Three interludes in the style of the seventeenth century. By Ben Gavarré.

Three interludes in the style of the seventeenth century

By Ben Gavarré 

This work has been published for free and open dissemination, although all intellectual property rights are reserved. Public use of this work requires permission from the author and for permission contact bengavarre@gmail.com or gavarreunam@gmail.com (Reg. Prop. Int. Expte. Inbox)

 

Interlude 1 

Doctor Leechworth

Characters:

• DOCTOR LEECHWORTH: A pompous quack, more concerned with his dog-Latin than with the health of his patients. He wears dark, somewhat threadbare robes that strive for elegance.
• AGNES: The doctor’s neighbor. A meddling old gossip, deaf when it suits her, with a tongue sharper than a scalpel.
• BARNABY: A timid and simple farmer, convinced he suffers from the most terrible ailment ever witnessed by man.

Setting:

A small, cluttered room masquerading as a physician's office. In one corner stands a prop skeleton missing an arm. Bunches of dried herbs and strings of garlic hang from the ceiling. A rickety table is piled with jars of dubious-looking liquids, a glass pot of leeches, and strange metal instruments. There is a single chair for the patient.

(As the curtain rises, DOCTOR LEECHWORTH is alone, examining the contents of a chamber pot with a look of profound wisdom.)

DOCTOR LEECHWORTH: (To himself, in a booming voice) Oh, sublime science! Oh, art of Galen! Within this golden lymph, the imbalance of the humours is revealed. Clearly, the owner of this bladder suffers from an excess of choler, mingled with a westerly wind. The cure is plain! A bloodletting from the ankle and a poultice of pigeon droppings! I am a genius!

(AGNES enters without knocking, carrying a small basket. The Doctor is startled and hides the chamber pot under the table.)

AGNES: God give you good day, Master Doctor! Just passing by to see if your worship was still amongst the living. I’ve brought you a chicken broth—they say it sharpens the wits, and heavens know yours could use a good boiling.

DOCTOR LEECHWORTH: (Annoyed) Impertinent woman! One does not simply burst into the temple of science! You interrupt a deep meditation on the nature of melancholicus putrefacta.

AGNES: (Approaching and snooping around) Less of your Latin and more of your broomstick, I say. This place is draped in cobwebs. And tell me, what ailment is that? Is it worse than the ache in me loins that shoots right up to me noggin, which can only be soothed by a swig of gin?

DOCTOR LEECHWORTH: It is a malady your simple mind could not possibly comprehend! Now, if you’ll excuse me, I am expecting a patient with a condition of the utmost gravity.

(Three timid knocks are heard at the door. Agnes gets there first and swings it wide open, revealing BARNABY, a young man wrapped in a heavy cloak despite the heat, looking about in terror.)

AGNES: In with ye, good man, in with ye! Fear not, for Doctor Leechworth will either cure you or send you on to the hereafter, but a solution he will find!

(Barnaby enters, hunched over. He remains standing, not daring to sit.)

DOCTOR LEECHWORTH: (Assuming a solemn pose and deepening his voice) Aha! Behold a soul tormented by the scourge of illness! Approach, wretched creature, and confess to Hippocrates the evil that gnaws at thy innards.

BARNABY: (In a whisper) Master Doctor... I... it shames me so.

AGNES: (Shouting, as if Barnaby were deaf) Shame is for thieves caught in the act! Speak up, man, we haven't all day! Is it the pox? A lover’s affliction? Or did ye swallow a green apple whole?

BARNABY: (Startled by her shouting) Nay, good woman, nay! It is... 'tis on my skin.

DOCTOR LEECHWORTH: (Rubbing his hands with glee) The skin! The very canvas upon which the soul paints its torments! Speak on!

BARNABY: (Swallowing hard) I am growing... (He glances around and lowers his voice even more) ...scales.

(A moment of silence. Agnes makes the sign of the cross. The Doctor's eyes widen with sheer delight.)

AGNES: Lord have mercy upon us! Scales! Like the devil-fish from the deep! This lad has been cursed! Hexed at the fair for looking upon the apothecary’s wife, I’ll wager!

DOCTOR LEECHWORTH: Silence, you ignorant crone! This is not witchcraft; it is science! The patient clearly suffers from Dermatitis Reptiliana Saturnina! A most rare condition caused by an excess of black bile and being born under a malefic star! Remove that cloak, man! I must observe the metamorphosis!

BARNABY: (Terrified, backing away) Nay, Master Doctor! If the air touches them, they will spread!

(With a manic gleam in his eye, Doctor Leechworth tries to pull the cloak from Barnaby. A comical chase ensues around the small room.)

AGNES: Seize him! Before the reptile escapes! He might lay eggs!

(The Doctor chases Barnaby, who runs in circles. In his flight, Barnaby collides with the skeleton, which falls apart with a great clatter of bones. Barnaby screams.)

BARNABY: Alack, he means to flay me alive! I prefer the scales to his clutches!

DOCTOR LEECHWORTH: (Panting) 'Tis for thy own good, thou simpleton! I must apply the cure! Citius, altius, fortius!

(The Doctor corners Barnaby and, with Agnes shoving from behind, rips the cloak away. Barnaby is left in his shirt, trembling. The Doctor grabs his arm and holds it up to the light.)

DOCTOR LEECHWORTH: Now, let us gaze upon the extent of the malady…!

(The Doctor and Agnes lean in to inspect Barnaby’s arm. They are silent for a moment. Agnes squints one eye, then the other.)

AGNES: But... Master Doctor... this is naught but a bit of heat rash. His skin is as dry as a husk, from want of a good wash!

(On Barnaby's arm is only a patch of reddish, slightly dry skin.)

BARNABY: A rash...? But... I am not to become a lizard?

DOCTOR LEECHWORTH: (Without losing his composure, he stands tall with pride) Of course not! Fools! Do you not see the miracle? My very presence, my aura medicus, has wrought an instantaneous cure! The terror I instilled in you has forced your body to expel the reptilian humour! The disease has fled before the majesty of science!

(Barnaby looks at his arm, then at the doctor, and his face transforms from fear to fury.)

AGNES: A miracle, the charlatan calls it! The only thing he’s done is shatter that poor skeleton!

DOCTOR LEECHWORTH: (Extending a hand) That will be ten shillings for the consultation and twenty for the miraculous and swift cure.

BARNABY: (Outraged) I’ll give you twenty whacks for the fright you’ve given me, you tuppenny mountebank! You have made a fool of me!

(Barnaby grabs one of the strings of garlic from the ceiling and begins to chase Doctor Leechworth around the room, brandishing it like a whip.)

DOCTOR LEECHWORTH: (Running and dodging the blows) Insolence! Ungrateful wretch! Thus is wisdom rewarded in this foul and thankless age!

AGNES: (Laughing heartily as she watches them run) Lay on, lad, lay on! Perhaps a taste of garlic will knock the nonsense out of him!

(Doctor Leechworth, seeing an opening, bolts out the door. Barnaby, still fuming, throws the string of garlic to the floor and runs out after him, shouting insults. Agnes is left alone, shaking her head as she chuckles.)

AGNES: (To the audience) A fine pair of fools. One who sees lizards in a bit of grime, and the other who sees coin in every ailment. Well, I'm taking the broth. There’s no cure for what's in his head. And now I have a fresh new tale for the market square!

(Agnes picks up her basket, gives the skull of the fallen skeleton a little kick, and exits happily.)

END OF THE INTERLUDE 1

 

 

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Interlude 2: The Fugitive Heart

 

Characters:

• DOCTOR LEECHWORTH: Our familiar quack.
• GIDEON: A young man so timid he seems poised to apologize for breathing.
• ISABEL: The Doctor's maid. Young, beautiful, and possessing a lively wit.

(The scene is Doctor Leechworth’s study. ISABEL is listlessly dusting the skeleton.)

DOCTOR LEECHWORTH: (Peering at an onion through a spyglass) Fascinating! The layers of this lily are a perfect model of the seven celestial spheres that oppress the soul. If only I could perform a bloodletting upon it to see its humours!

ISABEL: (To herself, but aloud) Seven spheres of boredom are what oppress me in this hovel. A dried snail hath more humours!

(A knock is heard at the door, so soft it is barely audible. Isabel opens it to find GIDEON, who turns beet-red upon seeing her and immediately trips over his own feet.)

ISABEL: (With a mischievous smile) Careful, good sir, lest you dislocate a joint before you’ve even seen the physician.

GIDEON: (Stammering, unable to meet her eyes) For... forgive me... th-thank you... I...

DOCTOR LEECHWORTH: Enter, thou ailing creature! What malady afflicts thy mortal coil? Is it an excess of phlegm or a scarcity of coin? The symptoms are oft alike.

(Gideon tries to speak, but at that moment Isabel bends to pick up a feather duster. The young man gasps, clutching his chest.)

GIDEON: Oh!

DOCTOR LEECHWORTH: Aha! A spasm! Describe the sensation, in situ and sine qua non!

GIDEON: (Glancing sideways at Isabel) It is here, Master Doctor... in my breast. It feels as if... as if a horse were galloping within me. And I lose my breath... and my face doth burn! Especially when... when the light is very bright.

(Isabel hides a smile and moves about the room, causing Gideon’s head to follow her like a sunflower.)

DOCTOR LEECHWORTH: (Completely ignoring Isabel) I knew it! A textbook case of "Volcanic Fever of the Ventricle"! Your heart, you poor unfortunate, is on the verge of eruption! We must act!

GIDEON: Eruption? And... is that grave?

DOCTOR LEECHWORTH: The gravest! Ancient science recommends leeches upon the sternum, but I, a man of the vanguard, propose a solution from the future! A technique not yet invented! It is called open-heart surgery with an epidural anaesthetic!

ISABEL: (Astonished) Open his chest like a chicken for roasting? God save us!

DOCTOR LEECHWORTH: Silence, woman! It is a most delicate procedure. We would replace his ailing heart with a healthy one... from a swine, if possible. Though for that, we would require a laser-beam machine and a helicopter for the urgent transport of the organ!

(Upon hearing "open his chest," Gideon turns white as a sheet. He looks at the Doctor, who is now sharpening a large butcher’s knife, and then at Isabel. Panic finally overcomes his timidity.)

GIDEON: (In a surprisingly clear, strong voice) Isabel!

ISABEL: (Startled) Yes?

GIDEON: (Grabbing her hand) I cannot live without you, nor can I die with the heart of a pig! Let us flee this slaughterhouse!

ISABEL: Flee? But to where?

GIDEON: (Urgently, pulling her to the door) There is no time! I have summoned a taxi-cab! It awaits us at the corner to take us to the Underground station, bound for France!

(Gideon and Isabel run out. Doctor Leechworth stands frozen, knife in hand, utterly bewildered.)

DOCTOR LEECHWORTH: (To himself) Taxi-cab...? Underground...? What strange words are these? A fever-dream, no doubt! The symptoms of this Volcanic Fever are more curious than I imagined! I must write a treatise on it!

(He shrugs and returns to contemplating his onion.)

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Interlude 3: The Conspiracy of Chips

 

Characters:

• DOCTOR LEECHWORTH: Now acting as the leader of a secret sect.
• COSMAS: A paranoid man who sees conspiracies everywhere.
• MISTRESS ELVIRA: A shameless and persistent peddler of potions and unguents.

(The study is dimly lit with curtains drawn. DOCTOR LEECHWORTH is passing a lodestone over the head of a trembling COSMAS.)

DOCTOR LEECHWORTH: (In a conspiratorial whisper) Yes... I feel it... An anomalous vibration. The dark forces of Atlantis have fixed their gaze upon you, Brother Cosmas.

COSMAS: I told you, Grand Master! They have implanted micro-chips in my skull to read my thoughts! And I swear I have micro-cameras in my eyeballs! All that I see is broadcast live to the court of Prester John!

DOCTOR LEECHWORTH: A wicked technology not yet invented! That is why no one believes you. But we, the Sacred Order of the Primordial Unguent, know of these dangers! They use gamma sensors to steal your very dreams.

COSMAS: My dreams! Last night I dreamt I was an aubergine, and this morning the greengrocer gave me a queer look! They know everything! What can we do, Grand Master?

DOCTOR LEECHWORTH: We must perform the Ritual of Magnetic Extraction. I shall require two eggs from a black hen, the liver of a toad, and...

(A tremendous banging on the door makes them both jump.)

MISTRESS ELVIRA: (From outside) Open up, Doctor, I know you’re in there! Stop playing the hermit, I’ve brought you wares finer than the treasures of the Indies!

DOCTOR LEECHWORTH: (Hissing at Cosmas) Make no sound! She is an agent of the enemy!

(The door bursts open and MISTRESS ELVIRA enters, laden with a large basket.)

MISTRESS ELVIRA: So, a ritual, is it! Stop this nonsense before you curdle! I bring you the new Elixir of Basilisk Liver—it cures sorrow, piles, and even debts to the king!

DOCTOR LEECHWORTH: Inopportune woman! I am in the midst of a most delicate spiritual procedure! Be gone!

MISTRESS ELVIRA: (Ignoring him and sizing up Cosmas) And for this gentleman with the woeful face, I have the "Water of Confidence." (She approaches Cosmas and winks.) Two drops of this, and you could sell ice to an Eskimo.

COSMAS: (Recoiling in terror) Back! She is one of them! Her eyes are surveillance cameras!

MISTRESS ELVIRA: (Baffled, she tries to press a vial into his hand) Here now, don't be shy! Just try it! Or perhaps you'd prefer the "Unguent of Invisibility"? Perfect for husbands arriving home late!

(At the sight of the vial, Cosmas lets out a terrified scream.)

COSMAS: The truth serum! She means to interrogate me! She wants to know where I hide my grandmother’s recipes! Nooooo!

(Cosmas bolts from the room like a man possessed, knocking over a small table in his flight.)

DOCTOR LEECHWORTH: (Exasperated) Marvelous! You have just frightened away my best client! He paid in golden doubloons!

MISTRESS ELVIRA: (Shrugging as Cosmas vanishes) Bah, a raving lunatic. His loss. (She turns to the Doctor with a salesperson's smile.) Now that we're alone and it's quiet... might I show you my products?

(She pulls a scroll from her basket and unfurls it.)

MISTRESS ELVIRA: Look, here is the catalogue. We have a special offer on love philters and a twenty percent discount on powders for cursing one’s neighbors. What tickles your fancy?

(Doctor Leechworth sinks into his chair, utterly defeated, as Mistress Elvira begins to recite the virtues of a snake-oil balm.)

The End