The Imaginary Invalid
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Bel. Come, come, my dearie, compose yourself a little.
Arg. Lovey, you are my only consolation.
Bel. Poor little pet!
Arg. To repay you for all the love you have for me, my darling, I will, as I told you, make my will.
Bel. Ah, my soul! do not let us speak of that, I beseech you. I cannot bear to think of it, and the very word "will" makes me die of grief.
Arg. I had asked you to speak to our notary about it.
Bel. There he is, close at hand; I have brought him with me.
Arg. Make him come in then, my life!
Bel. Alas! my darling, when a woman loves her husband so much, she finds it almost impossible to think of these things.
SCENE IX. – MR. DE BONNEFOI, BÉLINE, ARGAN
Arg. Come here, Mr. de Bonnefoi, come here. Take a seat, if you please. My wife tells me, Sir, that you are a very honest man, and altogether one of her friends; I have therefore asked her to speak to you about a will which I wish to make.
Bel. Alas! I cannot speak of those things.
Mr. de Bon. She has fully explained to me your intentions, Sir, and what you mean to do for her. But I have to tell you that you can give nothing to your wife by will.
Arg. But why so?
Mr. de Bon. It is against custom. If you were in a district where statute law prevailed, the thing could be done; but in Paris, and in almost all places governed by custom, it cannot be done; and the will would be held void. The only settlement that man and wife can make on each other is by mutual donation while they are alive, and even then there must be no children from either that marriage or from any previous marriage at the decease of the first who dies.
Arg. It's a very impertinent custom that a husband can leave nothing to a wife whom he loves, by whom he is tenderly loved, and who takes so much care of him. I should like to consult my own advocate to see what I can do.
Mr. de Bon. It is not to an advocate that you must apply; for they are very particular on this point and think it a great crime to bestow one's property contrary to the law. They are people to make difficulties, and are ignorant of the bylaws of conscience. There are others whom you may consult with advantage on that point, and who have expedients for gently overriding the law, and for rendering just that which is not allowed. These know how to smooth over the difficulties of an affair, and to find the means of eluding custom by some indirect advantage. Without that, what would become of us every day? We must make things easy; otherwise we should do nothing, and I wouldn't give a penny for our business.
Arg. My wife had rightly told me, Sir, that you were a very clever and honest man. What can I do, pray, to give her my fortune and deprive my children of it?
Mr. de Bon. What you can do? You can discreetly choose a friend of your wife, to whom you will give all you own in due form by your will, and that friend will give it up to her afterwards; or else you can sign a great many safe bonds in favour of various creditors who will lend their names to your wife, and in whose hands they will leave a declaration that what was done was only to serve her. You can also in your lifetime put in her hands ready money and bills which you can make payable to bearer.
Bel. Alas! you must not trouble yourself about all that. If I lose you, my child, I will stay no longer in the world.
Arg. My darling!
Bel. Yes, my pet, if I were unfortunate enough to lose you …
Arg. My dear wifey!
Bel. Life would be nothing to me.
Arg. My love!
Bel. And I would follow you to the grave, to show you all the tenderness I feel for you.
Arg. You will break my heart, deary; comfort yourself, I beseech you.
Mr. de Bon. (to BÉLINE). These tears are unseasonable; things have not come to that yet.
Bel. Ah, Sir! you don't know what it is to have a husband one loves tenderly.
Arg. All the regret I shall have, if I die, my darling, will be to have no child from you. Mr. Purgon told me he would make me have one.
Mr. de Bon. That may come still.
Arg. I must make my will, deary, according to what this gentleman advises; but, out of precaution, I will give you the twenty thousand francs in gold which I have in the wainscoting of the recess of my room, and two bills payable to bearer which are due to me, one from Mr. Damon, the other from Mr. Géronte.
Bel. No, no! I will have nothing to do with all that. Ah! How much do you say there is in the recess?
Arg. Twenty thousand francs, darling.
Bel. Don't speak to me of your money, I beseech you. Ah! How much are the two bills for?
Arg. One, my love, is for four thousand francs, and the other for six thousand.
Bel. All the wealth in the world, my soul, is nothing to me compared to you.
Mr. de Bon. (to Argan). Shall we draw up the will?
Arg. Yes, Sir. But we shall be more comfortable in my own little study. Help me, my love.
Bel. Come, my poor, dear child.
SCENE X. – ANGÉLIQUE, TOINETTE
Toi. They are shut up with the notary, and I heard something about a will; your mother-in-law doesn't go to sleep; it is, no doubt, some conspiracy of hers against your interests to which she is urging your father.
Ang. Let him dispose of his money as he likes, as long as he does not dispose of my heart in the same way. You see, Toinette, to what violence it is subjected. Do not forsake me, I beseech you, in this my extremity.
Toi. I forsake you! I had rather die. In vain does your stepmother try to take me into her confidence, and make me espouse her interests. I never could like her, and I have always been on your side. Trust me, I will do every thing to serve you. But, in order to serve you more effectually, I shall change my tactics, hide my wish to help you, and affect to enter into the feelings of your father and your stepmother.
Ang. Try, I beseech you, to let Cléante know about the marriage they have decided upon.
Toi. I have nobody to employ for that duty but the old usurer Punchinello, my lover; it will cost me a few honeyed words, which I am most willing to spend for you. To-day it is too late for that, but to-morrow morning early I will send for him, and he will be delighted to …
SCENE XI. – BÉLINE (in the house), ANGÉLIQUE, TOINETTE
Bel. Toinette.
Toi. (to Angélique). I am called away. Good night. Trust me.
ACT II
SCENE I. – CLÉANTE, TOINETTE
Toi. (not recognising Cléante). What is it you want, Sir?
Cle. What do I want?
Toi. Ah! ah! is it you? What a surprise! What are you coming here for?
Cle. To learn my destiny, to speak to the lovely Angélique, to consult the feelings of her heart, and to ask her what she means to do about this fatal marriage of which I have been told.
Toi. Very well; but no one speaks so easily as all that to Angélique; you must take precautions, and you have been told how narrowly she is watched. She never goes out, nor does she see anybody. It was through the curiosity of an old aunt that we obtained leave to go to the play where your love began, and we have taken good care not to say anything about it.
Cle. Therefore am I not here as Cléante, nor as her lover, but as the friend of her music-master, from whom I have obtained leave to say that I have come in his stead.
Toi. Here is her father; withdraw a little, and let me tell him who you are.
SCENE II. – ARGAN, TOINETTE
Arg. (thinking himself alone). Mr. Purgon told me that I was to walk twelve times to and fro in my room every morning, but I forgot to ask him whether it should be lengthways or across.
Toi. Sir, here is a gentleman …
Arg. Speak in a lower tone, you jade; you split my head open; and you forget that we should never speak so loud to sick people.
Toi. I wanted to tell you, Sir …
Arg. Speak low, I tell you.
Toi. Sir … (She moves her lips as if she were speaking.)
Arg. What?
Toi. I tell you that … (As before.)
Arg. What is it you say?
Toi. (aloud). I say that there is a gentleman here who wants to speak to you.
Arg. Let him come in.
SCENE III. – ARGAN, CLÉANTE, TOINETTE
Cle. Sir.
Toi. (to Cléante). Do not speak so loud, for fear of splitting open the head of Mr. Argan.
Cle. Sir, I am delighted to find you up, and to see you better.
Toi. (affecting to be angry). How! better? It is false; master is always ill.
Cle. I had heard that your master was better, and I think that he looks well in the face.
Toi. What do you mean by his looking well in the face? He looks very bad, and it is only impertinent folks who say that he is better; he never was so ill in his life.
Arg. She is right.
Toi. He walks, sleeps, eats, and drinks, like other folks, but that does not hinder him from being very ill.
Arg. Quite true.
Cle. I am heartily sorry for it, Sir. I am sent by your daughter's music-master; he was obliged to go into the country for a few days, and as I am his intimate friend, he has asked me to come here in his place, to go on with the lessons, for fear that, if they were discontinued, she should forget what she has already learnt.
Arg. Very well. (To Toinette) Call Angélique.
Toi. I think, Sir, It would be better to take the gentleman to her room.
Arg. No, make her come here.
Toi. He cannot give her a good lesson if they are not left alone.
Arg. Oh! yes, he can.
Toi. Sir, it will stun you; and you should have nothing to disturb you in the state of health you are in.
Arg. No, no; I like music, and I should be glad to… Ah! here she is. (To Toinette) Go and see if my wife is dressed.
SCENE IV. – ARGAN, ANGÉLIQUE, CLÉANTE
Arg. Come, my daughter, your music-master is gone into the country, and here is a person whom he sends instead, to give you your lesson.
Ang. (recognising Cléante). O heavens!
Arg. What is the matter? Why this surprise?
Ang. It is …
Arg. What can disturb you in that manner?
Ang. It is such a strange coincidence.
Arg. How so?
Ang. I dreamt last night that I was in the greatest trouble imaginable, and that some one exactly like this gentleman came to me. I asked him to help me, and presently he saved me from the great trouble I was in. My surprise was very great to meet unexpectedly, on my coming here, him of whom I had been dreaming all night.
Cle. It is no small happiness to occupy your thoughts whether sleeping or waking, and my delight would be great indeed if you were in any trouble out of which you would think me worthy of delivering you. There is nothing that I would not do for …
SCENE V. – ARGAN, ANGÉLIQUE, CLÉANTE, TOINETTE
Toi. (to Argan). Indeed, Sir, I am of your opinion now, and I unsay all that I said yesterday. Here are Mr. Diafoirus the father, and Mr. Diafoirus the son, who are coming to visit you. How well provided with a son-in-law you will be! You will see the best-made young fellow in the world, and the most intellectual. He said but two words to me, it is true, but I was struck with them, and your daughter will be delighted with him.
Arg. (to Cléante, who moves as if to go). Do not go, Sir. I am about, as you see, to marry my daughter, and they have just brought her future husband, whom she has not as yet seen.
Cle. You do me great honour, Sir, in wishing me to be witness of such a pleasant interview.
Arg. He is the son of a clever doctor, and the marriage will take place in four days.
Cle. Indeed!
Arg. Please inform her music-master of it, that he may be at the wedding.
Cle. I will not fail to do so.
Arg. And I invite you also.
Cle. You do me too much honour.
Toi. Come, make room; here they are.
SCENE VI. – MR. DIAFOIRUS, THOMAS DIAFOIRUS, ARGAN, ANGÉLIQUE, CLÉANTE, TOINETTE, SERVANTS
Arg. (putting up his hand to his night-cap without taking it off). Mr. Purgon has forbidden me to uncover my head. You belong to the profession, and know what would be the consequence if I did so.
Mr. Dia. We are bound in all our visits to bring relief to invalids, and not to injure them.
(Mr. Argan and Mr. Diafoirus speak at the same time.)
Arg. I receive, Sir…
Mr. Dia. We come here, Sir…
Arg. With great joy…
Mr. Dia. My son Thomas and myself…
Arg. The honour you do me…
Mr. Dia. To declare to you, Sir…
Arg. And I wish…
Mr. Dia. The delight we are in…
Arg. I could have gone to your house…
Mr. Dia. At the favour you do us…
Arg. To assure you of it…
Mr. Dia. In so kindly admitting us…
Arg. But you know, Sir…
Mr. Dia. To the honour, Sir…
Arg. What it is to be a poor invalid…
Mr. Dia. Of your alliance…
Arg. Who can only…
Mr. Dia. And assure you…
Arg. Tell you here…
Mr. Dia. That in all that depends on our knowledge…
Arg. That he will seize every opportunity…
Mr. Dia. As well as in any other way…
Arg. To show you, Sir…
Mr. Dia. That we shall ever be ready, Sir…
Arg. That he is entirely at your service…
Mr. Dia. To show you our zeal. (To his son) Now, Thomas, come forward, and pay your respects.
T. Dia. (to Mr. Diafoirus). Ought I not to begin with the father?
Mr. Dia. Yes.
T. Dia. (to Argan). Sir, I come to salute, acknowledge, cherish, and revere in you a second father; but a second father to whom I owe more, I make bold to say, than to the first. The first gave me birth; but you have chosen me. He received me by necessity, but you have accepted me by choice. What I have from him is of the body, corporal; what I hold from you is of the will, voluntary; and in so much the more as the mental faculties are above the corporal, in so much the more do I hold precious this future affiliation, for which I come beforehand to-day to render you my most humble and most respectful homage.
Toi. Long life to the colleges which send such clever people into the world!
T. Dia. (to Mr. Diafoirus). Has this been said to your satisfaction, father?
Mr. Dia. Optime.
Arg. (to Angélique). Come, bow to this gentleman.
T. Dia (to Mr. Diafoirus). Shall I kiss?
Mr. Dia. Yes, yes.
T. Dia. (to Angélique). Madam, it is with justice that heaven has given you the name of stepmother, since we see in you steps towards the perfect beauty which …2
Arg. (to Thomas Diafoirus). It is not to my wife, but to my daughter, that you are speaking.
T. Dia. Where is she?
Arg. She will soon come.
T. Dia. Shall I wait, father, till she comes?
Mr. Dia. No; go through your compliments to the young lady in the meantime.
T. Dia. Madam, as the statue of Memnon gave forth a harmonious sound when it was struck by the first rays of the sun, in like manner do I experience a sweet rapture at the apparition of this sun of your beauty. As the naturalists remark that the flower styled heliotrope always turns towards the star of day, so will my heart for ever turn towards the resplendent stars of your adorable eyes as to its only pole. Suffer me, then, Madam, to make to-day on the altar of your charms the offering of a heart which longs for and is ambitious of no greater glory than to be till death, Madam, your most humble, most obedient, most faithful servant and husband.
Toi. Ah! See what it is to study, and how one learns to say fine things!
Arg. (to Cléante). Well! what do you say to that?
Cle. The gentleman does wonders, and if he is as good a doctor as he is an orator, it will be most pleasant to be one of his patients.
Toi. Certainly, it will be something admirable if his cures are as wonderful as his speeches.
Arg. Now, quick, my chair; and seats for everybody. (Servants bring chairs.) Sit down here, my daughter. (To M. Diafoirus) You see, Sir, that everybody admires your son; and I think you very fortunate in being the father of such a fine young man.
Mr. Dia. Sir, it is not because I am his father, but I can boast that I have reason to be satisfied with him, and that all those who see him speak of him as of a youth without guile. He has not a very lively imagination, nor that sparkling wit which is found in some others; but it is this which has always made me augur well of his judgment, a quality required for the exercise of our art. As a child he never was what is called sharp or lively. He was always gentle, peaceful, taciturn, never saying a word, and never playing at any of those little pastimes that we call children's games. It was found most difficult to teach him to read, and he was nine years old before he knew his letters. A good omen, I used to say to myself; trees slow of growth bear the best fruit. We engrave on marble with much more difficulty than on sand, but the result is more lasting; and that dulness of apprehension, that heaviness of imagination, is a mark of a sound judgment in the future. When I sent him to college, he found it hard work, but he stuck to his duty, and bore up with obstinacy against all difficulties. His tutors always praised him for his assiduity and the trouble he took. In short, by dint of continual hammering, he at last succeeded gloriously in obtaining his degree; and I can say, without vanity, that from that time till now there has been no candidate who has made more noise than he in all the disputations of our school. There he has rendered himself formidable, and no debate passes but he goes and argues loudly and to the last extreme on the opposite side. He is firm in dispute, strong as a Turk in his principles, never changes his opinion, and pursues an argument to the last recesses of logic. But, above all things, what pleases me in him, and what I am glad to see him follow my example in, is that he is blindly attached to the opinions of the ancients, and that he would never understand nor listen to the reasons and the experiences of the pretended discoveries of our century concerning the circulation of the blood and other opinions of the same stamp.3
T. Dia. (pulling out of his pocket a long paper rolled up, and presenting it to Angélique). I have upheld against these circulators a thesis which, with the permission (bowing to Argan) of this gentleman, I venture to present to the young lady as the first-fruits of my genius.
Ang. Sir, it is a useless piece of furniture to me; I do not understand these things.
Toi. (taking the paper). Never mind; give it all the same; the picture will be of use, and we will adorn our attic with it.
T. Dia. (again bowing to Angélique). With the permission of this gentleman, I invite you to come one of these days to amuse yourself by assisting at the dissection of a woman upon whose body I am to give lectures.
Toi. The treat will be most welcome. There are some who give the pleasure of seeing a play to their lady-love; but a dissection is much more gallant.
Mr. Dia. Moreover, in respect to the qualities required for marriage, I assure you that he is all you could wish, and that his children will be strong and healthy.
Arg. Do you not intend, Sir, to push his way at court, and obtain for him the post of physician there?
Mr. Dia. To tell you the truth, I have never had any predilection to practice with the great; it never seemed pleasant to me, and I have found that it is better for us to confine ourselves to the ordinary public. Ordinary people are more convenient; you are accountable to nobody for your actions, and as long as you follow the common rules laid down by the faculty, there is no necessity to trouble yourself about the result. What is vexatious among people of rank is that, when they are ill, they positively expect their doctor to cure them.
Toi. How very absurd! How impertinent of them to ask of you doctors to cure them! You are not placed near them for that, but only to receive your fees and to prescribe remedies. It is their own look-out to get well if they can.
Mr. Dia. Quite so. We are only bound to treat people according to form.
Arg. (to Cléante). Sir, please make my daughter sing before the company.
Cle. I was waiting for your commands, Sir; and I propose, in order to amuse the company, to sing with the young lady an operetta which has lately come out. (To Angélique, giving her a paper) There is your part.
Ang. Mine?
Cle. (aside to Angélique). Don't refuse, pray; but let me explain to you what is the scene we must sing. (Aloud) I have no voice; but in this case it is sufficient if I make myself understood; and you must have the goodness to excuse me, because I am under the necessity of making the young lady sing.
Arg. Are the verses pretty?
Cle. It is really nothing but a small extempore opera, and what you will hear is only rhythmical prose or a kind of irregular verse, such as passion and necessity make two people utter.
Arg. Very well; let us hear.
Cle. The subject of the scene is as follows. A shepherd was paying every attention to the beauties of a play, when he was disturbed by a noise close to him, and on turning round he saw a scoundrel who, with insolent language, was annoying a young shepherdess. He immediately espoused the cause of a sex to which all men owe homage; and after having chastised the brute for his insolence, he came near the shepherdess to comfort her. He sees a young girl with the most beautiful eyes he has ever beheld, who is shedding tears which he thinks the most precious in the world. Alas! says he to himself, can any one be capable of insulting such charms? Where is the unfeeling wretch, the barbarous man to be found who will not feel touched by such tears? He endeavours to stop those beautiful tears, and the lovely shepherdess takes the opportunity of thanking him for the slight service he has rendered her. But she does it in a manner so touching, so tender, and so passionate that the shepherd cannot resist it, and each word, each look is a burning shaft which penetrates his heart. Is there anything in the world worthy of such thanks? and what will not one do, what service and what danger will not one be delighted to run to attract upon oneself even for a moment the touching sweetness of so grateful a heart? The whole play was acted without his paying any more attention to it; yet he complains that it was too short, since the end separates him from his lovely shepherdess. From that moment, from that first sight, he carries away with him a love which has the strength of a passion of many years. He now feels all the pangs of absence, and is tormented in no longer seeing what he beheld for so short a time. He tries every means to meet again with a sight so dear to him, and the remembrance of which pursues him day and night. But the great watch which is kept over his shepherdess deprives him of all the power of doing so. The violence of his passion urges him to ask in marriage the adorable beauty without whom he can no longer live, and he obtains from her the permission of doing so, by means of a note that he has succeeded in sending to her. But he is told in the meantime that the father of her whom he loves has decided upon marrying her to another, and that everything is being got ready to celebrate the wedding. Judge what a cruel wound for the heart of that poor shepherd! Behold him suffering from this mortal blow; he cannot bear the dreadful idea of seeing her he loves in the arms of another; and in his despair he finds the means of introducing himself into the house of his shepherdess, in order to learn her feelings and to hear from her the fate he must expect. There he sees everything ready for what he fears; he sees the unworthy rival whom the caprice of a father opposes to the tenderness of his love; he sees that ridiculous rival triumphant near the lovely shepherdess, as if already assured of his conquest. Such a sight fills him with a wrath he can hardly master. He looks despairingly at her whom he adores, but the respect he has for her and the presence of her father prevent him from speaking except with his eyes. At last he breaks through all restraint, and the greatness of his love forces him to speak as follows. (He sings.)