stop! it’s not quite the thing. I am not in the habit of opening other people’s letters[feeling the envelope.]And yet, if it were Louise’s letter. Oh! my fingers burn—my fingers burn!
Louise[crying with vexation]—Oh, my dear Suzanne, I give it up! We shall never find it now—we shall never find it now!
Suzanne—I can’t bear it any longer—I can’t see her cry.[Opens envelope and takes out paper, which she hands to Louise.]Is your letter anything like that?
Louise[opening the paper]—That is it!
Suzanne[bursting out laughing]—What do you say to my “antennæ” now, my dear?
Louise—Oh, yes—it’s the same—[reading]“I am obliged to leave home by daybreak; but far or near, my love—” Could I have written such words? Fool that I was! and should my husband ever know![Violent knocking, at the outside door.]
Suzanne—Someone is knocking at the door!
Baron[without]—Let me in!
Suzanne—Your husband! Give me the letter.[Snatches it.]
Louise—Good heavens! where shall I hide?
Suzanne[low, going to open the door]—Don’t think of hiding—stay where you are.
Louise—No, no—he would see my agitation.[Runs to door of other room.Baron continues to knock.]
Suzanne[low, her hand on lock of outer door]—No—stop, I tell you![Louise goes into other room.—With vexation.]Oh, foolish woman![She opens outer door.]
Baron[surprised]—You!
Suzanne[calm and smiling]—Yes—I! What an uproar you have been making!
Baron—You were not alone—Louise was here.
Suzanne—What should she be doing here?
Baron—Something she was ashamed of apparently, since she made her escape.
Suzanne[laughing]—Does this fit often seize you, cousin?
Baron—She was here, I say!
Suzanne—And if she was, why shouldn’t she be here still? Do you think she has hidden herself under the table?
Baron[roughly, looking her full in the face]—Then why didn’t you open the door immediately?
Suzanne[not at all disconcerted]—Because I thought the knocking was at the other door—and I opened that first.
Baron—In order that Louise might get away. That’s the way she went, then?[Goes up to the third door.]
Suzanne—What a tiresome old bear you are! If Louise went that way, go and look for her; and leave me to myself.
Baron—My wife was strangely agitated this morning, after her conversation with Monsieur What’s-his-name—whom she knew before her marriage—more still, during that little affair about the statuette—what did that mean?
Suzanne—Perhaps she was afraid he would drop it.
Baron[getting more and more angry]—The man made an offer of marriage for Mathilde, without ever having seen her—a mere pretext, it is very clear, to get into the house, and see my wife—a got-up plan to divert my suspicions! I left Brisemouche out shooting to return home—I inquired for my wife—She was gone out; but I had her spaniel, Fidèle, with me; and he has tracked her to this house—to the foot of that stair: I tell you my wife is here! Where is she, I say? Where is she?
Suzanne—How do I know? Since you’ve taken to hunting your wife, as they hunt Negroes, whistle for Fidèle, my dear sir—whistle for Fidèle.
Baron—Suzanne, you trifle with my feelings!
Suzanne—Trifle with your feelings! No—I wish to spare them. If I laugh at you, it is to show how foolish you are. Come—come—calm yourself, and try to be a little reasonable.
Baron—You are right—you are right to jeer at me—my jealousy blinds me—it drives me mad! It makes me utterly miserable![Throws himself into a chair.]
Suzanne—Look up, my poor friend! Now, how can you ruin all your happiness thus, when you have a charming wife who thinks of nobody but you—lives for nobody but you?
Baron—I know it, Suzanne—I know it—and I am calm now—quite calm—but should anything again ever cause me to suspect—[seeing Louise’s shawl, and darting on it.]My wife’s shawl! Ah! you see she has been here![Rises.]
Suzanne—Well—what of the shawl?
Baron—Who put it there?
Suzanne—I did—I took up the first that came to hand.
Baron—I don’t believe you. My wife’s shawl is here—then she’s not gone—she’s still concealed here—and I swear that if I find her—[takes up his gun.]
Suzanne—Baron! Baron! I beg of you——
Baron[searching, in spite of her]—Leave me!
Suzanne[trying to stop him]—Hear me! hear me!
Baron[going to the door of the other room.Suzanne springs between him and the door]—She is concealed in that man’s room. Let me go—by heaven, I’ll have his life![Menacing with his gun.]
Suzanne—For my sake——
Baron—For your sake?
Suzanne[with feverish haste, as if regardless of what she is saying]—Yes—for mine! you drive me to this confession by your violence. What! were you so blind? Did not my embarrassment—my agitation—at once reveal the truth? I didn’t open the door at once, because I was afraid of being found here. Your dog evidently recognized your wife’s shawl which I wore. Don’t you see? Louise refused her sister’s hand to Prosper, because she knew I loved him years ago—don’t you see? Prosper imagined I had deceived him, and so wanted to marry another, in order to revenge himself on me—don’t you see? When Louise spoke low to him, it was to justify me, and prevent this detested marriage, which I was resolved never should take place—don’t you see? don’t you see?
Baron—Yes, yes, I remember now. He spoke this morning of some heartless treachery on the part of a woman.
Suzanne—He meant me—I was the heartless treachery![Sighing.]But it was all a mistake—a misunderstanding.
Baron—Why did you not tell me this at once?
Suzanne—Can you ask the question? What woman would willingly confess the weakness of her heart? And then you were so violent, and made such an awful noise—you don’t know what a noise you do make. And I was so frightened, and—so out it came—I don’t know how—and—don’t you see? don’t you see?[Aside.]I don’t know what on earth I am saying.
Baron—Be calm, my dear Suzanne—no one shall ever learn this secret from me. But I’ll not allow this man to trifle with your feelings in this manner—I’ll see him at once.
Suzanne—See him—what for?
Baron—What for? Why, to tell him I know the state of affairs between you, make him withdraw his pretensions to the hand of Mathilde, and—and——
Suzanne—And what?
Baron—What? why marry you to be sure!
Suzanne[aside]—Good heavens! I didn’t take that into my reckoning.
Baron—Yes, yes; I’ll see the fellow—speak out my mind at once.
Suzanne—What are you thinking of, my dear friend? Let me see him first—endeavor to lure him back myself. You would not deprive a woman of her dearest privilege—would you, cousin?
Baron—As you will.[Going on with volubility, spite of the efforts of Suzanne to speak.]Marry you he shall—dead or alive! I won’t have him play fast and loose with cousin Suzanne—that I won’t. I owe him a grudge for making me suspect Louise—my own dear good Louise.[Bursts out laughing.]Good heavens! what a fool man makes of himself sometimes! But he shall pay for it—he shall marry you as a punishment—no, I don’t mean that—but marry you he shall![Taking up his gun.]Now, then, to bring down my man! amicably—I mean amicably![Patting his gun.]Old trusty, here is for the partridges—so ho, Fidèle! and off we go!
Suzanne[aside]—And they say that man can’t talk!
Baron[turning at door]—Not a word to Louise!
Suzanne—She shall not know more about the affair than she knows at this moment—I give you my word.
Baron—I would not have her know for the world.[Exit.]
Louise[throwing herself into the arms of Suzanne]—Oh, Suzanne, my dear, you have saved me!
Suzanne—Yes, but I’ve lost myself!
Louise—What do you mean?
Suzanne—Simply: that he wants me to marry this man. You know that will never do—I should inevitably have to play the “Bride of Lammermoor” with him and finish him off on the wedding-eve.
Louise—But think—should my husband see him and speak to him, all might still come out. He must go away at once.
Suzanne—Go he shall! But now, be off yourself! Your husband might return home: and you must be there before him.
Louise—But I should like to see that letter burnt.
Suzanne—Don’t lose a moment, I entreat you!
Louise[taking up her shawl]—But should I be seen——
Suzanne[opening the third door]—Go this way—the coast is clear.
Louise—I will.
Suzanne[seizing her shawl]—But leave your shawl, silly creature.
Louise[throwing it to Suzanne]—Yes, of course. I shall fly home like a bird: my heart is lighter now.[Exit.]
Suzanne[taking the letter out of her pocket]—It’s no such difficult matter to burn the letter. But how to get him to go is quite another affair: he won’t budge if he can help it.[Looking at the clock.]There is still time for him to pack up and get off by the nine o’clock train.[She begins crumpling the letter in order to throw it into the fire.]If I could but contrive to get him away![Just about to put the letter into the fire.]No—not the envelope—I have no right to that.[She takes the paper out of the envelope.]But I must put something in the place of our precious prize—any scrap of paper will do.[She takes up a piece of paper from the table, folds it, and puts it in the envelope.]And now we’ll return “Monsieur the Rev. Mr. Huggins” to the Sandwich Islands, in the midst of the tobacco. Everything back to its place.[She puts back into the jar the letters, etc., she had previously taken out of it, stirs them up, shakes the jar, and sets it down in its place.]There—now for the fatal billet doux![Approaches the fireplace.]It’s a great pity—for I had such a fancy[lighting the paper]for making him burn it himself.[Pulling back the paper, which is alight, and blowing it out.]Burn it himself—yes! what was it he swore? “I give you my word of honor, that if you manage to make me burn the letter myself I will pack myself off this very evening to look for a wife in the Cannibal Islands.” He gave me his word of honor—He’s an oddity; but he would keep his word, I am sure he would—I like the looks of him. Would it be then such a very difficult task to make him burn the letter? Let’s see—let’s see—[she looks into the fireplace]suppose I place it on the hearth, near the fire.[She twists the paper up.]That’s it—it looks exactly as if he had already lighted a cigar with it.[She comes away from the fire and looks around.]It’s really getting quite exciting! How it would amuse me to make him burn it himself![Listening.]Someone is coming up stairs. It’s he probably. Oh—there mustn’t be matches about![Hastily throws the matches into the fire.]That will do.[She sits down in armchair.]I must look very tired.[A gentle knock at the door.]Oh, yes—knock away! I’m not going to hear you.
Prosper—Asleep! overcome with fatigue and utterly discouraged.[Looking round him.]She has been turning everything topsy-turvy.[Looks into other room, and laughs.]Yes, and there too! Now for the Letter! Can she have found it?[Suzanne smiling follows him with the corner of her eye, while he opens the tobacco jar and sees the envelope.]No, all safe—Come, woman’s cunning has been baffled for once.[Sits down on the table and looks at Suzanne.]I am sorry for her—[looking more closely]she is really a very charming woman—pretty hand—I really must have a look at her eyes[getting up and bending over her.]
Suzanne[opening her eyes wide, and looking at him]—What did you say?
Prosper[staggering back]—What brilliants!
Suzanne[pretending to wake up]—Oh! I beg your pardon, I believe I must have dropped asleep.
Prosper—Pray, consider yourself at home.
Suzanne[rising]—What time is it?
Prosper[going to the clock on the mantelpiece]—Past six.
Suzanne—So late! Well, I can’t help it—I won’t give up my purpose; and here I shall remain at my post, till that purpose is accomplished.
Prosper—Allow me to admire your obstinacy.—It is the most heroic piece of chivalry I have ever seen.
Suzanne—Obstinacy! you are not gallant.
Prosper—Well, let us say firmness.
Suzanne—Yes: firmness in a woman—obstinacy in a man.
Prosper—Now, take care, you are pitting yourself against a man who has fought with Red Indians, and won his tomahawk on the field. I have been dubbed a great chief myself, and it would be no mean glory to carry off my scalp.[It gets gradually dusk.]
Suzanne—But, great chief, in spite of the intense satisfaction I should naturally have in scalping you, I have better motives than the desire of obtaining such questionable glory. But please light your lamp—it is getting quite dark.
Prosper—Immediately.[Takes off the globe of the lamp on the table and looks at it.]There! that fool of a servant has put on wick in the lamp.[He rings.]
Suzanne—Then light a candle—it will be much handier.
Prosper—You are right.[Hunting about for matches.]Of course, there may exist women who—now there’s not a match to be found anywhere.
Suzanne—Then take a piece of paper.
Prosper[seeing the piece of paper on the hearth]—Ah! this will do.[Picks up paper.]There may exist women, certainly, who are so far traitors to their nature as to—[He lights the paper.]
François—Did you ring for the lamp, sir?
Prosper[blowing out the paper and still holding it in his hand]—Yes—that will do—put it down there.
Suzanne[aside]—Was ever anything so provoking! Another minute, and he would have done it.[François puts the lamp on the table, and exit.]
Prosper—As I said, there may be women who—in short—upon my word, I don’t know, now, what I was going to say?
Suzanne—You were going to say, probably, that there may be women who would do and sacrifice much for the peace of mind of a friend.
Prosper[sitting down with the letter in his hand]—A friend! a friend! Have women friends of their own sex?[Aside.]She looks better still by lamp-light.
Suzanne—You don’t believe in friendship.
Prosper—In that respect I have not a much better opinion of my own sex than of yours.[Aside.]I can’t help being fascinated by her more and more.
Suzanne[taking the envelope and false letter from the jar mechanically and playing with it while Prosper shows his agitation]—Come, that’s something. You have generally so marvelous an opinion of your own superiority.
Prosper[laughing at seeing the envelope in her hand and shaking the paper he holds]—We certainly sometimes fancy we see more clearly than your sex.[Laughing—aside.]She little knows she’s got the letter.[Aloud.]Well, if I am an egotist, I have never found out, after a life’s experience, what I gained by doing good to others.
Suzanne[throwing back the envelope into the jar]—Gained!—the pleasure of doing it. Does that count for nothing? Ah! if you knew how bright the world would look to you under the consciousness of having done good—if you knew with how light a heart you would sleep at night—with how cheery a spirit you would raise your head from your pillow in the morning, you would never ask again what you would gain.
Prosper[surprised and pleased]—Perhaps—I don’t know.
Suzanne—Exactly. You don’t know.
Prosper[aside]—What a smile the woman has! and what a heart![Lets fall the letter on the carpet.]
Suzanne[aside]—Suppose I put out the lamp; he would have to light it again.[She begins turning the lamp up and down.]
Prosper[with enthusiasm]—Ah, my dear madam, if it were true—Does the lamp smoke?
Suzanne—It does a little.[Puts it out.]There—I’ve put it out.
Prosper[aside]—So much the better.[Aloud.]Ah, if it were true that your heart alone prompted you to give me battle, my admiration for your courage would give place to a far warmer feeling. I don’t exactly know why, but it is a fact, of all the women I have ever seen you are the only woman who is a real woman.
Suzanne—A very pretty declaration, upon my word—only a little obscure. Perhaps it would be clearer if you lighted your lamp.
Prosper[approaching her]—Ah, the fitful flicker of the cosy fire on the hearth is better suited to what I have to say.
Suzanne—Light the lamp, or I shall go at once.
Prosper—But I’ve got no matches.
Suzanne—Will you light the lamp?
Prosper—I declare to you——
Suzanne—I’ll hear no declaration till you light the lamp.[Getting up.]
Prosper—Don’t go—don’t go—don’t leave your purpose unaccomplished. You have made me believe in the existence of a woman’s heart that can beat with kindliness and purity. Let me prove myself worthy of that heart. See!—here is the letter![Takes envelope from jar.]I yield—I burn it before your eyes.[Throws the envelope into the fire.]
Suzanne[aside]—Now I could positively hug the man for that!
Prosper[taking up the burning envelope with the tongs]—See how it burns.
Suzanne—I haven’t the heart to send him away now. I must confess all.
Prosper—Shall I lay down the ashes at your feet?
Suzanne[laughing]—Are you quite sure you have burned the right thing?
Prosper—Can you doubt?
Suzanne—Your good faith?—oh, no! But pick up that little scrap of paper you had in your hand just now.
Prosper[hunting on the carpet]—That little scrap of paper! What do you mean?
Suzanne[pointing it out laughing]—There it is!
Prosper[picking it up with surprise]—Well, and what then?
Suzanne[listening]—Hush! what’s that?
Prosper[going to window]—The barking of dogs![Looks out.]The Baron coming towards the house.
Suzanne—And he may come up stairs! Give me that scrap of paper, quick!
Prosper—This darkness is rather awkward—I understand. I’ll light the candle at once.[He lights the paper.]
Suzanne[aside]—It was fated that he should burn the paper after all![Prosper lights the candle and throws the burning paper out of the window]—Oh, what have you done?
Baron[outside]—Holloa! Do you mean to set the house on fire?
Prosper[at window looking out]—Someone is picking it up!
Suzanne—The Baron! Oh, we’re lost!
Prosper—What do you mean?
Suzanne—That was the very letter!
Prosper[bewildered]—That scrap of paper—the letter!
Suzanne—The very letter! Run!—quick!—get it back! Why don’t you run?
Prosper[losing his head, and running to the window]—I am running!
Suzanne—Not by the window, man—by the door!
Prosper[running to door]—Yes, to be sure!
Suzanne—Not that way!
Prosper—No, no, of course not![Runs to the outer door, throwing down all the furniture in his way.]
Suzanne—You’ll find me at the château in the conservatory!
Prosper—I’ll have it, dead or alive![Runs out.]
Suzanne—That comes of being too clever by half![Exit, rapidly.]