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The Imaginary Invalid, a play by Moliere |
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Act 2 |
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_ ACT II SCENE I.--CLEANTE, TOINETTE.
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 Angelique, 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 Angelique; 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 Cleante, 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.
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.
CLE. Sir. TOI. (_to_ CLEANTE). 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 Angelique. 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.
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_ CLEANTE). 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 ...
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_ CLEANTE, _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.
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_ ANGELIQUE). Come, bow to this gentleman. T. DIA. (_to_ MR. DIAFOIRUS). Shall I kiss? MR. DIA. Yes, yes. T. DIA. (_to_ ANGELIQUE). 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_ CLEANTE). 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_ MR. 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]
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_ ANGELIQUE). 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_ CLEANTE). 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_ ANGELIQUE, _giving her a paper_) There is your part. ANG. Mine? CLE. (_aside to_ ANGELIQUE). 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. Phyllis, too sharp a pain you bid me bear; ANG. CLE. ANG. CLE. ANG. CLE. ANG. CLE. ANG. CLE. ANG.
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_ ANGELIQUE) 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.
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 ANGELIQUE). 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.
ARG. (_to_ ANGELIQUE, _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_ BELINE) 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.
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.
BEL. Before I go out, I must inform you of one thing you must be careful about. While passing before Angelique'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.
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._)
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, Angelique. 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.
MEN _and_ WOMEN (_dressed as Moors_). No touch of sweetest joy Then up, ye lads and lasses gay! Beauty fades, Then up, ye lads and lasses gay!
2ND MOORISH WOMAN. The sweetest charms has Cupid's spell. 3RD MOORISH WOMAN. 4TH MOORISH WOMAN. 2ND MOORISH WOMAN. 4TH MOORISH WOMAN. TOGETHER. |
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