The Hypochondriac

CLEANTE: Madame?

TOINETTE: You must be Cleante.

CLEANTE: Why yes? That’s incredible. We’ve never met.

TOINETTE: I know more about you than I do about Louis the Fourteenth.

CLEANTE: Oh.

TOINETTE: It’s not been easy. At least I’m interested in Louis the Fourteenth.

CLEANTE: I’m sorry. I wanted to talk to –

TOINETTE: – Can you imagine being King of France at five years old?

CLEANTE: – Is Angelique? –

TOINETTE: – Thirty years, all of my life, he’s been king, and what a transformation he’s made to France.

CLEANTE: – Is she? –

TOINETTE: – A navy that is the envy of the world, an army which is feared throughout Europe –

CLEANTE: I need to talk –

TOINETTE: – He’s put the Dutch in their place – Holland.

CLEANTE: – I thought I’d –

TOINETTE: – And who could imagine that we could have an alliance with of all people, the English!?

CLEANTE: Yes, it’s incredible. I wanted –

TOINETTE: – But it’s not just the pride of France on the battlefield which has been restored, the man is the essence of Frenchness, he cares about the arts, about our heritage, our culture. He fights for France.

CLEANTE: – Yes, he’s built some beautiful palaces, is Angelique –

TOINETTE: – It’s not just the palaces. I believe that he understands that art and culture is not the buildings, not the stones and mortar, but what happens in those buildings. A theatrical performance might seem fleeting, but it can be as much a celebration of the age, of his reign, as the palace at Versailles. Any old ‘king’ can build up his army, remodel his navy, but it is Louis who has restored the pride of France and made this country the home of God on earth. That’s what makes him the Sun King.

They both bow to Louis in the audience.

She’s not here. Piss off.

CLEANTE: But I need to find out what is in her heart! And whether she intends to marry this doctor.

TOINETTE: She’s betrothed. She can’t just talk to anyone.

CLEANTE: I guessed as much, so today I thought I’d be her music teacher’s friend.

TOINETTE: Foolproof. Not that it needs to be. Watch out! Here’s the fool, her father! Get out the way, I’ll soften him up for you.

CLEANTE backs off. Enter ARGAN, pacing and counting.

ARGAN: Doctor Purgon says I should walk up and down in my bedroom each morning twelve times one way and twelve times back. I don’t know whether he means lengthways or widthways. I forgot to ask him. It’s probably incredibly important.

TOINETTE: (Brusque.) You’ve got a visitor.

ARGAN: ‘You’ve got a visitor.’ That’s not what I pay you for! ‘Please sir, a visitor awaits.’ You’ve forgotten you’re a nursemaid – nurse AND maid.

TOINETTE: I failed my maid exams. That’s why I’m cheap. Which is the main reason I’m here. You pay peanunts, you get monkeys.

Monkey noises.

TOINETTE starts tickling him.

ARGAN: Stop it! You’re not to get me excited today. My bile is black.

TOINETTE: Black? Aaagh! Not black bile!?

ARGAN: Yes, I know.

TOINETTE: (Spoken through gurgles, as in The Exorcist.) My bile is black! Black is my bile!

ARGAN: (Banging his stick on the floor.) Be quiet!!! Show my visitor in.

TOINETTE walks off like Quasimodo gurgling.

TOINETTE: Black, black, black. GURGLE GURGLE.

TOINETTE gestures to CLEANTE to come in. He comes in.

(Introducing CLEANTE but just gurgling.) GURGLE GURGLE.

ARGAN: Stop it! You fucking scheming lesbian!

CLEANTE: Good day, sir. I’m sorry to hear about your bile. I hope you get better soon.

TOINETTE: Better? He doesn’t want to get better. Worse. That’s the word you’re looking for. I hope you get ‘worse’ soon.

ARGAN: She jokes young man. But since you ask, I am actually much worse today.

TOINETTE: He eats, drinks, sleeps, dances, argues, complains, moans, schemes, like everybody else, but that doesn’t mean that he isn’t also critically ill.

ARGAN: I try and carry on as normal.

CLEANTE: I’m here on behalf of your daughter’s music teacher. He’s had to go to the country, for the tobacco harvest, and he’s sent me instead, in the meantime, for a tutorial, so that your daughter doesn’t forget whatever she’s learnt from him.

ARGAN: Get on with it then.

TOINETTE: I’ll take him to her room shall I?

ARGAN: No. She can come out here.

TOINETTE: He won’t be able to give her a proper tutorial unless they’re alone.

ARGAN: Nonsense. Do it in here, young man. I love music. Look, there she is. Angelique!

Enter ANGELIQUE.

This young man has been sent by your music teacher to give you you a tutorial.

ANGELIQUE: (Genuinely surprised and love-struck.) Oh my God!

ARGAN: Your music teacher has gone to the country to help with the walnut harvest.

TOINETTE: (To CLEANTE.) Tobacco?

CLEANTE: Tobacco.

ARGAN: It’s a little early to be harvesting tobacco, isn’t it?

CLEANTE is struggling.

TOINETTE: They pick it green nowadays.

(To CLEANTE.) You’re on your own.

TOINETTE leaves.

ARGAN: (To ANGELIQUE.) What’s the matter?

ANGELIQUE: (Hopelessy in love.) I had a dream last night. I was in great need, in a bit of a tight spot, with an ache, without hope, and someone, a young man, who looks exactly like this young man, took that pain away.

CLEANTE: (Certifiably nuts with lust.) I am honoured to be someone who might occupy your thoughts, whether waking or dreaming, and I can assure you, Mademoiselle, that if ever there is a time when I can be of service, whether in reality or fantasy, to be the man to rescue you from such a tight spot, or indeed, any situation of pressing need, then I will carry out my duty to relieve your pain, and will consider it the very reason why God chose to put me on this earth.

Enter TOINETTE.

TOINETTE: (Laughing.) I’ve just met your future son-in-law. What a lovely boy! I take it all back, sir. What a wit! And very handsome too.

(To ANGELIQUE.) You’ll be thrilled to spend the rest of your life with him.

CLEANTE makes to leave.

ARGAN: There’s no need to go young man. I’m marrying my daughter off to a doctor, well, he qualifies in a couple of days time and then they’ll get married. They’ve never met before. This is a moment to celebrate.

CLEANTE: But, I wouldn’t want to intrude.

ARGAN: Stay!

TOINETTE: Shall I bring them in?

ARGAN: Yes, of course!

TOINETTE leaves.

(To CLEANTE.) The wedding’s on Monday, it’s all arranged, you must invite that music teacher friend of yours, if he’s back. The more the merrier.

CLEANTE: Thank you sir, but –

ARGAN: – And you must come, of course. It’s a wonderful thing, marriage, for a young girl.

Enter TOINETTE, followed by DIAFOIRERHOEA and THOMAS. DIAFOIRERHOEA takes off his hat.

TOINETTE: Monsieur Diafoirerhoea, and his son, Thomas Diafoirerhoea.

ARGAN puts a hand to his bonnet but doesn’t take it off.

ARGAN: Sir, welcome. Forgive me, but Dr Purgon has forbidden me from removing my bonnet indoors, for medical reasons. But why am I saying this! You’re in the profession, you know the consequences!

DIAFOIRERHOEA kneels before ARGAN.

DIAFOIRERHOEA: Indeed! Sir, it is our duty as doctors to bring succour, not sickness. Proper manners and the obligations of social behaviour should always be ignored when they are, as they are in your case, life-threatening. It is a great honour to visit you in your home.

ARGAN: No sir, the honour is mine, in having such an esteemed medical practitioner as yourself visit me in my home.

DIAFOIRERHOEA: When my brother-in-law first mooted the possibility of an alliance between our two families every hair on my body stood erect with the anticipation of joyful duty. I supplicate myself before you as an expression of my humble satisfaction that finally I have achieved a lifelong calling to serve so great a man as you.

ARGAN: Au contraire! It is I who should be kneeling before the knowledge and dedication of a gentleman, teacher, scholar, and –

TOINETTE: (To ARGAN, helping him.) – author.

ARGAN: Author?

DIAFOIRERHOEA: You read my treatise on the spleen?

ARGAN: I couldn’t put it down.

DIAFOIRERHOEA: Stop! I cannot allow the promotion of my modest family name ahead of the name of France’s, no! the world’s, greatest upholsterer.

DIAFOIRERHOEA stands. They shake hands, and kiss. DIAFOIRERHOEA pushes THOMAS to the fore.

Come! Thomas! Pay your respects.

THOMAS: (Pointing at ARGAN.) I’ll start with him, yeah?

DIAFOIRERHOEA: Yes.

THOMAS: (Rote learned.) Most noble sir I am here to salute acknowledge cherish and honour you as a second father and as a second father – you – it must be true to say that I am more indebted to you than to my first father – him – because although my first father is my natural father, you, my second father you have chosen me and in so doing the second father, you, have favoured me with your brain and not just your loins and as it is generally considered that the mind is superior to the body in all matters then quid pro quo I will value our future bond – that’s me and you – more precious than the prior trifling bond of blood – with him – which came about only through copulation, and I am here today to offer up to…you! my very humble, respectful and total surrender, as might a worm to an eagle.

TOINETTE: Education! Education! Education!

THOMAS: (To DIAFOIRERHOEA.) I think that went quite well.

DIAFOIRERHOEA: (To THOMAS.) Optimum.

ARGAN: Angelique?

ANGELIQUE steps tentatively forward. Then silence.

THOMAS: (To DIAFOIRERHOEA.) What’s happening? Should I give her a kiss?

DIAFOIRERHOEA: Yes, go ahead.

THOMAS: (Rote learned.) Madam of all the titles due respect on God’s earth whether it be King, Lord, Duke, Marquis, Bishop, Emperor, Chief, Sovereign, Baron, Suzerain, Potentate, First Lord of the Sea – all must fall to their knees before the legend ‘mother-in-law’ –

ARGAN: – that’s not my wife, that’s my daughter!

THOMAS: Where is she then?

ARGAN: She’s on her way.

THOMAS: Alright then, it can wait.

Silence. THOMAS looks vacantly at the floor.

DIAFOIRERHOEA: Why don’t you introduce yourself to Mademoiselle.

THOMAS: Righteo.

(Rote learned.) Mademoiselle just as the statue of Memnon elicited music when enlivened by the rays of the sun and as the petals of the heliotrope always turn towards the star of the day so from now on will my heart always turn towards your adorable eyes like a magnet stuck on North. This same heart of mine I offer to you to hang on the altar of your charms forever, to be always obedient, always ready, but most of all, for every second of the rest of your life, whether waking or sleeping, I will be always there, just behind you.

TOINETTE: What a lovely thought!

ARGAN: Well said!

CLEANTE: (To TOINETTE.) Imagine his bedside manner.

TOINETTE: I’m never going to be ill again.

ARGAN: (To DIAFOIRERHOEA.) What a wonderful boy! You must count yourself very lucky sir?

DIAFOIRERHOEA: I’m his father, so it’s difficult for me to be objective, but I’ve never met anyone who had a wrong word to say about him. He’s never had much in the way of imagination, being more at the ‘solid’ end of the scale, and I believe passionately that in doctoring that’s a definite plus. As a child he was never what you’d call ‘bright’ with all the difficulties that that can bring, you know, questioning authority, playing childish games, noise. No, he spent his time as a child sitting in a corner, on his own, quietly rocking. We had all the trouble in the world trying to teach him to read, and he was nine before he even knew the alphabet, and I was very pleased about that because I’m a great believer in that old adage ‘trees which grow slowly bear the best fruit’. And, because I always wanted him to become a doctor, I could see that his natural lack of imagination, and his slowness to understand new ideas would stand him in good stead in the profession. At medical college he had, let’s say, a few teething troubles, but once he began to apply himself his hard work and dogged determination meant that he eventually achieved a perfectly respectable grade. He’s a formidable orator and there’s not been a single medical innovation that he hasn’t argued against, and he’s a total bull in an argument, ha! He adheres blindly to the teachings of the Greeks and has utterly no interest whatever in these preposterous so called ‘discoveries’ like the circulation of the blood.

THOMAS presents a rolled up thesis to ANGELIQUE.

THOMAS: With your permission sir, I would like to present your daughter with a copy of my thesis against the ‘circulationists’.

ANGELIQUE: What would I do with it?

TOINETTE: There’s a nice picture, we’ll frame it and put it in your room.

THOMAS: (To ANGELIQUE.) And on Tuesday, would you like to come to the hospital and watch me dissect a woman?

TOINETTE: I’ve always said you can judge a man by the way he carves the joint.

THOMAS: Afterwards I’m giving a talk to the men, and there is wine and cheese for the ladies.

DIAFOIRERHOEA: (To ARGAN.) In the bedroom department, so to speak, he’s had a full check up and everything is in excellent working order. Indeed, the consultant, I wasn’t there myself naturally, I didn’t want to inhibit him, – the consultant said he was ‘alarmingly fecund’.

ARGAN: Ooh. Do you intend that he practises medicine at court?

DIAFOIRERHOEA: Oh no! The problem with practising on the aristocracy is that when they’re ill they expect us doctors to cure them.

TOINETTE: What do you expect? You charge them enough!

DIAFOIRERHOEA: The general public, however, are much more convenient, from a doctoring perspective. The fee might be less, but it’s a bigger market, and if a patient dies one very rarely has to answer for one’s actions.

TOINETTE: Remind me. Exactly which bit of the Hippocratic oath emphasised the importance of lining your own pockets?

DIAFOIRERHOEA: A service given without charge is never valued.

(To ARGAN.) However, sir, even doctors, don’t charge members of their own family.

ARGAN: (Feigning surprise.) Oh really, excellent!

(To CLEANTE.) How about some music!

CLEANTE: Eh?

ARGAN: To celebrate.

CLEANTE: Yes, but I’m ‘the friend’ of the music teacher, not ‘the’ music teacher.

ARGAN: You came here to give Angelique a tutorial, so you must have talent yourself. Where are your instruments?

CLEANTE: I…er…with her I was going to do…singing.

ARGAN: Let’s have a song then!

CLEANTE: But I can’t sing, I teach singing.

ARGAN: Oh come on, don’t be shy.

CLEANTE: (To ANGELIQUE.) Sorry about this. Just sing whatever comes into your head.

(To ALL.) Er…it’s a love story. In opera form.

ARGAN: What’s the story? Do we know it?

CLEANTE: No, it’s made up, as we go along, a new style of opera. Er…a poor shepherd is at a country fair and he is waiting for an entertainment to start, a play, and he sees out of the corner of his eye a thug pestering a young er…shepherdess.

ARGAN: Does he rescue the girl?

CLEANTE: Yes.

ANGELIQUE: What is his name?

CLEANTE: Er…Tircus. And she’s called Phyllis. But then the shepherd looks into the eyes of the shepherdess and his life will never be the same again.

ANGELIQUE: Does the shepherdess thank the shepherd?

CLEANTE: Yes, with such wit and charm that his love is deepened. He knows at that moment that his life is transformed and that there is not a single deed that he would not perform to please her, no sacrifice would be too great to win just a moment’s attention from such a beautiful girl…shepherd…shepherdess.

ANGELIQUE: Does the shepherd stay and watch the play?

CLEANTE: He doesn’t exactly watch the play, but he stays there, just because he wants to be near her. And even though the play was long, Tircus wanted it to go on forever simply because she was there.

ANGELIQUE: But surely she must care for him. Or there would be no story?

CLEANTE: But he does not know that. And when the play finished he watched her leave, and then with nothing in his head or his heart but her, he too left and then began for him a most painful week of uncertainty and doubt. He tries each day to see her, to keep the image of her beauty in his mind, but he knows that she –

ANGELIQUE: – Phyllis?

CLEANTE: Yes, Phyllis is kept by her father under strict supervision, but driven by the violence of his passion he manages to get a note to her through one of her trusted servants.

TOINETTE: She’s a shepherdess. She wouldn’t have had servants.

ANGELIQUE: Of course.

CLEANTE: (Struggling.) Somehow, through a trusted…sheep, – he gets a note to her asking for her hand in marriage, but he discovers that her father has given her away to the village idiot who happens to be the son of a rich man, and that the wedding ceremony is only days away. Imagine the pain, the grief, in that young shepherd’s heart! In desperation he risks all to get inside her father’s house in order to hear his destiny from her alone, in her words. Whilst in the house he is witness to an entirely faked display of love by the aforementioned idiot. This enrages Tircus and so, out of control he can do nothing other than –

ANGELIQUE: – Yes?

CLEANTE: Sing.

(Singing.)

Phyllis I am suffering

Open your heart to me

Let us end the pain

And let me know my destiny.

ANGELIQUE: (Singing.)

Tircus, here I am

Improvising a pause.

Phyllis is my name

Melancholy and miserable

Trapped by my commitments

Pause.

My situation’s tragic not risible.

ARGAN applauds gently.

ARGAN: Marvellous!

CLEANTE: (Singing.)

Can your saviour be

The shepherd known as Tircus

Did a place open in your heart

Pause.

When you met him at the circus.

Ripple of applause from ALL.

ANGELIQUE: (Singing.)

I will cast aside all fears

And despatch this face of woe

He is the man for me

Pause.

Oh Tircus I love…yo.

Applause.

CLEANTE: (Singing.)

Yo love me

And I love yo

And together we will be

For every to-morrow.

Applause.

Sing it one more time

Sing forever mo

The sweetest words there are

Tircus, I love yo.

ANGELIQUE: (Singing.)

Tircus, I love yo

CLEANTE: (Singing.)

Sing and never stop

ANGELIQUE: (Operatic.)

I love yo, I love yo

I love yo, I love yo.

CLEANTE: (Singing.)

But as I hear those words

Thoughts like thunder come

A rival seeks your love

Pause.

With the advantage of an income.

ANGELIQUE: (Singing.)

A rival!? A rival?!

His presence is a torture

He cannot compare to you

Struggling.

True love don’t need furniture

ARGAN: Brilliant!

CLEANTE: (Singing.)

But her father likes this suitor

Whose riches makes him shine

Tell me Phyllis tell me

Struggling.

Will you with him in bed climb.

ANGELIQUE: (Operatic.)

I’d rather die!! Rather die!! Rather die!

I would rather die.

ANGELIQUE does a bit of a dying swan. Applause, except ARGAN.

ARGAN: Hang on! Stop clapping! What does her father think about the situation?

CLEANTE: He doesn’t get involved.

ARGAN: But he’s her father for God’s sake! He could have had her married into the richest family in the village! You can’t have young people marrying each other willy nilly on the basis of a three second crush! Madness! And this Tircus he sounds like a right one, and as for the girl, going against her father, ha! No, that play of yours has got some very dangerous ideas in it. If I were you I’d have it looked at.

CLEANTE: I’m sorry you didn’t like it sir.

ARGAN: It was rubbish. You can go now. Ah, Beline, darling.

CLEANTE leaves with a look to ANGELIQUE, and BELINE enters.

This is Monsieur Diafoirerhoea’s son.

THOMAS: (Stepping forward.) Madam, in all the universe can there be a more noble position than ‘mother-in-law’ and in your face one can see –

BELINE: I’m delighted to meet you. What’s your name?

THOMAS: – can see…step-mother and in your face one can see –

(Quickly.) in all the universe can there be a more noble position than step-mother and in your face one can see – Damn! Damn! Damn! Damn!

DIAFOIRERHOEA: Thomas! Please!

ARGAN: You’ve missed some wonderful speaking.

TOINETTE: The second father; statue of Memnon; heliotrope petals. That’s my favourite.

ARGAN: Daughter! Take this gentleman’s hand now and accept his offer of marriage.

ANGELIQUE: I don’t want to rush into anything.

ARGAN: What!?

ANGELIQUE: We hardly know each other. A little more time will maybe allow a special feeling to grow.

THOMAS: Mademoiselle, I was born with a special feeling for you.

ANGELIQUE: You are very quick, sir, but I need to take stock of your many obvious qualities and allow –

ARGAN: – Nonsense, if you marry him then you’ll have all the time in the world to get to know him.

ANGELIQUE: But marriage is a bond of love, and love cannot be forced. If Thomas is a gentleman he would not want his wife to be coerced against her will into his arms.

THOMAS: Au contraire! I’ve always admired the Ancient Greeks. They’d break into a house, snatch the girl they wanted to marry, and drag her off. It seemed to work well enough for them!

ANGELIQUE: The Ancient Greeks are all dead. A man about to marry would do anything to make his bride happy, surely?

THOMAS: Nego consequentium! Illogical! It is a complex argument miss, but I’ll try and explain it in simple terms, so you’ll understand. For the first part I concede absolutely that a husband should put his wife’s happiness before his own. However, that argument, is predicated on the prior ‘possession’ of the said object, ‘the wife’. Yet, obviously if one employs that argument, then one would have to concede that prior to the ‘possession’, before he is married, he is not a husband and thus has no husbandly obligations. So the happiness of the ‘future wife’ can be of no concern to the ‘future husband’ whatsoever.

TOINETTE: He’s fresh out of college, you’ll never win the debate.

BELINE: Is there some other boy?

ANGELIQUE: If there were, I would ensure that he was acceptable to you.

BELINE: (To ARGAN.) Don’t force her to marry. I’ve told you already what to do with her.

ANGELIQUE: I have no objection to obeying any reasonable commands made by you but –

ARGAN: – But! But what?! I’m beginning to look stupid here.

BELINE: You’re not seriously suggesting that you want to choose your own husband?

ANGELIQUE: All I ask is that my father does not force me to marry someone I know I cannot love!

TOINETTE: (To THOMAS and DIAFOIRERHOEA.) Is it time for cake?

ANGELIQUE: Some people marry for reasons other than love. But I only want to marry a man I can love and stay with for the rest of my life. There are girls who would marry a chair if it meant they could escape their parents. And then there are women for whom marriage is a career. Their work is hopping from bed to bed and will to will.

BELINE: Ha, ha! That’s true there are women like that!

ANGELIQUE: I know, I’ve met one.

BELINE: You’re a very recalcitrant young girl, and I don’t know why we tolerate you.

ANGELIQUE: You won’t provoke me.

BELINE: I have never known such insolence.

ANGELIQUE: I will not lose my temper because I know that that is what you want me to do, because it will strengthen your case with my father for sending me away. Excuse me.

ANGELIQUE makes to leave.

ARGAN: Listen! You’ve got four days to decide. Marry this young man or I’ll have you sent to a convent. There’s your choice!

ANGELIQUE leaves with TOINETTE in tow, scheming.

(To BELINE.) Darling, don’t you get upset now. Leave her to me.

BELINE: Oh thank you poppet, I hate to leave you but I have something urgent I need to sort out in town.

ARGAN: Why not drop in on your solicitor friend and tell him to get a move on with the will?

BELINE: Oh! I never thought of that. I suppose I could try and fit in Monsieur Bonnefoi.

ARGAN: Love you.

BELINE: Love you sweetheart.

BELINE kisses him and leaves.

ARGAN: Now there’s a good woman. I’m unbelievably lucky.

DIAFOIRERHOEA: We must be going now sir.

ARGAN: Before you go, could you possibly – in your professional capacity that is – tell me exactly how desperately ill I am?

DIAFOIRERHOEA: Thomas! Come! Let us test your learning! Quid dicis?!

THOMAS: Dico!

DIAFOIRERHOEA and THOMAS take a wrist each in order to feel his pulse.

Ubi est? (Beat.) Ubi est?! (Starts to panic.) Non possum!

DIAFOIRERHOEA: Exspecto!

Pause.

THOMAS: Me Hercule!! This is the pulse of a very ill man.

ARGAN: Really? Oh dear.

THOMAS: It’s there one minute and gone the next.

DIAFOIRERHOEA: Very good!

THOMAS: The only regularity it has is its predictable irregularity.

DIAFOIRERHOEA: Astute.

THOMAS: There’s something terribly wrong with your spleen.

DIAFOIRERHOEA: I agree.

ARGAN: Doctor Purgon said it was my liver.

DIAFOIRERHOEA: Spleen. The spleen is next door to the liver.

ARGAN: Doctor Purgon wants me to eat nothing but boiled eggs.

DIAFOIRERHOEA: Roast / boiled / meat / eggs, whatever, it’s all food isn’t it! Come on Thomas, we must be going. Doctor Purgon is a brilliant man and you couldn’t be in better hands.

They make to leave.

ARGAN: How many grains of salt should I put in my egg?

DIAFOIRERHOEA: Two, four, six, eight. It doesn’t matter, as long as it’s an even number.

THOMAS: Odd numbers are for making up medicines.

ARGAN: Thank you. Take care!

DIAFOIRERHOEA and THOMAS leave. BELINE enters, dressed for a trip to town, with LOUISON.

BELINE: Darling, I was just about to leave when I noticed a young man in your daughter’s room. He saw me and ran off.

ARGAN: That explains everything!

BELINE: Louison was in there with her sister and can tell you all about it. I’d better go. Monsieur Bonnefoi doesn’t like to be kept waiting.

BELINE leaves.

ARGAN: Look at me. What did you see?

LOUISON: I didn’t see anything daddy.

ARGAN: Wrong answer. I understand you have a story to tell.

LOUISON: I can tell you the story of the Frog and the Crow.

ARGAN: I’m not interested in Frogs. Come on!

LOUISON: I don’t know what you mean.

ARGAN: Agh! Daughters! What was going on in Angelique’s room?

LOUISON: Nothing.

ARGAN: (Holding his cane.) Can you see this!?

LOUISON: Oh daddy, please don’t beat me!

She throws herself down at his feet.

My sister told me to say nothing! I’ll tell you everything.

ARGAN: Good. But first I must beat you for lying.

LOUISON: Please daddy!

He grabs her by the throat. During the next she does a fake choke, and fake death faint.

Agh! Daddy, you’re hurting me, aaah –

ARGAN: Oh my God! Oh my little baby! Louison, my little sugar plum. No, no, this can’t be. What have I done? Loui! Loui! Come on, don’t do this to me.

LOUISON: I’m not completely dead.

ARGAN: You crafty little minx. God, you had me that time! I’ll only forgive you if you tell me everything.

LOUISON: I promise daddy, but don’t tell Angelique that I told you.

ARGAN: I won’t. But no lies, because my little Pope here, my little finger, remember he can tell when someone’s lying.

LOUISON: I was in my sister’s room, when a man came in.

ARGAN: No!?

LOUISON: Yes. I asked him who he was and he said he was her music teacher.

ARGAN: Music teacher or friend of the music teacher?

ARGAN wiggles the Pope.

LOUISON: That’s right, the friend of the music teacher. Then my sister came in and said to this man, ‘Go away, get out, this is making things worse!’ But he wouldn’t go.

ARGAN: And what kind of things did he say to her?

LOUISON: I can’t remember.

ARGAN wiggles the Pope.

He said that he loved her. And that she was the most beautiful girl in the world. And he knelt down before her and kissed her hands.

ARGAN: And then what?

LOUISON: Then my step-mummy came to the door and he ran away.

ARGAN: That’s it?

LOUISON: Yes. That’s all.

ARGAN’s little finger / Pope starts behaving really strangely.

ARGAN: Whoah! What’s happening?

LOUISON: Daddy, that’s all!

ARGAN sticks his finger in his ear and listens to it.

ARGAN: Shhh!! The Pope’s whispering something to me.

(Funny voice.) ‘She’s telling porky pies. Beat her! Beat her!’

LOUISON: No! Daddy, please! I’ve told the truth. That Pope of yours just doesn’t like girls.

ARGAN: Very well, off you go, go on!

LOUISON leaves.

Kaw! Who’d have children eh? You never get any time to yourself. I’m a busy man! I’ve got a life-threatening illness to worry about!

He contorts his face in pain.

Agghh! Toinette! Toinette!! Help!! Oh, what’s happening?

Enter TOINETTE.

I can feel a motion! quick!

TOINETTE: Yeah, yeah, they’re the only feelings you’ve got left.

ARGAN: Don’t you dare cheek me, you insolent cow!

She wheels him off. Enter BERALDE.

BERALDE: Argan! Brother!

Enter TOINETTE.

TOINETTE: Ah good, you got the message?

BERALDE: Yes, where is the dying man?

TOINETTE: Your brother is momentarily indisposed. He’s engrossed in the daily obligation of nature which you and I perform, alone, without advertisement or publicity, but which he is driven to share with the whole world, as if it were the birth of a son.

BERALDE: Ugh. Don’t.

TOINETTE: We need you to tell your brother that he’s making a big mistake with Angelique’s arranged marriage.

BERALDE: I’ve met him. The boy’s a moron.

TOINETTE: And that wife of his is on the brink of cleaning him out completely.

BERALDE: What? Beline?

TOINETTE: Yes, he’s convinced himself that he’s dying so he’s going to sign over all his wealth to her friend.

BERALDE: What!? Oh no. I never did like her.

TOINETTE: If we convince your brother that he’s not dying then there’ll be no need for a will. I suggest we start by dismissing Doctor Purgon.

BERALDE: He’s the family doctor.

TOINETTE: He’s a fraud.

BERALDE: True.

TOINETTE: We need a second opinion on your brother’s health.

BERALDE: But he’s quite happy with Purgon’s first opinion. He loves being ill! Why waste more money?

TOINETTE: We must save him from himself.

BERALDE: We have to do something.

TOINETTE: I have an idea. It’s mad but it might just work. Can you act?

BERALDE: Act? I’m a brewer. I can’t act, I’m a terrible actor.

TOINETTE: Then I’ll have to do it then. Can you come back tomorrow?

BERALDE: No problem. What are we going to do?

TOINETTE: We’re going to cure him with the truth.

To black.

Interval.