Géronte’s garden
Scene 1. SGANARELLE, LÉANDRE
LÉANDRE. It seems to me I don’t look bad this way as an apothecary; and since the father has scarcely ever seen me, this change of costume and wig may well succeed, I think, in disguising me to his eyes.
SGANARELLE. No doubt about it.
LÉANDRE. All I could wish would be to know five or six big medical terms to adorn my speech and make me seem like a learned man.
SGANARELLE. Come, come, all that is unnecessary: the costume is enough, and I know no more about it than you.
LÉANDRE. What?
SGANARELLE. Devil take me if I know anything about medicine! You’re a good sort, and I’m willing to confide in you, just as you are confiding in me.
LÉANDRE. What? You’re not really . . . ?
SGANARELLE. No, I tell you: they made me a doctor in spite of me. I had never bothered my head about being that learned; and all my studies went only up to seventh grade. I don’t know what put this idea into their heads; but when I saw that they absolutely insisted on my being a doctor, I decided to be one, at the expense of whom it may concern. However, you’d never believe how the mistaken idea has gotten around, and how everybody is hell-bent on thinking me a learned man. They come looking for me from all directions; and if things keep on this way, I believe I’ll stick to medicine all my life. I think it’s the best trade of all; for whether you do well or badly, you’re always paid just the same. Bad work never comes back onto our backs, and we cut the material we work on as we please. A cobbler making shoes could never botch a piece of leather without paying for the broken crockery; but in this work we can botch a man without its costing us anything. The blunders are never ours, and it’s always the fault of the person who dies. In short, the best part of this profession is that there’s a decency, an unparalleled discretion, among the dead; and you never see one of them complaining of the doctor who killed him.
LÉANDRE. It’s true that dead men are very decent folk on that score.
SGANARELLE (seeing some men coming toward him). There are some people who look as though they were coming to consult me. Go ahead and wait for me near your sweetheart’s house.
Scene 2. THIBAUT, PERRIN, SGANARELLE
THIBAUT. Sir, we done come to see you, my son Perrin and me.
SGANARELLE. What’s the matter?
THIBAUT. His poor mother, her name is Perrette, is sick in bed these six months now.
SGANARELLE (holding out his hand to receive money). And what do you expect me to do about it?
THIBAUT. We’d like, sir, for you to slip us some kind of funny business for to cure her.
SGANARELLE. I’ll have to see what she’s sick of.
THIBAUT. She’s sick of a proxy, sir.
SGANARELLE. Of a proxy?
THIBAUT. Yes, that is to say she’s all swelled up all over; and they say it’s a whole lot of seriosities she’s got inside her, and that her liver, her belly, or her spleen, whatever you want to call it, ’stead of making blood don’t make nothing but water. Every other day she has a quotigian fever, with pains and lassitules in the muskles of her legs. You can hear in her throat phleg-ums like to choke her; and sometimes she gets tooken with syncopations and compulsions till I think she done passed away. In our village we got a ’pothecary, all respect to him, who’s given her I don’t know how many kinds of stuff; and it costs me more’n a dozen good crowns in enemas, no offense, and beverages he had her take, in jacinth confusions and cordial portions. But all that stuff, like the feller said, was just a kind of salve that didn’t make her no better nor no worse. He wanted to slip her one certain drug that they call hermetic wine; but me, frankly, I got scared that would send her to join her ancestors; and they do say those big doctors are killing off I don’t know how many people with that there invention.*
SGANARELLE (still holding out his hand and signaling with it for money). Let’s get to the point, my friend, let’s get to the point.
THIBAUT. The fact is, sir, that we done come to ask you to tell us what we should do.
SGANARELLE. I don’t understand you at all.
PERRIN. Sir, my mother is sick; and here be two crowns that we’ve brung you so you’ll give us some cure.
SGANARELLE. Oh! Now you, I understand you. Here’s a lad who speaks clearly and explains himself properly. You say that your mother is ill with dropsy, that her whole body is swollen, that she has a fever and pains in her legs, and that she is sometimes seized with syncopes and convulsions, that is to say, fainting spells?
PERRIN. Oh, yes, sir, that’s exactly it.
SGANARELLE. I understood you right away. You have a father who doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Now you’re asking me for a remedy?
PERRIN. Yes, sir.
SGANARELLE. A remedy to cure her?
PERRIN. That’s what we got in mind.
SGANARELLE. Look, here’s a piece of cheese that you must have her take.
PERRIN. Cheese, sir?
SGANARELLE. Yes, it’s a specially prepared cheese containing gold, coral, pearls, and lots of other precious things.
PERRIN. Sir, we be much obliged to you; and we’ll have her take this right away.
SGANARELLE. Go ahead. If she dies, don’t fail to give her the best burial you can.
Scene 3. JACQUELINE, SGANARELLE; LUCAS (backstage)
SGANARELLE. Here’s that beautiful nurse. Ah, nurse of my heart, I’m delighted that we meet again, and the sight of you is the rhubarb, cassia, and senna that purge my soul of all its melancholy!
JACQUELINE. Well, I swan, Mister Doctor, you say that too purty for me, and I don’t understand none of your Latin.
SGANARELLE. Fall ill, nurse, I beg you; fall ill for my sake: it would give me all the pleasure in the world to cure you.
JACQUELINE. I’m your servant, sir: I’d much rather not have no one cure me.
SGANARELLE. How sorry I am for you, fair nurse, for having a jealous, troublesome husband like the one you have!
JACQUELINE. What would you have me do, sir? It’s a penance for my sins. Where the goat is tied, that’s where she’s got to graze.
SGANARELLE. What? A clod like that! A man who’s always watching you, and won’t let anyone talk to you!
JACQUELINE. Mercy me, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet, and that’s only a little sample of his bad humor.
SGANARELLE. Is it possible? And can a man have a soul so base as to mistreat a person like you? Ah, lovely nurse, I know people, and not far from here either, who would think themselves happy just to kiss the little tips of your footsies! Why must so lovely a person have fallen into such hands, and must a mere animal, a brute, a lout, a fool . . . ? Pardon me, nurse, if I speak in this way of your husband.
JACQUELINE. Oh, sir, I know good and well he deserves all them names.
SGANARELLE. Yes, nurse, he certainly does deserve them; and he would also deserve to have you plant a certain decoration on his head, to punish him for his suspicions.
JACQUELINE. It’s quite true that if I was only thinking about him, he might drive me to some strange carryings-on.
SGANARELLE. My word! It wouldn’t be a bad idea for you to take vengeance on him with someone else. He’s a man, I tell you, who really deserves that; and if I were fortunate enough, beautiful nurse, to be chosen to . . .
(At this point they both notice LUCAS, who was in back of them all the time listening to their talk. They go off in opposite directions, the doctor with comical byplay.)
Scene 4. GÉRONTE, LUCAS
GÉRONTE. Hey there, Lucas! Haven’t you seen our doctor around?
LUCAS. Yup, tarnation take it! I seen him, and my wife too.
GÉRONTE. Then where can he be?
LUCAS. I dunno, but I wish he’d go to the devil in hell.
GÉRONTE. Go take a look and see what my daughter is doing.
Scene 5. SGANARELLE, LÉANDRE, GÉRONTE
GÉRONTE. Ah, sir! I was just asking where you were.
SGANARELLE. I was busy in your courtyard—expelling the superfluity of my potations. How is the patient?
GÉRONTE. A little worse since taking your prescription.
SGANARELLE. Very good: that’s a sign that it’s working.
GÉRONTE. Yes; but as it works, I’m afraid it will choke her.
SGANARELLE. Don’t worry; I have remedies that make light of everything, and I’ll wait for her in her death agony.
GÉRONTE. Who’s this man you’re bringing with you?
SGANARELLE (gesturing like an apothecary giving an enema). He’s . . .
GÉRONTE. What?
SGANARELLE. The one . . .
GÉRONTE. Eh?
SGANARELLE. Who . . .
GÉRONTE. I understand.
SGANARELLE. Your daughter will need him.
Scene 6. JACQUELINE, LUCINDE, GÉRONTE, LÉANDRE, SGANARELLE
JACQUELINE. Sir, here’s your daughter as wants to take a little walk.
SGANARELLE. That will do her good. Mister Apothecary, go along and take her pulse a bit so that I can discuss her illness with you presently.
(At this point he draws GÉRONTE to one side of the stage, and, passing one arm over his shoulders, puts his hand under his chin and turns him back toward himself whenever GÉRONTE tries to watch what his daughter and the apothecary are doing together.) Sir, it’s a great and subtle question among the learned whether women are easier to cure than men. I beg you to listen to this, if you please. Some say no, others say yes; and I say yes and no: inasmuch as the incongruity of the opaque humors that are found in the natural temperament of women, is the reason why the brutish part always tries to gain power over the sensitive part, we see that the inequality of their opinions depends on the oblique movement of the moon’s circle; and since the sun, which darts its rays over the concavity of the earth, finds . . .
LUCINDE. No, I’m utterly incapable of changing my feelings.
GÉRONTE. That’s my daughter speaking! Oh, what wonderful virtue in that remedy! Oh, what an admirable doctor! How obliged I am to you for this marvelous cure! And what can I do for you after such a service?
SGANARELLE (walking around the stage and wiping his brow). That’s an illness that gave me a lot of trouble!
LUCINDE. Yes, father, I’ve recovered my speech; but I’ve recovered it to tell you that I shall never have any other husband than Léandre, and that there’s no use your trying to give me Horace.
GÉRONTE. But . . .
LUCINDE. Nothing can shake my resolution.
GÉRONTE. What . . . ?
LUCINDE. All your fine objections will be in vain.
GÉRONTE. If . . .
LUCINDE. All your arguments will be no use.
GÉRONTE. I . . .
LUCINDE. It’s a thing I’m determined on.
GÉRONTE. But . . .
LUCINDE. There is no paternal authority that can force me to marry in spite of myself.
GÉRONTE. I’ve . . .
LUCINDE. All your efforts will not avail.
GÉRONTE. He . . .
LUCINDE. My heart could never submit to this tyranny.
GÉRONTE. There . . .
LUCINDE. And I’ll cast myself into a convent rather than marry a man I don’t love.
GÉRONTE. But . . .
LUCINDE (in a deafening voice). No. By no means. Nothing doing. You’re wasting your time. I won’t do anything of the sort. That’s settled.
GÉRONTE. Oh! What a rush of words! There’s no way to resist it. Sir, I beg you to make her dumb again.
SGANARELLE. That’s impossible for me. All I can do for your service is to make you deaf, if you want.
GÉRONTE. Many thanks! (To LUCINDE) Then do you think . . . ?
LUCINDE. No. All your reasons will make no impression on my soul.
GÉRONTE. You shall marry Horace this very evening.
LUCINDE. I’ll sooner marry death.
SGANARELLE. Good Lord! Stop, let me medicate this affair. Her illness still grips her, and I know the remedy we must apply.
GÉRONTE. Is it possible, sir, that you can also cure this illness of the mind?
SGANARELLE. Yes. Leave it to me. I have remedies for everything, and our apothecary will serve us for this cure. (Calls the apothecary.) One word. You see that the ardor she has for this Léandre is completely contrary to her father’s will, that there is no time to lose, that the humors are very inflamed, and that it is necessary to find a remedy promptly for this ailment, which could get worse with delay. For my part, I see only one, which is a dose of purgative flight, which you will combine properly with two drams of matrimonium in pill form. She may make some difficulty about taking this remedy; but since you are an able man at your trade, it’s up to you to persuade her and make her swallow the dose as best you can. Go along and get her to take a little turn around the garden, so as to prepare the humors, while I talk to her father here; but above all don’t waste time. The remedy, quickly, the one specific remedy!
Scene 7. GÉRONTE, SGANARELLE
GÉRONTE. What are those drugs, sir, that you just mentioned? It seems to me I’ve never heard of them.
SGANARELLE. They are drugs used in great emergencies.
GÉRONTE. Did you ever see such insolence as hers?
SGANARELLE. Daughters are sometimes a little headstrong.
GÉRONTE. You wouldn’t believe how crazy she is about this Léandre.
SGANARELLE. The heat of the blood does this to young minds.
GÉRONTE. For my part, ever since I discovered the violence of this love, I’ve managed to keep my daughter always locked up.
SGANARELLE. You’ve done wisely.
GÉRONTE. And I’ve kept them from having any communication together.
SGANARELLE. Very good.
GÉRONTE. Some folly would have resulted if I’d allowed them to see each other.
SGANARELLE. No doubt.
GÉRONTE. And I think she’d have been just the girl to run off with him.
SGANARELLE. That’s prudent reasoning.
GÉRONTE. I’ve been warned that he’s making every effort to speak to her.
SGANARELLE. What a clown!
GÉRONTE. But he’ll be wasting his time.
SGANARELLE. Ha, ha!
GÉRONTE. And I’ll keep him from seeing her, all right.
SGANARELLE. He’s not dealing with a dolt, and you know tricks of the game that he doesn’t. Smarter than you is no fool.
Scene 8. LUCAS, GÉRONTE, SGANARELLE
LUCAS. Dad blast it, sir, here’s a lot of ruckus: your daughter’s done run off with her Léandre. The ’pothecary, that was him; and Mister Doctor here’s the one as pufformed that fine operation.
GÉRONTE. What? Assassinate me in that way! Here, get a policeman! Don’t let him get out. Ah, traitor! I’ll have the law on you.
LUCAS. Hah! By jingo, Mister Doctor, you’ll be hung: just don’t move outa there.
Scene 9. MARTINE, SGANARELLE, LUCAS
MARTINE. Oh, good Lord! What a time I’ve had finding this house! Tell me, what’s the news of the doctor I provided for you?
LUCAS. Here he be. Gonna be hung.
MARTINE. What? My husband hanged? Alas! What’s he done?
LUCAS. He fixed it for our master’s daughter to get run away with.
MARTINE. Alas! My dear husband, is it really true they’re going to hang you?
SGANARELLE. As you see. Oh!
MARTINE. Must you let yourself die in the presence of all these people?
SGANARELLE. What do you expect me to do about it?
MARTINE. At least if you’d finished cutting our wood, I’d have some consolation.
SGANARELLE. Get out of here; you’re breaking my heart.
MARTINE. No, I mean to stay to give you courage in the face of death, and I won’t leave you until I see you hanged.
SGANARELLE. Oh!
Scene 10. GÉRONTE, SGANARELLE, MARTINE, LUCAS
GÉRONTE. The constable will be here soon, and they’ll put you in a place where they’ll be answerable for you to me.
SGANARELLE (hat in hand). Alas! Can’t this be changed to a modest cudgeling?
GÉRONTE. No, no, justice will take its course . . . But what’s this I see?
Scene 11. LÉANDRE, LUCINDE, JACQUELINE, LUCAS, GÉRONTE, SGANARELLE, MARTINE
LÉANDRE. Sir, I come to reveal Léandre to you and restore Lucinde to your power. We both intended to run away and get married; but this plan has given way to a more honorable procedure. I do not aim to steal your daughter from you, and it is only from your hands that I wish to receive her. I will tell you this, sir: I have just received letters informing me that my uncle has died and that I am heir to all his property.
GÉRONTE. Sir, I have the highest consideration for your virtues, and I give you my daughter with the greatest pleasure in the world.
SGANARELLE. That was a close shave for medicine!
MARTINE. Since you’re not going to be hanged, you can thank me for being a doctor; for I’m the one who procured you that honor.
SGANARELLE. Yes, you’re the one who procured me quite a beating.
LÉANDRE. The result is too fine for you to harbor resentment.
SGANARELLE. All right: I forgive you for the beatings in consideration of the dignity you’ve raised me to; but prepare henceforth to live in the greatest respect with a man of my consequence, and bear in mind that the wrath of a doctor is more to be feared than anyone can ever believe.