 Welcome to the Summer Theatre, dramatic hour of romance, love, and adventure. Tonight we present Molière's classic play, The Position in spite of himself, starring Mr. Robert Young. Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. This is your host, Don Wilson. Tonight we're presenting a farce comedy that was written, believe it or not, almost 300 years ago and has since played almost continuously to delighted audience throughout the entire world. But as it was written so long ago, the characters in it speak differently from the way we do. They say the same things we might say and certainly feel as we do, for none of that has changed, but they don't quite sound like us. For this reason we have secured the services of a narrator for you, a man who will help tell the story and set the scenes. And now I'm going to ask him to take over as the Summer Theatre brings you The Position in spite of himself by the great French playwright Molière. Our star is Mr. Robert Young. Good evening. I am your narrator and we're ready to begin our story. The time, as you already know, is long, long ago. The year 1666, to be exact. The scene is the backyard of Monsieur Scannerelle, our hero's house in a small French village near a small French forest. The house is a simple one, for Monsieur Scannerelle is not a wealthy man, but he is a healthy and vigorous one and not bad looking at all. He lives there with his wife, whose name is Martine. And as so often happens between husbands and wives even as long ago as 1666, they engage in an occasional lover's spam. Well, Scannerelle and Martine seem so engaged right now. The quarrel is violent only because they love each other, so... Ah, here comes Scannerelle now, bursting out the back door of his house, followed by his charming and understanding wife, Martine. Listen. No, I tell you that I will do nothing of the kind and that it is for me to speak and be master. And I tell you that I will have you live as I like and that I am not married to you to put up with your vagaries. Oh, what a nuisance it is to have a wife. And Aristotle is perfectly right in saying that a woman is worse than a demon. Look at Master Clever with his silly Aristotle. Yes, Master Clever. Find me another logbinder who can argue upon things as I can and who has served a famous position for six years and who, when only a boy, knew his grammar by heart. Plague on the errant fool. Plague on the witch. Curse would be the hour and the day when I took it into my head to say yes. Curse would be the scoundrel of a notary that made me sign my own ruination. Oh, certainly it well becomes you to complain on that score. Or to not rather to thank heaven every minute of the day that you have me for a wife. And did you deserve to marry a woman like me? It is true you do me too much honor. Now enough. Let us drop the subject. I must go. Aha! You wish to drop it. You, a fellow who will drive me to the hospital. A debauched deceitful wretch who gobbles up every far thing I have got. That is a lie. For I drink part of it. Who sells piecemeal every stick of furniture in the house? That is living upon one's means. Who has taken the very bed from under me? You will get up earlier in the morning. In short, who does not leave me a stick in the whole house? There will be the less trouble in moving. And who from morning to night does nothing but gamble and drink? That is done in order not to get in the dumps. And what am I to do all the while with my family? Whatever you like. I have four poor children on my hands. Put them down. Who keep asking me every moment for bread? Whip them. When I have had enough to eat and drink, everyone in the house ought to be satisfied. And do you mean to tell me you sat? That things can always go on so? Wife, let us proceed gently if you please. I am to bear forever with your insolence and your debauchery. Do not let us get into a passion, wife. And that I do not know the way to bring you back to your duty? Wife, you know that I am not a very patient man and that my arm is somewhat heavy. I laugh at your threats. My sweet wife, my pet, your skin is itching as usual. I will let you see that I am not afraid of you. My dearest rib, you have set your heart upon a thrashing. Do you think that I am frightened at your talk? Sweet object of my affections, I shall box your ears for you. Sot that you are. I shall thrash you. Walking wine-castle. I shall pummel you. Infamous wretch. I shall curry your skin for you. Wretch villain deceiver curse scoundrel churl rogue scanty. You will have it, will you? Oh, put that stick down. Help! Help! So now, ladies and gentlemen, it must be reported that Ensure Scanneryl, our hero, holds a stout stick. And with every gesture indicates he is going to beat his poor timid wife. Now, beating a wife was more in passion in 1666 than it is today. But I am not here to argue the relative merits of our ways and theirs, only to tell you that right now a man is looking over the fence, watching Scanneryl waving the stick. The man is the next-door neighbor. His name is Ensure Abert, and he is about to do something that many of our neighbors today would feel obliged to do, but in. Hello, hello, what is this? Ah, good day, Mr. Robert. What a disgraceful thing this is, Scanneryl. Plague, take the scamp to beat his wife. What did you say, Robert? I said Plague, take the scamp to beat his wife. Plague, take him, you say. How dare you! You slapped me. And should I not? What are you interfering with? Well... Oh, just look at this jack-o'-nape, who wishes to hinder husbands from beating their wives. I apologize. Is it for you, Robert, to poke your nose into it? No. Mind your own business. I shall not say another word. It pleases me to be beaten. In that case, I consent with all my heart. It does not hurt you. That is true. You are an ass to interfere with what does not concern you. The neighbor, Scanneryl. Yes? I ask your pardon with all my heart. Go on thrash and beat your wife as much as you like. I shall help you if you wish. Put down that stick. Huh? I do not want your help. Exactly so. It is like your impertence to meddle with other people's business. Now put down your stick. I shall. Good. Ow! Ow! Stop! Hey, away with you, you meddling fool. Yes, yes, I can well see my error. He's gone, wife. My sweet. My precious. The busybody. Come, angel, let us make up. Shake hands. After having beaten me, though? Never mind that. Shake hands. I will not. They? Do not raise your stick to me. Come, wife. No. I will be angry. Ah, it is a trifle. Shake hands, I tell you. You have treated me to will. Well, I beg your pardon. Put your hand there and forgive me. I forgive you. But I shall make him pay for it. He shall see. You are silly to take notice of these trifles. They are necessary now then to keep up good feeling. Five or six strokes of the cudgel between people who love each other only brighten the affections. I'm going to the forest and I promise you I shall bring out more than a hundred logs today. That will please you? Yes. A kiss? A kiss. I shall go now, my love, and put in a day's work. Scannerel bends, picks up his sack and acts, and with a wave to his beloved Martine trudges off to the nearby forest to cut his logs. And Scannerel is quite content that all is once again harmonious between him and his wife. Ah, but is it? A peculiar look crosses Martine's face as she gazes after the retreating figure of her husband. Now she glances down at the stick he raised to her. Hmm? It seems quite clear her feminine mind still dwells on the beating. Alone now she speaks her thoughts. Hmm. Go cut your logs, my husband. But I certainly shall not forget to pay you out. Oh, if I could only think of something to punish you for the blows you gave me. I want revenge that will strike home or it will not be satisfaction for the insult which I have received. Revenge, of course. How like a wife in those primitive years of 1666. Now, two strangers approach, walking rurally up the street. They stop by the back fence within a few yards of Martine and slump down in the dirt to rest. These men are servants. Their names are Lucas and Valère and one can see that they are troubled. At first, Martine doesn't see them as they talk together discussing their strange problem. Ah, Valère, we have truly undertaken a curious errand and I do not for my part know what we shall get by it. What is the use of grumbling, Lucas? All we are bound to do is our master tells us through. Besides, we both have some interest in the health of his daughter. For her marriage, which is put off through her illness will no doubt bring us in something. Ah, it shall. Horace, who was generous, is the most likely to succeed among her suitors. Although she has shown some inclination for a certain Leon. Ah, but you know well enough that her father would never consent to receive Leandra for a son-in-law. Never. Horace he wants and Horace he will have. Not as daughter's wishes are. Martine turns her head and sees the two servants sitting by her fence. She looks at them a moment, then walks over to them and listen carefully, ladies and gentlemen, for the plot is about to thicken. Gentlemen? Good day, gentlemen. I did not notice you resting here at first for my brain was puzzled about something that perplexes me. Good day to you, madame. Yes, everyone has his troubles in this world and we are looking for something we should be very glad to find. Is it something in which I can assist? Perhaps. My name is Lucas, this is Valère. Madame? We are servants in the house of Gérard. He has sent us to find a clever man, some special physician who can give relief to our master's daughter seized with an illness which has deprived her of the use of her tongue. Her tongue? She cannot speak. Poor thing. Several physicians have already exhausted all their knowledge on her behalf. But sometimes one may find people with wonderful secrets and certain peculiar remedies who very often succeed where others have failed. I see. That is the sort of man we are looking for. Ha! This is an inspiration from heaven to revenge myself upon my rascal. Gentlemen, you could not have come to anyone better. We have a man here, the most wonderful fellow in the world for desperate maladies. Then tell us where can we meet him? You will find him just now in the forest where he is amusing himself in cutting wood. A doctor who cuts wood? He is a strange eccentric whimsical man whom you would never take to be what he really is. He goes about dressed in the most extraordinary fashion pretend sometimes to be very ignorant and keeps his knowledge to himself. Astounding. And dislikes nothing so much as using the marvelous talents which heaven has given him for the healing art. Madame, it is a wonderful thing that all these great men have always some slight grain of madness mixed with their learning. Oh, the madness of this man is greater than can be imagined. For sometimes, sometimes he has to be beaten before he will admit his ability. No. Beaten, you say? Beaten, truly. So I warn you beforehand that he will never admit that he is a physician unless you each take a stick and compel him by dint of blows to concede at last what he will conceal at first. Unbelievable. It is thus that we act when we have need of him. Oh, but you will see that he works wonders. What is his name, Madame? His name is Scannerel. It is easy to recognize him. He wears a rough and a yellow and a green coat. He is then a parrot doctor? No. Madame, is it true he is as clever as you say? Oh, as clever. He is a man who works miracles. About six months ago, a woman was given up as dead by all physicians. They were going to bury her when they dragged by force the physician Scannerel to her bedside. Having seen her, he poured a small drop of something in her mouth. At that very instant, she rose from her bed and began immediately to walk into her room as if nothing had happened. Not more than three weeks ago, a young child fell from the top of the belfry. No sooner than they took our man to it, then he rubbed the whole body with a certain ointment, which he alone knows how to prepare, and the child immediately rose and ran away to play. This man must have a universal cure all. Who doubts it? Ah, Bob, he's the very man we want. Come, Lucas, let us go quickly and fetch him. But do not fail to remember the warning I have given you. Leave it to us. If he wants nothing more than a thrashing, we will gain our point. And so Scannerel's adoring wife, Martine, has cleverly set her revenge in motion. Now let us jump on ahead and find her unsuspecting husband. This is the forest near the Scannerel home, heavily wooded and alive with many 17th-century French birds and insects. Our heroes around here some place... Ah, there he is. Working himself into a sweat, chopping wood with great gusto. Why? Already he's cut wood, already he's cut one whole log and he's been at it only half an hour. He chops. He stops. And again he chops. Again he stops. Sets down his axe and rests. For a married man with a family to support must be careful not to work himself into exhaustion. Now Scannerel puts his hand into his sack and takes something out. It looks suspiciously like a bottle. Sounds I've done enough to deserve a drink. One must take all care not to let work give one the blues. Ah, you rogue. I love you. I love you, my pretty dear bottle. Now, well, Mr. Scannerel is occupied enjoying a mild refreshment. Lucas and Valère, the two servants in search of a physician, come into the clearing. They stop and look at Mr. Scannerel a few paces from them. You surely are, man, Valère. Exactly as described to us by the good woman. Well, come on, Lucas. Let us go to him. Hello, sir. Huh? Good day to you, sir. Good day to you. Is not your name Scannerel? Yes and no. It depends on what you want with him. Well, we want nothing with him but to offer him our utmost civilities. In that case, my name is Scannerel. Delighted to see you, sir. We have been recommended to you and come to implore your help. If it be anything gentlemen that belongs to my little trade, I am quite ready to oblige you. No, you must not think it's strange so that we have addressed ourselves to you. Clever people are always much sought after and we have been informed of your capacity. It is true, gentlemen, that I am the best hand in the world at chopping logs. I spare no pains and make them in the best fashion. But I charge 110 sues a hundred. Let us not speak about logs. I pledge my word that I could not sell them for less. You may find some elsewhere for less but there be logs and logs. I pray you, sir, let us change the conversation. I take my oath that you shall not have them for less. Upon my word you shall pay the price. Ordered gentlemen like you, sir, to amuse himself for these clumsy pretenses to lower himself to talk thus. Aught so learned a man such a famous physician as you, wished to disguise himself as a woodchopper and keep buried his great talents? This fellow is mad. All this beating about the bush is useless. We know what we know. What do you know? For whom do you take me? For what you are a great physician. Physician yourself. I am not one and I have never been one. Lucas, the fit is on him. Fit? Sir, do not deny things any longer and do not, if you please, make us have recourse to unpleasant extremities. Sounds have recourse to whatever you like. I am not a physician and I do not understand what you mean. Lucas, I perceive we shall have to apply the remedy. So it does seem. Once more, sir, I pray you confess you are a physician. I tell you I am not a physician. You're not a physician? No. Well, since you will have it so, we must make up our minds to do it. That stick will do. Here, take one for yourself. Oh, I have one. You're still not a physician, sir. No, I tell you. Very well. Oh, gentlemen, I will be anything you like. Ah! Now, why? Why did you make us take the trouble of giving you such a beating? What does it all mean, gentlemen? Is it a joke or are you both out of your minds to wish to make me out a physician? What, you do not give in yet? You still deny being a physician? The devil take me if I am one. Are you not a physician? No, plague, choke me. This time, Lucas, he prefers choking to thrashing. We must accommodate him. Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh. Yes, gentlemen, since you have it so, I am a physician. I am a physician. An apothecary into the bargain, if you like. Ah, that is better. I prefer saying yes to everything to being knocked about so. That is right, sir. I am delighted to see you so reasonable. It does our hearts good, sir, to hear you speak truthfully at last. Am I perhaps myself mistaken? Have I become a physician without being aware of it? Quite certain that I am a physician. Oh, yes, upon my word. Really and truly? The cleverest physician in the world. A physician was cured. I do not know how many complaints. The dickens I had. A woman thought dead was ready to be buried when you, with a drop of something, brought her to again. The deuce I did. A child fell from a belfry top and you, with I do not know what ointment, made her immediately get up and roll off to play. The devil I did. Now, in short, sir, you will be satisfied with us. You shall earn whatever you like if you allow us to take you where we intend. I shall earn whatever I like. Yes. In that case, I am a physician. There is no doubt of it. I had forgotten it, but I recollect it now. Well, what is the matter? Where am I to go? We will conduct you. The matter is to see a girl who has lost her speech. Indeed, I have not found it. Odd sniggers know this is a physician I like, Lucas, for he is a comical fellow. Well, come along, gentlemen, so that I may get on to the task of performing more wondrous feats of healing of which I am justly famous. Oh, you first, sir. Thank you, my good man. And off through the forest go the three of them on their way to the home of Monsieur Gironde. Through the trees and foliage they walk, Monsieur Scannarelle's riding with the dignity that befits a physician. And soon are lost from our sight. The end. Act one. Tomorrow night, 21st Precinct dramatizes another action story of the world's largest police force. Meet policemen as human beings. They're in danger and also when they're out of harness, relaxing and being just plain guys. Every Tuesday night on most of these same CBS radio stations, see 21st Precinct produced by the same team that has given you gangbusters. And now act two of the physician in spite of himself starring Mr. Robert Young. And once again, ladies and gentlemen, this is your narrator to continue the love the physician in spite of himself. A half hour or so has passed. The scene now is a room in the home of Monsieur Gironde, the father of the girl who has lost her speech and an elaborate room it is too. Filled with the finest drapery and furniture one could buy in 1666. For Monsieur Gironde is one of the wealthiest men in the community. The door opens and Monsieur Gironde comes in. A short round man well dressed, but troubled now because of his daughter's illness. He is followed by his servant Lucas and Lucas' wife Jacqueline, a comely, nicely formed woman who serves as the ill girl's nurse. Lucas is speaking with excited gestures, telling Monsieur Gironde about the magnificent physician he has found. Mr. Gironde, sir, I think you will be satisfied. For physicians, Garnerelle is the greatest in the world. Zooks all the others aren't worthy to hold a candle to him. Oh, for better, I could not ask. He's put dead people on their legs again. Dead people, you say? A physician of great reputation here abouts. Though he is somewhat whimsical, as I have told you, at times his senses wander and he does not seem what he really is. One would have caused to say he has a screw loose somewhere. A screw loose? Yes. But in reality he's quite scientific. Very often he says things quite beyond anyone's comprehension. Oh, that is promising. Well, I'm anxious to see him bring him in. Valère is fetching him a physician's gown. He refused to see you without the proper garments. Properly so. Nurse Jacqueline, why do you frown? Upon my word, Monsieur Gironde, this physician will do just the same as all the rest. The best medicine to give your daughter would be a handsome strapping husband for whom she could have some love. Hold your tongue, wife. It's not for you to poke your nose in here. I tell you that all these physicians do her no good. Your daughter, Monsieur Gironde, wants more than rhubarb and senna. A husband is a plaster that cures all girls' complaints. Would any husband have her in her present stateness, Jacqueline, with that affliction upon her? And when I intended her to marry, has she not opposed my wishes? No wonder you wished her to marry a man Why did you not give her Monsieur Gironde, who takes her fancy? She would have been very obedient and he would have taken her as she is. Gironde is not the man I want. He's got no fortune like Horace. He has an uncle who is rich and Gironde is the heir. All his expectations seem to mean nothing but moonshine. We run a great risk in waiting for dead men's shoes. Death is not always at the beck and call of gentlemen heirs, and while the grass grows, the cow starves. Well, I would sooner give my daughter a husband she likes than have all the riches in the country. Bless my soul, Miss Jacqueline, how you chatter. Now hold your tongue, you... The physician's scannerel! The door opens wide and Monsieur Scannerel comes in dressed somewhat differently than before. Gone is his vibrantly yellow and green coat. He wears instead a long, flowing and sedate white gown of a physician. In his hand he holds a black pointed cap, a sign of scholarship. For a brief moment he surveys the room and the people before him. Then, and still with great dignity, he approaches Monsieur Gironde. Monsieur Gironde bows. Nurse Jacqueline curtsies. Scannerel bows in return and affecting his best bedside manner speaks to Monsieur Gironde, a man he has not yet met. Sir, Hippocrates says that we should both put our hats on. And Scannerel plops his hat on his head. Sir, Hippocrates says that in which chapter, if you please? In his chapter on hats. Since Hippocrates says so, we must obey. Hand me my hat, Lucas. Thank you. Now, Doctor, having heard of the marvelous things... To whom are you speaking, Monsieur Scannerel? To you, Doctor. But I am not a physician. You are not a physician? Indeed, I am not. Really? Really? Lucas, good man, hand me that stick. Thank you. Now! What are you doing? Why are you beating me? There! Now you, sir, are a physician. I myself have never taken any other degree. Lucas, Lucas, what a devil of a fellow you brought me here. Did I not tell you he was a funny sort of a physician? It is his joking. Well, his joking does not suit me. Monsieur Scannerel, I am Monsieur Girante, father of the stricken girl. My pardon. Well, it's nothing. Now, to the matter at hand, my daughter, sir, is suffering from a strange complaint. I am delighted, Monsieur Girante, that your daughter has need of my skill. And I wish with all my heart that you stood in the same need of it. I am obliged to you for these kind feelings. Now, what is your daughter's name? Lucine. Lucine, ah, what a pretty name. And who is this tall woman standing here? Monsieur. She is my daughter's nurse, Jacqueline. Do you see that Jacqueline is a fine piece of household furniture? Our nurse, charming nurse, all my nostrils, all my skill, all my cleverness is at your service. Thank you, Monsieur. Then by your leave, I embrace you, nurse, to show the depth of my sincerity. Monsieur, doctor. Oh, don't leave my wife alone, Monsieur, doctor. What, Lucasse? Is she your wife? Yes. I did not know. Then I'm very glad of it, for the love of both of you. I congratulate her, Lucasse, on having such a husband as you. Oh, thank you. And I congratulate you, Lucasse, on having a wife so handsome, so discreet, and so well-shaped. Once again, I embrace her to show the depth of my sincerity. Enough, enough. Do not be so sincere. Yes, enough indeed. Enough indeed, physician. Let us tend to the real patients. One moment, Monsieur Gironde. Now that I'm here, I feel interested in your entire household. I should like to examine your nurse. Oh, not for the sort. Calmly, Lucas. It is the physician's duty to examine the nurse, and she attends the patient. Duty or no duty. I will not have it. Have you the audacity to contradict a physician? Send him out, Monsieur Gironde. I will not go. And I do not care a straw about a physician. Careful, I will give you a fever. While I leave, while I leave, have done with this. The patient, doctor, let us go to her. Very well, let us go. Come, nurse. I shall come, too. Not so, Lucasse. For while a doctor may well have need of a finely-formed nurse, he certainly has no need of her husband. This, now, before us, ladies and gentlemen, is Lucine's chamber, a large and pleasant place done up as beautifully as a bedroom could be in the year 1666. The laces and silks are of the finest cloth and the bed-warming pan of the finest metal. Standing there by the window, pleasing out at the afternoon sky, is a young and beautiful lady, Lucine, of course, Gironde's daughter. But while physically she is here, her mind is far away, thinking of things most pleasant to every young and beautiful lady, love, and the object of her love, a certain handsome fellow called Leanne. The door to the bedroom opens, Lucine snaps out of her reverie, turns and sees the approach of her father, her nurse Jacqueline, and a stranger, who is, of course, our hero, Monsieur Scannarelle, the physician. Here is the patient, doctor. Ah, charming and delightful creature. My only daughter, sir, I would never get over it if she were to die. Do not let her do anything of the kind. She must not die without the prescription of the physician. A chair nurse, bring it here. Yes, sir. My dear Lucine, let the physician attend to you. This is not an all and unpleasant patient. I am of the opinion that she would not be at all a miss for a man and very good health. Oh, sir, you have made her laugh. So much the better. It is the best sign in the world when a physician makes a patient laugh. Lucine, what is the matter? What ails you? Ah, eh, eh. Oh, hmm. Oh, hmm. What do you say? Ah, eh, eh. Oh, hmm. What is that? Ah, eh, eh. Oh, hmm. Ah, eh, eh. Oh, hmm. I do not understand you, Lucine. What sort of language do you call that? That is just where the complaint lies, sir. She has become dumb without her having been able to discover the cause. This accident has obliged her to postpone her marriage to Mr. Horace. And why so? Horace wishes to wait for her recovery to conclude the marriage. And who is this fool Horace that does not want his wife to be speechless? Good to heaven that mine were thus. I should take particular care not to have her cured. To the point, sir. I beseech you to use all your skill to cure her of the suffliction. Do not make yourself uneasy, Mr. Gironde. Now, tell me, does this pain oppress her much? Yes, so much the better. Is the suffering very acute? Very acute. That is right. Now, give me your hand, Lucine. Hmm. The pulse, Mr. Gironde, tells me that your daughter is dumb. Sir, that is what is the matter with her. Why? You have found it out at the first touch. Of course. We great physicians, we know matters at once. An ignoramus would have been nonplussed and would have told you it is this, that or the other. But I hit the nail on the head from the very first and I tell you that your daughter is dumb. Yes, but I should like you to tell me whence it arises. Nothing is easier. It arises from loss of speech. Yes. Very good. But the reason of her having lost her speech pray, our best authorities will tell you that is because there is an impediment in the action of her tongue. But your opinion upon this impediment in the action of the tongue? Aristotle on the subject says a great many clever things. Yes, I dare say. Ah, he was a great man. No doubts. But to come back to our argument, I hold that this impediment in the action of her tongue is caused by certain humours. In as much as the vapours formed by the exhalations of the influences which rise in the very region of diseases coming, as us learned men say, Mr. Gironde, do you understand Latin? Not at the least. You do not understand Latin. No. Cabricchius archaetherum. Catalamus singularita Novotivo archmusa de mousse bonus abona bonum. Oh. Why didn't I study? It's so beautiful I do not understand a word of it. Thus these vapours which I speak of passing from the left side where the liver is, to the right side where we find the heart, fill the ventricles of the omoplata. Now understand well this argument. Yes. Now these vapours are endowed with a certain malignity which is caused pay attention here, please. I do. Which is caused by the acridity of these humours engendered in the concavity of the diaphragm and that is exactly the reason that your daughter is dumb. Oh, how will you speak? And it is undoubtedly impossible to argue better. Undoubtedly. Still, Mr. Doctor, there's one thing I cannot exactly make out that is the whereabouts of the liver and the heart. It appears to me that you place them differently from what they are that the heart is on the left side and the liver on the right. Yes, this was so formally but we've changed all that. We nowadays practice the medical art on an entirely new system. Oh, I didn't know that. I pray you pardon my ignorance. There is no harm done. I don't oblige to be so clever as I. Certainly not. But what think you, sir, ought to be done for my daughter's complaints? My advice is to put her to bed again and make her as a remedy take plenty of bread soaked in wine. Why so, sir? Because there is in bread and wine mixed together a sympathetic virtue which produces speech. I do not see that they give nothing else to parrots and that by eating it they learn to speak. Oh, that is true. Quick, plenty of bread and wine, nurse. Hold a moment, nurse. Come here. What do you wish? Visujeron, I must give some medicine to your nurse. Come with me, nurse. Me, sir? I'm as well as can be. So much the worse, nurse. This excess of health is dangerous. I must administer to you a certain little something. Administer to her later, monsieur. I'll go, Jacqueline. Go fetch the bread and wine. Come with me, doctor. What are you going to do? What? Give you your fee, sir? I shall not accept it, sir. What? Not at all. Oh, come now. Here. No, you are justing. Indeed, I am not. Take it. I do not practice for money's sake. Oh, I'm convinced of that. Ah, they have good weight. Oh, certainly. Now, take it. No, I am not a mercenary physician. At the moment, think so. Very well, then, I shall take it. Only to please you, for I have nothing for you but affection. Oh, thank you. I shall come back tonight, monsieur, to see how the patient is getting on. Good day. This now, ladies and gentlemen, is the courtyard outside monsieur Gironde's home. Scannarelle, our fine physician, comes quickly out of Gironde's house, crosses the courtyard and walks along the high stone wall, overgrown with vines and bushes. Behind some shrubs, he stops and glances round to see that no one is watching. Then, from out of his pocket, he takes the money Gironde gave him for his services and counts, saying, quite happy in his newfound profession. But suddenly a figure appears on top of the stone wall and sees Scannarelle in his physician's gown. Hello? Scannarelle looks up, sees a young man whom he has never seen before and quickly pockets his money. The young man leaps to the ground in front of Scannarelle. Sir, I have been waiting to see you. Me? I have come to beg your assistance, Monsieur Doctor. Ah, my assistance. Give me your hand. Oh, but, sir... That is a very bad pulse you have, young man. No, sir. I am not ill. What? You are not ill? Why the devil do you not tell me so? I am not ill. I wish to speak to you on another matter. My name is Leand. Who? Leand. I am in love with Lucine, to whom you have just paid a visit. And she is in love with me. As all access to her is denied to me through the ill temper of her father. Excuse me, gentlemen. I beseech you, sir, to serve me in my love affair and to assist me in a stratagem that I have invented so as to say a few words to her. On this my whole life and happiness depend. Whom do you take me for? How dare you address yourself to me to assist you in your love affair and to wish me to lower the dignity of a physician? Do not make such a noise, sir. I will make a noise. You are an impertinent fellow. Gently, sir. An ill-mannered jack-o'-nails. Pray. I will teach you why I am not the kind of man you take me for and that it is for the greatest insolence. Sir? Hmm? I have here some coins of fine weight. Ah, you wish to employ me. Thank you. I was not speaking of you anyway, for you are a gentleman. Now, what is the affair in question? You must know then, sir, that this disease of Lucine's you wish to cure is a feigned complaint. Feigned? Ah, physicians have argued about it as they ought to do and have not failed to give their opinion. This one that it arose from the brain, that one from the intestines, another from the spleen, another again from the liver. As my opinion, I have given none of these. My cleverness is so great. And you are right. For the fact is that love is its real cause. And Lucine has only invented this illness in order to free herself from a marriage with which she has been harassed. Ah-ha! The matter clears itself to me, Leander. Now come, sir. As we go along, I will tell you what I wish you to do. Yes, come, Leander. For somehow you have inspired in me an inconceivable interest in your love. You are kind, sir. And if all my medical science does not fail me, the patient shall either die or be yours. As you can see, a way back in 1666 money made the difference. How wonderful it is that things have progressed so. Well, arm in arm, Mr. Scannarelle and his new friendly armed leave, Mr. Girons Courtyard, and walk into the field beyond, there to plot, if possible, a happy conclusion for the problems of young love. The end act two. This Wednesday night, don't miss screen star Melvin Douglas in Lost Weekend on your Playhouse on Broadway. In fiction and on film, the story of Lost Weekend gripped the public's imagination. Here it adapted for your Playhouse on Broadway over most of these same stations this Wednesday night with Melvin Douglas in the starring role of the tragic victim of alcoholism. We pause now for station identification. This is the CBS radio network. And now we return to the summer theater as the curtain rises on act three of the physician in spite of himself, starring Mr. Robert Young as Scannarelle. This is your narrator again, ladies and gentlemen, anxious to get on with the third and final act of Molière's the physician in spite of himself. We left our hero, the honored and honorable physician, Scannarelle, plotting with young Leon. Plotting the scheme they hoped would bring Leon and Lucine the two young lovers together. Now two hours have passed. The scene before us is a street behind Mr. Girons house. Two men stand huddled there. One we recognize immediately, Scannarelle, dressed still in his physician's gown and black pointed hat. The other is dressed in the clothes of an apothecary. Now in 1666, all pharmacists were called apothecaries. And I'm sure I really don't know why. But apothecaries, they were called and so that's what we shall have to call this pharmacist. Now on closer look, we can make out the identity of this pharmacist. Pardon me, apothecary. He is none other than Leandre in disguise. Leandre speaks. I think that I am not at all badly got up for an apothecary. As Lucine's father has scarcely ever seen me, this change of dress and wig is likely enough to disguise me. There is no doubt of it. Only, Monsieur Doctor, I should like to know five or six big medical words to leaven my conversation with and to give me the air of a learned man. Go along, go along. It is not at all necessary. The dress is sufficient and I know no more about it than you do. How's that? The devil take me if I understand anything about medicine. You are a gentleman and I do not mind confiding in you as you have confided in me. What? Then you are not really... No, I tell you. They have made me a physician in the teeth of my protests. I do not know how the idea came to them, but when I saw that in spite of everything they would have me a physician, I made it my mind to be so. I see some wisdom there. Why, sir, I am now resolved to stick to the profession all my life. Best trade of all. The material we have to friendship farthing. The costing us a bit. Well, come now, Leander. We are ready. Let us go to the house of your lady love. There is a room in Monsieur Girant's house. Stay on earlier. There is Mr. Manchurier's team. Beautiful thoughts, Leander. And there be subscription. The door opens and interest in his physician is gone. Some of you physician, have been inquired here to see your daughter. I see you have given her the bread soaked in wine as I prescribed. The bread soaked in wine as I prescribed. At least somewhat worse is the patient. Well, wait a minute, all patient. You have given her the bread soaked in wine as I prescribed. Do not make yourself uneasy. What is his name? You undoubtedly can feel her pulse so that I may consult with you here. Beauty, monsieur. I shall induce your apothecary and with great effort to disturb you. But I would like to see... No, do not seek. Pay attention, pray. Eyes are isching among physicians to know whether whim and grudy of the opaque humors change my thought. You know a game. Excellent physician. How deep are you? I have recovered my speech. The horrors. But... Nothing will shake the resolution I have taken. If... If all you're talking about can't submit to this tyrann... Oh... I teach you, Dr. Scannarelle, make her dumb again. That is impossible. All... Death. I thank you. Lucinda, my daughter. No, all your reasoning will not have the slightest effect on me. You shall marry Horace this very evening. I would sooner marry Death itself. Stop for heaven's sake. Stop. Monsieur Gérard, let me doctor this matter. It is a disease that has got hold of your daughter and I know the remedy to apply to it. Is it possible, indeed, sir, that you can cure this disease of the mind also? Yes, let me manage it. I have remedies for everything. And our apothecary will serve as capital for this cure. Monsieur Apothecary, a word with you please. Yes, Monsieur, physician. You perceive, sir, that the passion Lucine has for this certain Leander is altogether against the wishes of her father. Yes, that seems apparent. So there is no time to lose. The humors are very acrimonious. Exceptionally acrimonious. So it is necessary to find speedily a remedy for this complaint, which may get worse by delay. As for myself, I see but one. Now listen. Yes? A dose of purgative flight. Purgative flight. I shall make a note. Mixed as it should be with two dracoms of matrimonium. Ah, yes, matrimonium, a highly scientific compound. She may make some difficulty about taking this remedy, but as you are a clever man in your profession, you must induce her to consent to it and make her swallow the best thing you can. I know my task, Monsieur physician. Now go, Monsieur Apothecary. Take a little turn in the garden with the patient to prepare the humors while I converse with her father. Come, Monsieur Lucine. Above all, Monsieur Apothecary, lose not a moment. Apply the remedy quick. Apply the specific. I shall do the utmost to perform my duty. Monsieur Lucine. An excellent scientific fellow, Monsieur Gironde. He will take good care of your daughter. But sir, what drugs are these you mention? Purgative flight, dracoms of matrimonium. It seems to me I've never heard of them before. They are drugs which are used only in urgent cases. I trust they will prove their worth. You would not believe how she is infatuated with this Leand. The moment I discovered this passion, I took measures to prevent the slightest communication between them. You have acted wisely. They would have committed some folly if they had been permitted to see each other. Undoubtedly. I think she would have been the girl to run away with him. Just so. I was informed that he tried every means to get speech with her. The rascal. But he will waste his time. I, I... I will effectively prevent him from seeing her. I has no fool to deal with when he deals with you, Monsieur Gironde. Oh, no. One must get up very early to catch you sleep. Oh, indeed. So, Scannarelle slaps Monsieur Gironde on the back with a little more force, perhaps, than necessary, and congratulates him on his obvious wisdom. Monsieur Gironde smiles. Even laughs out loud, but with becoming modest, Dave. And now suddenly the door flies open. And Monsieur Gironde's servant, Lucas rushes into the room. Monsieur Gironde! Monsieur Gironde! His face, quite with worry, he approaches Gironde and Scannarelle. Ah, Monsieur Gironde. Well, well, what is it, Lucas? Oh, heart's bob, sir. Here is a pretty to-do. A pretty to-do? What? What? Oh, your daughter, sir. She's fled with her leon. What? It was Leandro who played the apothecary. And this was the physician who performed the nice operation. Well... What? To murder me in this manner? Quick, Lucas. Catch a magistrate. Yes, Monsieur Gironde. Ah, villain, I will have you punished by the law. But... You will be hanged. But do not stir a step, I tell you, for you are for the noose. And now, through the open door, comes someone else. Martine. Scannarelle's darling and devoted wife. The one who first thought up her malicious revenge. Martine, too, is excited and somewhat weary. For she has been spending some long hours trying to track down her husband. Good gracious. What a difficulty I had to find this place. Just tell me, what has become of the physician who... Ah! There he is, just going to be hanged. What? My husband hanged? But... He has helped someone to run away with my daughter. Alas, my dear husband, is it true you are going to be hanged? Judge for yourself, wife. And must you be made an end of in the presence of such a crowd? What am I to do? If you had only finished cutting our wood, I should be somewhat consoled. Leave me, you'll break my heart. No. No, I will remain to encourage you to die. And I will not leave you until I have seen you hanged. Thank you, wife. Which shall be very soon. The magistrate will be here directly. Mrs. Your Honour, Alas, will not a few strokes of the cudgel do instead of hanging? No, no, the law shall decide, and hanging it will be if I have my way. But... But what's this do I see? And what Mrs. Your Honour sees is the return of Leandre and the beautiful Lucille. Yes, the young lovers have come back, and Leandre, stripped of his apothecary disguise, holds his beloved's hand tightly as he approaches her puzzled father. What is this? Mrs. Your Honour, I appear before you, and I appear before you, and I come to restore Lucille to your authority. We intend to run away and get married, but this design has given way to more honourable proceedings. I will not presume to steal your daughter, and it is from your hands alone that I will obtain her. I must, at the same time, acquaint you that I have just now received some letters informing me of the death of my uncle and that he has left me heir to all of the world. And I will not leave you alone for the death of my uncle and that he has left me heir to all of his property. Oh! Really, sir, your virtue is worthy of my utmost consideration, and I give you my daughter with the greatest pleasure in the world. Oh, Leandre. Lucille. Odd sniggers the physician has had a narrow escape. Since you are not going to be hanged, husband, you may thank me for you being a physician. I have procured you this honour. Yes, it is you who procured me. I do not know how many thwacks with a cudgel. Monsieur Scannarelle, the result has proved too happy to harbour any resentment. Be it so, Monsieur Leandre. Well, wife, I forgive you the blows on account of the dignity to which you have elevated me, but prepare yourself henceforth to behave with great respect towards a man of my consequence, and consider that the anger of a physician is more to be dreaded than people imagine. The players now turn to the audience and bow in unison, all very happy that the letters arrived in time to tell Leandre of his inheritance, and not a moment too soon, either. For if Leandre's uncle hadn't died just when he did, there's no telling what would have happened. But die he nicely did, and all is well. The end. Act three. The physician in spite of himself. And now, once again, here is our star, Mr. Robert Young. Don, I'm wondering if you'd ask if there are any doctors in the house. Well, doctors wouldn't want me enough, Bob. You don't look very ill. Well, it's not for me, Don. I was just thinking perhaps we should point out that the physician in tonight's play intended to portray any present day doctor. Oh, uh, I don't know, Bob. Now, take my doctor for instance. Don, he may be listening. But seriously, Moliere's purpose in this play and in other of his plays was really a high-minded one. Satire and comedy was his method of pointing out and criticizing dishonesty, malpractice, insincerity, and all the other evils of his time. In short, there was a method in his madness. Making fun of people was his way of being constructed and promoting the public good. Well, I'm sure our audience will understand that now, Bob, and thank you very much for being with us tonight. It was a pleasure. Good night, everybody. Tonight, you have heard Moliere's classic play, The Physician in spite of himself, specially adapted for the summer theater by Lawrence Roman, starring Mr. Robert Young. Featured in the cast were Doris Singleton as Lucinda, Edgar Barrier as Raeron, Early Mitchell as Martine, Vic Perron as Leandre, with Eve McVeigh as Jacqueline, Lawrence Dobkin as Lucas, Jack Prussian as Valère, and Harry Bartel as Robert. Polly Bear was the narrator. Our producer director is Norman MacDonald. Robert Young, star of Father Knows Best, appeared through the courtesy of the General Foods Corporation. And now, this is your host, Don Wilson, reminding you to be with us again next week at the same time when the summer theater will present Daphne de Murier's terrifying tale of the birds, and our star will be Mr. Herbert Marshall. This is the CBS Radio Network.