The Imaginary Invalid
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Ang.
The marriage preparations sadden me.O'erwhelmed with sorrow,My eyes I lift to heaven; I strive to pray,Then gaze on you and sigh. No more I say.Cle.
Tircis, who fain would woo,Tell him, Phyllis, is it true,Is he so blest by your sweet graceAs in your heart to find a place?Ang.
I may not hide it, in this dire extreme,Tircis, I own for you my love…Cle.
O blessed words! am I indeed so blest?Repeat them, Phyllis; set my doubts at rest.Ang.
I love you, Tircis!Cle.
Ah! Phyllis, once again.Ang.
I love you, Tircis!Cle.
Alas! I fainA hundred times would hearken to that strain.Ang.
I love you! I love you!Tircis, I love you!Cle.
Ye kings and gods who, from your eternal seat,Behold the world of men beneath your feet,Can you possess a happiness more sweet?My Phyllis! one dark haunting fearOur peaceful joy disturbs unsought;A rival may my homage share.Ang.
Ah! worse than death is such a thought!Its presence equal torment isTo both, and mars my bliss.Cle.
Your father to his vow would subject you.Ang.
Ah! welcome death before I prove untrue.Arg. And what does the father say to all that?
Cle. Nothing.
Arg. Then that father is a fool to put up with those silly things, without saying a word!
Cle. (trying to go on singing).
Ah! my love…Arg. No; no; that will do. An opera like that is in very bad taste. The shepherd Tircis is an impertinent fellow, and the shepherdess Phyllis an impudent girl to speak in that way in the presence of her father. (To Angélique) Show me that paper. Ah! ah! and where are the words that you have just sung? This is only the music.
Cle. Are you not aware, Sir, that the way of writing the words with the notes themselves has been lately discovered?
Arg. Has it? Good-bye for the present. We could have done very well without your impertinent opera.
Cle. I thought I should amuse you.
Arg. Foolish things do not amuse, Sir. Ah! here is my wife.
SCENE VII. – BÉLINE, ARGAN, ANGÉLIQUE, MR. DIAFOIRUS, T. DIAFOIRUS, TOINETTE
Arg. My love, here is the son of Mr. Diafoirus.
T. Dia. Madam, it is with justice that heaven has given you the title of stepmother, since we see in you steps …
Bel. Sir, I am delighted to have come here just in time to see you.
T. Dia. Since we see in you … since we see in you… Madam, you have interrupted me in the middle of my period, and have troubled my memory.
Mr. Dia. Keep it for another time.
Arg. I wish, my dear, that you had been here just now.
Toi. Ah! Madam, how much you have lost by not being at the second father, the statue of Memnon, and the flower styled heliotrope.
Arg. Come, my daughter, shake hands with this gentleman, and pledge him your troth.
Ang. Father!
Arg. Well? What do you mean by "Father"?
Ang. I beseech you not to be in such a hurry; give us time to become acquainted with each other, and to see grow in us that sympathy so necessary to a perfect union.
T. Dia. As far as I am concerned, Madam, it is already full-grown within me, and there is no occasion for me to wait.
Ang. I am not so quick as you are, Sir, and I must confess that your merit has not yet made enough impression on my heart.
Arg. Oh! nonsense! There will be time enough for the impression to be made after you are married.
Ang. Ah! my father, give me time, I beseech you! Marriage is a chain which should never be imposed by force. And if this gentleman is a man of honour, he ought not to accept a person who would be his only by force.
T. Dia. Nego consequentiam. I can be a man of honour, Madam, and at the same time accept you from the hands of your father.
Ang. To do violence to any one is a strange way of setting about inspiring love.
T. Dia. We read in the ancients, Madam, that it was their custom to carry off by main force from their father's house the maiden they wished to marry, so that the latter might not seem to fly of her own accord into the arms of a man.
Ang. The ancients, Sir, are the ancients; but we are the moderns. Pretences are not necessary in our age; and when a marriage pleases us, we know very well how to go to it without being dragged by force. Have a little patience; if you love me, Sir, you ought to do what I wish.
T. Dia. Certainly, Madam, but without prejudice to the interest of my love.
Ang. But the greatest mark of love is to submit to the will of her who is loved.
T. Dia. Distinguo, Madam. In what does not regard the possession of her, concedo; but in what regards it, nego.
Toi. (to Angélique). It is in vain for you to argue. This gentleman is bran new from college, and will be more than a match for you. Why resist, and refuse the glory of belonging to the faculty?
Bel. She may have some other inclination in her head.
Ang. If I had, Madam, it would be such as reason and honour allow.
Arg. Heyday! I am acting a pleasant part here!
Bel. If I were you, my child, I would not force her to marry; I know very well what I should do.
Ang. I know what you mean, Madam, and how kind you are to me; but it may be hoped that your advice may not be fortunate enough to be followed.
Bel. That is because well-brought-up and good children, like you, scorn to be obedient to the will of their fathers. Obedience was all very well in former times.
Ang. The duty of a daughter has its limits, Madam, and neither reason nor law extend it to all things.
Bel. Which means that your thoughts are all in favour of marriage, but that you will choose a husband for yourself.
Ang. If my father will not give me a husband I like, at least I beseech him not to force me to marry one I can never love.
Arg. Gentlemen, I beg your pardon for all this.
Ang. We all have our own end in marrying. For my part, as I only want a husband that I can love sincerely, and as I intend to consecrate my whole life to him, I feel bound, I confess, to be cautious. There are some who marry simply to free themselves from the yoke of their parents, and to be at liberty to do all they like. There are others, Madam, who see in marriage only a matter of mere interest; who marry only to get a settlement, and to enrich themselves by the death of those they marry. They pass without scruple from husband to husband, with an eye to their possessions. These, no doubt, Madam, are not so difficult to satisfy, and care little what the husband is like.
Bel. You are very full of reasoning to-day. I wonder what you mean by this.
Ang. I, Madam? What can I mean but what I say?
Bel. You are such a simpleton, my dear, that one can hardly bear with you.
Ang. You would like to extract from me some rude answer; but I warn you that you will not have the pleasure of doing so.
Bel. Nothing can equal your impertinence.
Ang. It is of no use, Madam; you will not.
Bel. And you have a ridiculous pride, an impertinent presumption, which makes you the scorn of everybody.
Ang. All this will be useless, Madam. I shall be quiet in spite of you; and to take away from you all hope of succeeding in what you wish, I will withdraw from your presence.
SCENE VIII. – ARGAN, BÉLINE, MR. DIAFOIRUS, T. DIAFOIRUS, TOINETTE
Arg. (to Angélique, as she goes away). Listen to me! Of two things, one. Either you will marry this gentleman or you will go into a convent. I give you four days to consider. (To Béline) Don't be anxious; I will bring her to reason.
Bel. I am sorry to leave you, my child; but I have some important business which calls me to town. I shall soon be back.
Arg. Go, my darling; call upon the notary, and tell him to be quick about you know what.
Bel. Good-bye, my child.
Arg. Good-bye, deary.
SCENE IX. – ARGAN, MR. DIAFOIRUS, T. DIAFOIRUS, TOINETTE
Arg. How much this woman loves me; it is perfectly incredible.
Mr. Dia. We shall now take our leave of you, Sir.
Arg. I beg of you, Sir, to tell me how I am.
Mr. Dia. (feeling Argan's pulse). Now, Thomas, take the other arm of the gentleman, so that I may see whether you can form a right judgment on his pulse. Quid dicis?
T. Dia. Dico that the pulse of this gentleman is the pulse of a man who is not well.
Mr. Dia. Good.
T. Dia. That it is duriusculus, not to say durus.
Mr. Dia. Very well.
T. Dia. Irregular.
Mr. Dia. Bene.
T. Dia. And even a little caprizant.
Mr. Dia. Optime.
T. Dia. Which speaks of an intemperance in the splenetic parenchyma; that is to say, the spleen.
Mr. Dia. Quite right.
Arg. It cannot be, for Mr. Purgon says that it is my liver which is out of order.
Mr. Dia. Certainly; he who says parenchyma says both one and the other, because of the great sympathy which exists between them through the means of the vas breve, of the pylorus, and often of the meatus choledici. He no doubt orders you to eat plenty of roast-meat.
Arg. No; nothing but boiled meat.
Mr. Dia. Yes, yes; roast or boiled, it is all the same; he orders very wisely, and you could not have fallen into better hands.
Arg. Sir, tell me how many grains of salt I ought to put to an egg?
Mr. Dia. Six, eight, ten, by even numbers; just as in medicines by odd numbers.
Arg. Good-bye, Sir; I hope soon to have the pleasure of seeing you again.
SCENE X. – BÉLINE, ARGAN
Bel. Before I go out, I must inform you of one thing you must be careful about. While passing before Angélique's door, I saw with her a young man, who ran away as soon as he noticed me.
Arg. A young man with my daughter!
Bel. Yes; your little girl Louison, who was with them, will tell you all about it.
Arg. Send her here, my love, send her here at once. Ah! the brazen-faced girl! (Alone.) I no longer wonder at the resistance she showed.
SCENE XI. – ARGAN, LOUISON
Lou. What do you want, papa? My step-mamma told me to come to you.
Arg. Yes; come here. Come nearer. Turn round, and hold up your head. Look straight at me. Well?
Lou. What, papa?
Arg. So?
Lou. What?
Arg. Have you nothing to say to me?
Lou. Yes. I will, to amuse you, tell you, if you like, the story of the Ass's Skin or the fable of the Fox and the Crow, which I have learnt lately.
Arg. That is not what I want of you.
Lou. What is it then?
Arg. Ah! cunning little girl, you know very well what I mean.
Lou. No indeed, papa.
Arg. Is that the way you obey me?
Lou. What, papa?
Arg. Have I not asked you to tell me at once all you see?
Lou. Yes, papa.
Arg. Have you done so?
Lou. Yes, papa. I always come and tell you all I see.
Arg. And have you seen nothing to-day?
Lou. No, papa.
Arg. No?
Lou. No, papa.
Arg. Quite sure?
Lou. Quite sure.
Arg. Ah! indeed! I will make you see something soon.
Lou. (seeing Argan take a rod). Ah! papa!
Arg. Ah! ah! false little girl; you do not tell me that you saw a man in your sister's room!
Lou. (crying). Papa!
Arg. (taking Louison by the arm). This will teach you to tell falsehoods.
Lou. (throwing herself on her knees). Ah! my dear papa! pray forgive me. My sister had asked me not to say anything to you, but I will tell you everything.
Arg. First you must have a flogging for having told an untruth, then we will see to the rest.
Lou. Forgive me, papa, forgive me!
Arg. No, no!
Lou. My dear papa, don't whip me.
Arg. Yes, you shall be whipped.
Lou. For pity's sake! don't whip me, papa.
Arg. (going to whip her). Come, come.
Lou. Ah! papa, you have hurt me; I am dead! (She feigns to be dead.)
Arg. How, now! What does this mean? Louison! Louison! Ah! heaven! Louison! My child! Ah! wretched father! My poor child is dead! What have I done? Ah! villainous rod! A curse on the rod! Ah! my poor child! My dear little Louison!
Lou. Come, come, dear papa; don't weep so. I am not quite dead yet.
Arg. Just see the cunning little wench. Well! I forgive you this once, but you must tell me everything.
Lou. Oh yes, dear papa.
Arg. Be sure you take great care, for here is my little finger that knows everything, and it will tell me if you don't speak the truth.
Lou. But, papa, you won't tell sister that I told you.
Arg. No, no.
Lou. (after having listened to see if any one can hear). Papa, a young man came into sister's room while I was there.
Arg. Well?
Lou. I asked him what he wanted; he said that he was her music-master.
Arg. (aside). Hm! hm! I see. (To Louison) Well?
Lou. Then sister came.
Arg. Well?
Lou. She said to him, "Go away, go away, go. Good heavens! you will drive me to despair."
Arg. Well?
Lou. But he would not go away.
Arg. What did he say to her?
Lou. Oh! ever so many things.
Arg. But what?
Lou. He told her this, and that, and the other; that he loved her dearly; that she was the most beautiful person in the world.
Arg. And then, after?
Lou. Then he knelt down before her.
Arg. And then?
Lou. Then he kept on kissing her hands.
Arg. And then?
Lou. Then my mamma came to the door, and, he escaped.
Arg. Nothing else?
Lou. No, dear papa.
Arg. Here is my little finger, which says something though. (Putting his finger up to his ear.) Wait. Stay, eh? ah! ah! Yes? oh! oh! here is my little finger, which says that there is something you saw, and which you do not tell me.
Lou. Ah! papa, your little finger is a story-teller.
Arg. Take care.
Lou. No, don't believe him; he tells a story, I assure you.
Arg. Oh! Well, well; we will see to that. Go away now, and pay great attention to what you see. (Alone.) Ah! children are no longer children nowadays! What trouble! I have not even enough leisure to attend to my illness. I am quite done up. (He falls down into his chair.)
SCENE XII. – BÉRALDE, ARGAN
Ber. Well, brother! What is the matter? How are you?
Arg. Ah! very bad, brother; very bad.
Ber. How is that?
Arg. No one would believe how very feeble I am.
Ber. That's a sad thing, indeed.
Arg. I have hardly enough strength to speak.
Ber. I came here, brother, to propose a match for my niece, Angélique.
Arg. (in a rage, speaking with great fury, and starting up from his chair). Brother, don't speak to me of that wicked, good-for-nothing, insolent, brazen-faced girl. I will put her in a convent before two days are over.
Ber. Ah! all right! I am glad to see that you have a little strength still left, and that my visit does you good. Well, well, we will talk of business by-and-by. I have brought you an entertainment, which will dissipate your melancholy, and will dispose you better for what we have to talk about. They are gipsies dressed in Moorish clothes. They perform some dances mixed with songs, which, I am sure, you will like, and which will be as good as a prescription from Mr. Purgon. Come along.
SECOND INTERLUDE
Men and Women (dressed as Moors)First Moorish WomanWhen blooms the spring of life, The golden harvest reap.Waste not your years in bootless strife, Till age upon your bodies creep.But now, when shines the kindly light,Give up your soul to love's delight.No touch of sweetest joy This longing heart can know,No bliss without alloy When love does silent show.Then up, ye lads and lasses gay! The spring of life is fair; Cloud not these hours with care,For love must win the day.Beauty fades, Years roll by,Lowering shades Obscure the sky.And joys so sweet of yoreShall charm us then no more.Then up, ye lads and lasses gay! The spring of life is fair; Cloud not these hours with care,For love must win the day. First Entry of the Ballet2nd Moorish WomanThey bid us love, they bid us woo, Why seek delay?To tender sighs and kisses too In youth's fair day,Our hearts are but too true.The sweetest charms has Cupid's spell. No sooner felt, the ready heartHis conquered self would yield him well Ere yet the god had winged his dart.But yet the tale we often hear Of tears and sorrows keen, To share in them, I ween,Though sweet, would make us fear!3rd Moorish WomanTo love a lover true, In youth's kind day, I trow, Is pleasant task enow;But think how we must rue If he inconstant show!4th Moorish WomanThe loss of lover false to meBut trifling grief would be,Yet this is far the keenest smartThat he had stol'n away our heart.2nd Moorish WomanWhat then shall we doWhose hearts are so young?4th Moorish WomanThough cruel his laws,Attended by woes,Away with your arms,Submit to his charms!TogetherHis whims ye must follow, His transports though fleet, His pinings too sweetThough often comes sorrow,The thousand delights The wounds of his darts Still charm all the hearts.ACT III
SCENE I. – BÉRALDE, ARGAN, TOINETTE
Ber. Well, brother, what do you say to that? Isn't it as good as a dose of cassia?
Toi. Oh! good cassia is a very good thing, Sir.
Ber. Now, shall we have a little chat together.
Arg. Wait a moment, brother, I'll be back directly.
Toi. Here, Sir; you forget that you cannot get about without a stick.
Arg. Ay, to be sure.
SCENE II. – BÉRALDE, TOINETTE
Toi. Pray, do not give up the interest of your niece.
Ber. No, I shall do all in my power to forward her wishes.
Toi. We must prevent this foolish marriage which he has got into his head, from taking place. And I thought to myself that it would be a good thing to introduce a doctor here, having a full understanding of our wishes, to disgust him with his Mr. Purgon, and abuse his mode of treating him. But as we have nobody to act that part for us, I have decided upon playing him a trick of my own.
Ber. In what way?
Toi. It is rather an absurd idea, and it may be more fortunate than good. But act your own part. Here is our man.
SCENE III. – ARGAN, BÉRALDE
Ber. Let me ask you, brother, above all things not to excite yourself during our conversation.
Arg. I agree.
Ber. To answer without anger to anything I may mention.
Arg. Very well.
Ber. And to reason together upon the business I want to discuss with you without any irritation.
Arg. Dear me! Yes. What a preamble!
Ber. How is it, brother, that, with all the wealth you possess, and with only one daughter – for I do not count the little one – you speak of sending her to a convent?
Arg. How is it, brother, that I am master of my family, and that I can do all I think fit?
Ber. Your wife doesn't fail to advise you to get rid, in that way, of your two daughters; and I have no doubt that, through a spirit of charity, she would be charmed to see them both good nuns.
Arg. Oh, I see! My poor wife again! It is she who does all the harm, and everybody is against her.
Ber. No, brother; let us leave that alone. She is a woman with the best intentions in the world for the good of your family, and is free from all interested motives. She expresses for you the most extraordinary tenderness, and shows towards your children an inconceivable goodness. No, don't let us speak of her, but only of your daughter. What can be your reason for wishing to give her in marriage to the sort of a doctor?
Arg. My reason is that I wish to have a son-in-law who will suit my wants.
Ber. But it is not what your daughter requires, and we have a more suitable match for her.
Arg. Yes; but this one is more suitable for me.
Ber. But does she marry a husband for herself or for you, brother?
Arg. He must do both for her and for me, brother; and I wish to take into my family people of whom I have need.
Ber. So that, if your little girl were old enough, you would give her to an apothecary?
Arg. Why not?
Ber. Is it possible that you should always be so infatuated with your apothecaries and doctors, and be so determined to be ill, in spite of men and nature?
Arg. What do you mean by that, brother?
Ber. I mean, brother, that I know of no man less sick than you, and that I should be quite satisfied with a constitution no worse than yours. One great proof that you are well, and that you have a body perfectly well made, is that with all the pains you have taken, you have failed as yet in injuring the soundness of your constitution, and that you have not died of all the medicine they have made you swallow.
Arg. But are you aware, brother, that it is these medicines which keep me in good health? Mr. Purgon says that I should go off if he were but three days without taking care of me.
Ber. If you are not careful, he will take such care of you that he will soon send you into the next world.
Arg. But let us reason together, brother; don't you believe at all in medicine?
Ber. No, brother; and I do not see that it is necessary for our salvation to believe in it.
Arg. What! Do you not hold true a thing acknowledged by everybody, and revered throughout all ages?
Ber. Between ourselves, far from thinking it true, I look upon it as one of the greatest follies which exist among men; and to consider things from a philosophical point of view, I don't know of a more absurd piece of mummery, of anything more ridiculous, than a man who takes upon himself to cure another man.
Arg. Why will you not believe that a man can cure another?
Ber. For the simple reason, brother, that the springs of our machines are mysteries about which men are as yet completely in the dark, and nature has put too thick a veil before our eyes for us to know anything about it.
Arg. Then, according to you, the doctors know nothing at all.
Ber. Oh yes, brother. Most of them have some knowledge of the best classics, can talk fine Latin, can give a Greek name to every disease, can define and distinguish them; but as to curing these diseases, that's out of the question.