Chapter LIX: Act II

Léandre, between whom and Lucinde a mutual attachment subsists, has an interview with Sganarelle, at which he implores the latter's assistance to obtain a meeting with his mistress, and tells him that her dumbness is a mere trick--a sham illness which she has feigned to free herself from a distasteful marriage into which her father wants to hurry her. In consideration of a purse of gold which Léandre gives him, Sganarelle introduces the young lover into M. Géronte's house as his apothecary, and when Léandre asks whether it is not necessary to know five or six long medical words with which to lard his conversation, ridicules the notion, and says that a medical dress is quite sufficient disguise. "I am resolved to stick to physic all my life," says Sganarelle. "I find that it is the best line of all; for whatever we do, right or wrong, we are paid, all the same. Blunders make no odds to us; we cut away the material we have to work with as we choose. A shoemaker, in making a pair of shoes, cannot spoil a scrap of leather without having to pay for it; but in this business we can spoil a man without its costing us a cent. The mistakes are never put down to our account; it is always the fault of the fellow who dies."

[_Enter_ JACQUELINE, LUCINDE, GÉRONTE, LÉANDRE _and_ SGANARELLE.

JACQUELINE: Here's your daughter, monsieur. She
wishes to walk a bit.

SGANARELLE: It will do her good. Go to her, Mr.
Apothecary, and feel her pulse, and I will consult with
you presently about her malady. (_At this point he draws_
GÉRONTE _to one side of the stage, puts one arm on his
shoulders, places his hand under his chin, and makes him
turn towards him, whenever_ GÉRONTE _wants to see what
is going on between his daughter and the apothecary,
while he holds the following discourse with him to keep
his attention_:) Monsieur, it is a great and subtle question
among doctors whether women are easier to cure
than men. I beg you please listen to this. Some say
"no," some say "yes." I say both "yes" and "no";
for as the incongruity of the opaque humours which are
found in the natural temperament of women causes the
animal side always to struggle for mastery over the
spiritual, we find that the inequality of their opinions
depends on the oblique motion of the circle of the moon;
and as the sun----

LUCINDE: NO, I can never change my feelings.

GÉRONTE: Hark! My daughter speaks! O the great
virtue of physic! How deeply am I indebted to you,
monsieur, for this marvellous cure!

SGANARELLE (_walking about the stage, wiping his
forehead)_: It is a complaint that has given me much
trouble.

LUCINDE: Yes, father, I have recovered my speech;
but I have recovered it only to tell you that I will never
have any other husband than Léandre.

GÉRONTE: But----

LUCINDE: Nothing will shake the resolution I have
taken.

GÉRONTE: What----

LUCINDE: All your excellent reasons will be in vain.

GÉRONTE: If----

LUCINDE: All your talk will have no effect.

GÉRONTE: I----

LUCINDE: It is a subject on which I am quite determined.

GÉRONTE: But----

LUCINDE: No paternal power can force me to marry
against my will.

GÉRONTE: I have----

LUCINDE: You can make every effort you like.

GÉRONTE: It----

LUCINDE: My heart cannot submit to such a tyranny.

GÉRONTE: There----

LUCINDE: And I will sooner throw myself into a convent
than marry a man I don't love.

GÉRONTE: But----

LUCINDE (_speaking in deafening tone of voice_): It
is no use. You waste your time. I will not do anything
of the kind. I am resolved.

GÉRONTE: Ah! What a wildness of speech! I beg
you, monsieur, to make her dumb again.

SGANARELLE: That is impossible. All that I can do
for you is to make you deaf, if you like.

GÉRONTE: You shall marry Horace this very evening.

LUCINDE: I will sooner marry death.

SGANARELLE: Let me take this disease in hand. It
is a complaint that has got hold of her, and I know the
remedy to apply.

GÉRONTE: Is it possible that you can cure this mental
malady also?

SGANARELLE: Yes; let me manage it. I have remedies
for everything, and our apothecary is the man for
this cure. (_He calls the apothecary, and speaks to him_.)
You see that the passion she has for this Léandre is quite
against the wishes of her father, and that it is necessary
to find a prompt remedy for the evil, which will only
become worse by delay. For my part, I see but one
remedy, a dose of purgative flight suitably mixed with
two drachms of matrimony in pills. Go and take a little
turn in the garden with her to prepare the humours,
while I talk here with her father; but, above all, lose
no time. Apply the remedy at once--apply the specific
remedy.

[_Exeunt_ LÉANDRE _and_ LUCINDE. _Enter_ LUCAS _and_
MARTINE.

LUCAS: Your daughter has run away with Léandre.
He was the apothecary, and this is the doctor who has
performed the operation.

GÉRONTE: Quick, fetch the police, and prevent him
from going off! Oh, traitor, I will have you punished
by law.

LUCAS: You shall hang for this, doctor! Don't stir a
step from here!

[_Re-enter_ LÉANDRE _and_ LUCINDE.

LÉANDRE: Monsieur, I appear before you as Léandre,
and to restore Lucinde to your authority. We intended
to go off and to get married, but this undertaking has
given place to a more honourable proceeding. It is only
from your hands that I will receive Lucinde. I have
to tell you, monsieur, that I have just received letters
from which I learn that my uncle is dead, and that I am
the heir to all his property.

GÉRONTE: Monsieur, your virtue merits every consideration,
and I give you my daughter with the greatest
pleasure in the world.

SGANARELLE: Physic has had a narrow escape.

MARTINE: Since you are not going to be hanged, you
may thank me for making you a doctor. It was I who
gained you that honour.

SGANARELLE: I forgive you the beating because of the
dignity to which you have raised me, but be prepared
henceforth to show great respect towards a man of my
consequence; and remember that a doctor's anger is
more to be feared than folk imagine.

(MOLIÈRE: _Continued in Vol. XVIII_)

_Printed in the United States of America_

FOOTNOTES:

[AD] Molière, whose real name was Jean Baptiste Poquelin, the name Molière not having been assumed until he had commenced authorship, was born at Paris, January 15, 1622. Almost nothing is known of his early life, except that in his fourteenth year he was sent to the Jesuit Collège de Clermont, in Paris, and that later he studied law. In 1645 he suddenly appeared upon the stage as a member of a company of strolling players, and later, through the recommendation of influential friends, his company gained permission to act before the King. His comedies soon placed him in the front rank of French dramatists, and he is now regarded as perhaps the greatest of all comic dramatists. Of all the learned classes that fell under Molière's merciless lash, none came so completely as the profession of medicine. This is especially the case in "The Doctor in Spite of Himself" ("Lie Médecin Malgré Lui"), which appeared in June, 1666, and in which Molière himself played the role of Sganarelle.

The piece was originally acted with the "Misanthrope," but its immediate and pronounced success justified its being put on the bill alone. Both in conception and in motive the "Doctor" is frankly farcical, yet the lines abound in delicious satire, and on occasions melt from sheer buffoonery into graceful comedy. Molière died on February 17, 1673.