TARTUFFE

A COMEDY

CHARACTERS

MADAME PERNELLE, mother of Orgon

ORGON, husband of Elmire

ELMIRE, wife of Orgon

DAMIS, son of Orgon

MARIANE, daughter of Orgon, in love with Valere

CLEANTE, brother-in-law of Orgon

TARTUFFE, a hypocrite

DORINE, Mariane's maid

M. LOYAL, a bailiff

A Police Officer

FLIPOTTE, Madame Pernelle's servant

The Scene is at Paris

ACT I

SCENE I

MADAME PERNELLE and FLIPOTTE, her servant; ELMIRE, MARIANE, CLEANTE,

DAMIS, DORINE

MADAME PERNELLE

Come, come, Flipotte, and let me get away.

ELMIRE

You hurry so, I hardly can attend you.

MADAME PERNELLE

Then don't, my daughter-in law. Stay where you are.

I can dispense with your polite attentions.

ELMIRE

We're only paying what is due you, mother.

Why must you go away in such a hurry?

MADAME PERNELLE

Because I can't endure your carryings-on,

And no one takes the slightest pains to please me.

I leave your house, I tell you, quite disgusted;

You do the opposite of my instructions;

You've no respect for anything; each one

Must have his say; it's perfect pandemonium.

DORINE

If ...

MADAME PERNELLE

You're a servant wench, my girl, and much

Too full of gab, and too impertinent

And free with your advice on all occasions.

DAMIS

But ...

MADAME PERNELLE

You're a fool, my boy--f, o, o, l

Just spells your name. Let grandma tell you that

I've said a hundred times to my poor son,

Your father, that you'd never come to good

Or give him anything but plague and torment.

MARIANE

I think ...

MADAME PERNELLE

O dearie me, his little sister!

You're all demureness, butter wouldn't melt

In your mouth, one would think to look at you.

Still waters, though, they say ... you know the proverb;

And I don't like your doings on the sly.

ELMIRE

But, mother ...

MADAME PERNELLE

Daughter, by your leave, your conduct

In everything is altogether wrong;

You ought to set a good example for 'em;

Their dear departed mother did much better.

You are extravagant; and it offends me,

To see you always decked out like a princess.

A woman who would please her husband's eyes

Alone, wants no such wealth of fineries.

CLEANTE

But, madam, after all ...

MADAME PERNELLE

Sir, as for you,

The lady's brother, I esteem you highly,

Love and respect you. But, sir, all the same,

If I were in my son's, her husband's, place,

I'd urgently entreat you not to come

Within our doors. You preach a way of living

That decent people cannot tolerate.

I'm rather frank with you; but that's my way--

I don't mince matters, when I mean a thing.

DAMIS

Mr. Tartuffe, your friend, is mighty lucky ...

MADAME PERNELLE

He is a holy man, and must be heeded;

I can't endure, with any show of patience,

To hear a scatterbrains like you attack him.

DAMIS

What! Shall I let a bigot criticaster

Come and usurp a tyrant's power here?

And shall we never dare amuse ourselves

Till this fine gentleman deigns to consent?

DORINE

If we must hark to him, and heed his maxims,

There's not a thing we do but what's a crime;

He censures everything, this zealous carper.

MADAME PERNELLE

And all he censures is well censured, too.

He wants to guide you on the way to heaven;

My son should train you all to love him well.

DAMIS

No, madam, look you, nothing--not my father

Nor anything--can make me tolerate him.

I should belie my feelings not to say so.

His actions rouse my wrath at every turn;

And I foresee that there must come of it

An open rupture with this sneaking scoundrel.

DORINE

Besides, 'tis downright scandalous to see

This unknown upstart master of the house--

This vagabond, who hadn't, when he came,

Shoes to his feet, or clothing worth six farthings,

And who so far forgets his place, as now

To censure everything, and rule the roost!

MADAME PERNELLE

Eh! Mercy sakes alive! Things would go better

If all were governed by his pious orders.

DORINE

He passes for a saint in your opinion.

In fact, he's nothing but a hypocrite.

MADAME PERNELLE

Just listen to her tongue!

DORINE

I wouldn't trust him,

Nor yet his Lawrence, without bonds and surety.

MADAME PERNELLE

I don't know what the servant's character

May be; but I can guarantee the master

A holy man. You hate him and reject him

Because he tells home truths to all of you.

'Tis sin alone that moves his heart to anger,

And heaven's interest is his only motive.

DORINE

Of course. But why, especially of late,

Can he let nobody come near the house?

Is heaven offended at a civil call

That he should make so great a fuss about it?

I'll tell you, if you like, just what I think;

(Pointing to Elmire)

Upon my word, he's jealous of our mistress.

MADAME PERNELLE

You hold your tongue, and think what you are saying.

He's not alone in censuring these visits;

The turmoil that attends your sort of people,

Their carriages forever at the door,

And all their noisy footmen, flocked together,

Annoy the neighbourhood, and raise a scandal.

I'd gladly think there's nothing really wrong;

But it makes talk; and that's not as it should be.

CLEANTE

Eh! madam, can you hope to keep folk's tongues

From wagging? It would be a grievous thing

If, for the fear of idle talk about us,

We had to sacrifice our friends. No, no;

Even if we could bring ourselves to do it,

Think you that everyone would then be silenced?

Against backbiting there is no defence

So let us try to live in innocence,

To silly tattle pay no heed at all,

And leave the gossips free to vent their gall.

DORINE

Our neighbour Daphne, and her little husband,

Must be the ones who slander us, I'm thinking.

Those whose own conduct's most ridiculous,

Are always quickest to speak ill of others;

They never fail to seize at once upon

The slightest hint of any love affair,

And spread the news of it with glee, and give it

The character they'd have the world believe in.

By others' actions, painted in their colours,

They hope to justify their own; they think,

In the false hope of some resemblance, either

To make their own intrigues seem innocent,

Or else to make their neighbours share the blame

Which they are loaded with by everybody.

MADAME PERNELLE

These arguments are nothing to the purpose.

Orante, we all know, lives a perfect life;

Her thoughts are all of heaven; and I have heard

That she condemns the company you keep.

DORINE

O admirable pattern! Virtuous dame!

She lives the model of austerity;

But age has brought this piety upon her,

And she's a prude, now she can't help herself.

As long as she could capture men's attentions

She made the most of her advantages;

But, now she sees her beauty vanishing,

She wants to leave the world, that's leaving her,

And in the specious veil of haughty virtue

She'd hide the weakness of her worn-out charms.

That is the way with all your old coquettes;

They find it hard to see their lovers leave 'em;

And thus abandoned, their forlorn estate

Can find no occupation but a prude's.

These pious dames, in their austerity,

Must carp at everything, and pardon nothing.

They loudly blame their neighbours' way of living,

Not for religion's sake, but out of envy,

Because they can't endure to see another

Enjoy the pleasures age has weaned them from.

MADAME PERNELLE (to Elmire)

There! That's the kind of rigmarole to please you,

Daughter-in-law. One never has a chance

To get a word in edgewise, at your house,

Because this lady holds the floor all day;

But none the less, I mean to have my say, too.

I tell you that my son did nothing wiser

In all his life, than take this godly man

Into his household; heaven sent him here,

In your great need, to make you all repent;

For your salvation, you must hearken to him;

He censures nothing but deserves his censure.

These visits, these assemblies, and these balls,

Are all inventions of the evil spirit.

You never hear a word of godliness

At them--but idle cackle, nonsense, flimflam.

Our neighbour often comes in for a share,

The talk flies fast, and scandal fills the air;

It makes a sober person's head go round,

At these assemblies, just to hear the sound

Of so much gab, with not a word to say;

And as a learned man remarked one day

Most aptly, 'tis the Tower of Babylon,

Where all, beyond all limit, babble on.

And just to tell you how this point came in ...

(To Cleante)

So! Now the gentlemen must snicker, must he?

Go find fools like yourself to make you laugh

And don't ...

(To Elmire)

Daughter, good-bye; not one word more.

As for this house, I leave the half unsaid;

But I shan't soon set foot in it again,

(Cuffing Flipotte)

Come, you! What makes you dream and stand agape,

Hussy! I'll warm your ears in proper shape!

March, trollop, march!

SCENE II

CLEANTE, DORINE

CLEANTE

I won't escort her down,

For fear she might fall foul of me again;

The good old lady ...

DORINE

Bless us! What a pity

She shouldn't hear the way you speak of her!

She'd surely tell you you're too "good" by half,

And that she's not so "old" as all that, neither!

CLEANTE

How she got angry with us all for nothing!

And how she seems possessed with her Tartuffe!

DORINE

Her case is nothing, though, beside her son's!

To see him, you would say he's ten times worse!

His conduct in our late unpleasantness [1]

Had won him much esteem, and proved his courage

In service of his king; but now he's like

A man besotted, since he's been so taken

With this Tartuffe. He calls him brother, loves him

A hundred times as much as mother, son,

Daughter, and wife. He tells him all his secrets

And lets him guide his acts, and rule his conscience.

He fondles and embraces him; a sweetheart

Could not, I think, be loved more tenderly;

At table he must have the seat of honour,

While with delight our master sees him eat

As much as six men could; we must give up

The choicest tidbits to him; if he belches,

('tis a servant speaking) [2]

Master exclaims: "God bless you!"--Oh, he dotes

Upon him! he's his universe, his hero;

He's lost in constant admiration, quotes him

On all occasions, takes his trifling acts

For wonders, and his words for oracles.

The fellow knows his dupe, and makes the most on't,

He fools him with a hundred masks of virtue,

Gets money from him all the time by canting,

And takes upon himself to carp at us.

Even his silly coxcomb of a lackey

Makes it his business to instruct us too;

He comes with rolling eyes to preach at us,

And throws away our ribbons, rouge, and patches.

The wretch, the other day, tore up a kerchief

That he had found, pressed in the _Golden Legend_,

Calling it a horrid crime for us to mingle

The devil's finery with holy things.

[Footnote 1: Referring to the rebellion called La Fronde, during the

minority of Louis XIV.]

[Footnote 2: Moliere's note, inserted in the text of all the old

editions. It is a curious illustration of the desire for uniformity

and dignity of style in dramatic verse of the seventeenth century,

that Moliere feels called on to apologize for a touch of realism like

this. Indeed, these lines were even omitted when the play was given.]

SCENE III

ELMIRE, MARIANE, DAMIS, CLEANTE, DORINE

ELMIRE (to Cleante)

You're very lucky to have missed the speech

She gave us at the door. I see my husband

Is home again. He hasn't seen me yet,

So I'll go up and wait till he comes in.

CLEANTE

And I, to save time, will await him here;

I'll merely say good-morning, and be gone.

SCENE IV

CLEANTE, DAMIS, DORINE

DAMIS

I wish you'd say a word to him about

My sister's marriage; I suspect Tartuffe

Opposes it, and puts my father up

To all these wretched shifts. You know, besides,

How nearly I'm concerned in it myself;

If love unites my sister and Valere,

I love his sister too; and if this marriage

Were to ...

DORINE

He's coming.

SCENE V

ORGON, CLEANTE, DORINE

ORGON

Ah! Good morning, brother.

CLEANTE

I was just going, but am glad to greet you.

Things are not far advanced yet, in the country?

ORGON

Dorine ...

(To Cleante)

Just wait a bit, please, brother-in-law.

Let me allay my first anxiety

By asking news about the family.

(To Dorine)

Has everything gone well these last two days?

What's happening? And how is everybody?

DORINE

Madam had fever, and a splitting headache

Day before yesterday, all day and evening.

ORGON

And how about Tartuffe?

DORINE

Tartuffe? He's well;

He's mighty well; stout, fat, fair, rosy-lipped.

ORGON

Poor man!

DORINE

At evening she had nausea

And couldn't touch a single thing for supper,

Her headache still was so severe.

ORGON

And how

About Tartuffe?

DORINE

He supped alone, before her,

And unctuously ate up two partridges,

As well as half a leg o' mutton, deviled.

ORGON

Poor man!

DORINE

All night she couldn't get a wink

Of sleep, the fever racked her so; and we

Had to sit up with her till daylight.

ORGON

How

About Tartuffe?

DORINE

Gently inclined to slumber,

He left the table, went into his room,

Got himself straight into a good warm bed,

And slept quite undisturbed until next morning.

ORGON

Poor man!

DORINE

At last she let us all persuade her,

And got up courage to be bled; and then

She was relieved at once.

ORGON

And how about

Tartuffe?

DORINE

He plucked up courage properly,

Bravely entrenched his soul against all evils,

And to replace the blood that she had lost,

He drank at breakfast four huge draughts of wine.

ORGON

Poor man!

DORINE

So now they both are doing well;

And I'll go straightway and inform my mistress

How pleased you are at her recovery.

SCENE VI

ORGON, CLEANTE

CLEANTE

Brother, she ridicules you to your face;

And I, though I don't want to make you angry,

Must tell you candidly that she's quite right.

Was such infatuation ever heard of?

And can a man to-day have charms to make you

Forget all else, relieve his poverty,

Give him a home, and then ... ?

ORGON

Stop there, good brother,

You do not know the man you're speaking of.

CLEANTE

Since you will have it so, I do not know him;

But after all, to tell what sort of man

He is ...

ORGON

Dear brother, you'd be charmed to know him;

Your raptures over him would have no end.

He is a man ... who ... ah! ... in fact ...a man

Whoever does his will, knows perfect peace,

And counts the whole world else, as so much dung.

His converse has transformed me quite; he weans

My heart from every friendship, teaches me

To have no love for anything on earth;

And I could see my brother, children, mother,

And wife, all die, and never care--a snap.

CLEANTE

Your feelings are humane, I must say, brother!

ORGON

Ah! If you'd seen him, as I saw him first,

You would have loved him just as much as I.

He came to church each day, with contrite mien,

Kneeled, on both knees, right opposite my place,

And drew the eyes of all the congregation,

To watch the fervour of his prayers to heaven;

With deep-drawn sighs and great ejaculations,

He humbly kissed the earth at every moment;

And when I left the church, he ran before me

To give me holy water at the door.

I learned his poverty, and who he was,

By questioning his servant, who is like him,

And gave him gifts; but in his modesty

He always wanted to return a part.

"It is too much," he'd say, "too much by half;

I am not worthy of your pity." Then,

When I refused to take it back, he'd go,

Before my eyes, and give it to the poor.

At length heaven bade me take him to my home,

And since that day, all seems to prosper here.

He censures everything, and for my sake

He even takes great interest in my wife;

He lets me know who ogles her, and seems

Six times as jealous as I am myself.

You'd not believe how far his zeal can go:

He calls himself a sinner just for trifles;

The merest nothing is enough to shock him;

So much so, that the other day I heard him

Accuse himself for having, while at prayer,

In too much anger caught and killed a flea.

CLEANTE

Zounds, brother, you are mad, I think! Or else

You're making sport of me, with such a speech.

What are you driving at with all this nonsense ... ?

ORGON

Brother, your language smacks of atheism;

And I suspect your soul's a little tainted

Therewith. I've preached to you a score of times

That you'll draw down some judgment on your head.

CLEANTE

That is the usual strain of all your kind;

They must have every one as blind as they.

They call you atheist if you have good eyes;

And if you don't adore their vain grimaces,

You've neither faith nor care for sacred things.

No, no; such talk can't frighten me; I know

What I am saying; heaven sees my heart.

We're not the dupes of all your canting mummers;

There are false heroes--and false devotees;

And as true heroes never are the ones

Who make much noise about their deeds of honour,

Just so true devotees, whom we should follow,

Are not the ones who make so much vain show.

What! Will you find no difference between

Hypocrisy and genuine devoutness?

And will you treat them both alike, and pay

The self-same honour both to masks and faces

Set artifice beside sincerity,

Confuse the semblance with reality,

Esteem a phantom like a living person,

And counterfeit as good as honest coin?

Men, for the most part, are strange creatures, truly!

You never find them keep the golden mean;

The limits of good sense, too narrow for them,

Must always be passed by, in each direction;

They often spoil the noblest things, because

They go too far, and push them to extremes.

I merely say this by the way, good brother.

ORGON

You are the sole expounder of the doctrine;

Wisdom shall die with you, no doubt, good brother,

You are the only wise, the sole enlightened,

The oracle, the Cato, of our age.

All men, compared to you, are downright fools.

CLEANTE

I'm not the sole expounder of the doctrine,

And wisdom shall not die with me, good brother.

But this I know, though it be all my knowledge,

That there's a difference 'twixt false and true.

And as I find no kind of hero more

To be admired than men of true religion,

Nothing more noble or more beautiful

Than is the holy zeal of true devoutness;

Just so I think there's naught more odious

Than whited sepulchres of outward unction,

Those barefaced charlatans, those hireling zealots,

Whose sacrilegious, treacherous pretence

Deceives at will, and with impunity

Makes mockery of all that men hold sacred;

Men who, enslaved to selfish interests,

Make trade and merchandise of godliness,

And try to purchase influence and office

With false eye-rollings and affected raptures;

Those men, I say, who with uncommon zeal

Seek their own fortunes on the road to heaven;

Who, skilled in prayer, have always much to ask,

And live at court to preach retirement;

Who reconcile religion with their vices,

Are quick to anger, vengeful, faithless, tricky,

And, to destroy a man, will have the boldness

To call their private grudge the cause of heaven;

All the more dangerous, since in their anger

They use against us weapons men revere,

And since they make the world applaud their passion,

And seek to stab us with a sacred sword.

There are too many of this canting kind.

Still, the sincere are easy to distinguish;

And many splendid patterns may be found,

In our own time, before our very eyes

Look at Ariston, Periandre, Oronte,

Alcidamas, Clitandre, and Polydore;

No one denies their claim to true religion;

Yet they're no braggadocios of virtue,

They do not make insufferable display,

And their religion's human, tractable;

They are not always judging all our actions,

They'd think such judgment savoured of presumption;

And, leaving pride of words to other men,

'Tis by their deeds alone they censure ours.

Evil appearances find little credit

With them; they even incline to think the best

Of others. No caballers, no intriguers,

They mind the business of their own right living.

They don't attack a sinner tooth and nail,

For sin's the only object of their hatred;

Nor are they over-zealous to attempt

Far more in heaven's behalf than heaven would have 'em.

That is my kind of man, that is true living,

That is the pattern we should set ourselves.

Your fellow was not fashioned on this model;

You're quite sincere in boasting of his zeal;

But you're deceived, I think, by false pretences.

ORGON

My dear good brother-in-law, have you quite done?

CLEANTE

Yes.

ORGON

I'm your humble servant.

(Starts to go.)

CLEANTE

Just a word.

We'll drop that other subject. But you know

Valere has had the promise of your daughter.

ORGON

Yes.

CLEANTE

You had named the happy day.

ORGON

'Tis true.

CLEANTE

Then why put off the celebration of it?

ORGON

I can't say.

CLEANTE

Can you have some other plan

In mind?

ORGON

Perhaps.

CLEANTE

You mean to break your word?

ORGON

I don't say that.

CLEANTE

I hope no obstacle

Can keep you from performing what you've promised.

ORGON

Well, that depends.

CLEANTE

Why must you beat about?

Valere has sent me here to settle matters.

ORGON

Heaven be praised!

CLEANTE

What answer shall I take him?

ORGON

Why, anything you please.

CLEANTE

But we must know

Your plans. What are they?

ORGON

I shall do the will

Of Heaven.

CLEANTE

Come, be serious. You've given

Your promise to Valere. Now will you keep it?

ORGON

Good-bye.

CLEANTE (alone)

His love, methinks, has much to fear;

I must go let him know what's happening here.

ACT II

SCENE I

ORGON, MARIANE

ORGON

Now, Mariane.

MARIANE

Yes, father?

ORGON

Come; I'll tell you

A secret.

MARIANE

Yes ... What are you looking for?

ORGON (looking into a small closet-room)

To see there's no one there to spy upon us;

That little closet's mighty fit to hide in.

There! We're all right now. Mariane, in you

I've always found a daughter dutiful

And gentle. So I've always love you dearly.

MARIANE

I'm grateful for your fatherly affection.

ORGON

Well spoken, daughter. Now, prove you deserve it

By doing as I wish in all respects.

MARIANE

To do so is the height of my ambition.

ORGON

Excellent well. What say you of--Tartuffe?

MARIANE

Who? I?

ORGON

Yes, you. Look to it how you answer.

MARIANE

Why! I'll say of him--anything you please.

SCENE II

ORGON, MARIANE, DORINE (coming in quietly and standing behind

Orgon, so that he does not see her)

ORGON

Well spoken. A good girl. Say then, my daughter,

That all his person shines with noble merit,

That he has won your heart, and you would like

To have him, by my choice, become your husband.

Eh?

MARIANE

Eh?

ORGON

What say you?

MARIANE

Please, what did you say?

ORGON

What?

MARIANE

Surely I mistook you, sir?

ORGON

How now?

MARIANE

Who is it, father, you would have me say

Has won my heart, and I would like to have

Become my husband, by your choice?

ORGON

Tartuffe.

MARIANE

But, father, I protest it isn't true!

Why should you make me tell this dreadful lie?

ORGON

Because I mean to have it be the truth.

Let this suffice for you: I've settled it.

MARIANE

What, father, you would ... ?

ORGON

Yes, child, I'm resolved

To graft Tartuffe into my family.

So he must be your husband. That I've settled.

And since your duty ..

(Seeing Dorine)

What are you doing there?

Your curiosity is keen, my girl,

To make you come eavesdropping on us so.

DORINE

Upon my word, I don't know how the rumour

Got started--if 'twas guess-work or mere chance

But I had heard already of this match,

And treated it as utter stuff and nonsense.

ORGON

What! Is the thing incredible?

DORINE

So much so

I don't believe it even from yourself, sir.

ORGON

I know a way to make you credit it.

DORINE

No, no, you're telling us a fairly tale!

ORGON

I'm telling you just what will happen shortly.

DORINE

Stuff!

ORGON

Daughter, what I say is in good earnest.

DORINE

There, there, don't take your father seriously;

He's fooling.

ORGON

But I tell you ...

DORINE

No. No use.

They won't believe you.

ORGON

If I let my anger ...

DORINE

Well, then, we do believe you; and the worse

For you it is. What! Can a grown-up man

With that expanse of beard across his face

Be mad enough to want ...?

ORGON

You hark me:

You've taken on yourself here in this house

A sort of free familiarity

That I don't like, I tell you frankly, girl.

DORINE

There, there, let's not get angry, sir, I beg you.

But are you making game of everybody?

Your daughter's not cut out for bigot's meat;

And he has more important things to think of.

Besides, what can you gain by such a match?

How can a man of wealth, like you, go choose

A wretched vagabond for son-in-law?

ORGON

You hold your tongue. And know, the less he has,

The better cause have we to honour him.

His poverty is honest poverty;

It should exalt him more than worldly grandeur,

For he has let himself be robbed of all,

Through careless disregard of temporal things

And fixed attachment to the things eternal.

My help may set him on his feet again,

Win back his property--a fair estate

He has at home, so I'm informed--and prove him

For what he is, a true-born gentleman.

DORINE

Yes, so he says himself. Such vanity

But ill accords with pious living, sir.

The man who cares for holiness alone

Should not so loudly boast his name and birth;

The humble ways of genuine devoutness

Brook not so much display of earthly pride.

Why should he be so vain? ... But I offend you:

Let's leave his rank, then,--take the man himself:

Can you without compunction give a man

Like him possession of a girl like her?

Think what a scandal's sure to come of it!

Virtue is at the mercy of the fates,

When a girl's married to a man she hates;

The best intent to live an honest woman

Depends upon the husband's being human,

And men whose brows are pointed at afar

May thank themselves their wives are what they are.

For to be true is more than woman can,

With husbands built upon a certain plan;

And he who weds his child against her will

Owes heaven account for it, if she do ill.

Think then what perils wait on your design.

ORGON (to Mariane)

So! I must learn what's what from her, you see!

DORINE

You might do worse than follow my advice.

ORGON

Daughter, we can't waste time upon this nonsense;

I know what's good for you, and I'm your father.

True, I had promised you to young Valere;

But, first, they tell me he's inclined to gamble,

And then, I fear his faith is not quite sound.

I haven't noticed that he's regular

At church.

DORINE

You'd have him run there just when you do.

Like those who go on purpose to be seen?

ORGON

I don't ask your opinion on the matter.

In short, the other is in Heaven's best graces,

And that is riches quite beyond compare.

This match will bring you every joy you long for;

'Twill be all steeped in sweetness and delight.

You'll live together, in your faithful loves,

Like two sweet children, like two turtle-doves;

You'll never fail to quarrel, scold, or tease,

And you may do with him whate'er you please.

DORINE

With him? Do naught but give him horns, I'll warrant.

ORGON

Out on thee, wench!

DORINE

I tell you he's cut out for't;

However great your daughter's virtue, sir,

His destiny is sure to prove the stronger.

ORGON

Have done with interrupting. Hold your tongue.

Don't poke your nose in other people's business.

DORINE (She keeps interrupting him, just as he turns and starts

to speak to his daughter).

If I make bold, sir, 'tis for your own good.

ORGON

You're too officious; pray you, hold your tongue.

DORINE

'Tis love of you ...

ORGON

I want none of your love.

DORINE

Then I will love you in your own despite.

ORGON

You will, eh?

DORINE

Yes, your honour's dear to me;

I can't endure to see you made the butt

Of all men's ridicule.

ORGON

Won't you be still?

DORINE

'Twould be a sin to let you make this match.

ORGON

Won't you be still, I say, you impudent viper!

DORINE

What! you are pious, and you lose your temper?

ORGON

I'm all wrought up, with your confounded nonsense;

Now, once for all, I tell you hold your tongue.

DORINE

Then mum's the word; I'll take it out in thinking.

ORGON

Think all you please; but not a syllable

To me about it, or ... you understand!

(Turning to his daughter.)

As a wise father, I've considered all

With due deliberation.

DORINE

I'll go mad

If I can't speak.

(She stops the instant he turns his head.)

ORGON

Though he's no lady's man,

Tartuffe is well enough ...

DORINE

A pretty phiz!

ORGON

So that, although you may not care at all

For his best qualities ...

DORINE

A handsome dowry!

(Orgon turns and stands in front of her, with arms folded, eyeing

her.)

Were I in her place, any man should rue it

Who married me by force, that's mighty certain;

I'd let him know, and that within a week,

A woman's vengeance isn't far to seek.

ORGON (to Dorine)

So--nothing that I say has any weight?

DORINE

Eh? What's wrong now? I didn't speak to you.

ORGON

What were you doing?

DORINE

Talking to myself.

ORGON

Oh! Very well. (Aside.) Her monstrous impudence

Must be chastised with one good slap in the face.

(He stands ready to strike her, and, each time he speaks to his

daughter, he glances toward her; but she stands still and says not a

word.) [3]

[Footnote 3: As given at the Comedie francaise, the action is as

follows: While Orgon says, "You must approve of my design," Dorine is

making signs to Mariane to resist his orders; Orgon turns around

suddenly; but Dorine quickly changes her gesture and with the hand

which she had lifted calmly arranges her hair and her cap. Orgon goes

on, "Think of the husband ..." and stops before the middle of his

sentence to turn and catch the beginning of Dorine's gesture; but he

is too quick this time, and Dorine stands looking at his furious

countenance with a sweet and gentle expression. He turns and goes on,

and the obstinate Dorine again lifts her hand behind his shoulder to

urge Mariane to resistance: this time he catches her; but just as he

swings his shoulder to give her the promised blow, she stops him by

changing the intent of her gesture, and carefully picking from the top

of his sleeve a bit of fluff which she holds carefully between her

fingers, then blows into the air, and watches intently as it floats

away. Orgon is paralysed by her innocence of expression, and compelled

to hide his rage.--Regnier, _Le Tartuffe des Comediens_.]

ORGON

Daughter, you must approve of my design....

Think of this husband ... I have chosen for you...

(To Dorine)

Why don't you talk to yourself?

DORINE

Nothing to say.

ORGON

One little word more.

DORINE

Oh, no, thanks. Not now.

ORGON

Sure, I'd have caught you.

DORINE

Faith, I'm no such fool.

ORGON

So, daughter, now obedience is the word;

You must accept my choice with reverence.

DORINE (running away)

You'd never catch me marrying such a creature.

ORGON (swinging his hand at her and missing her)

Daughter, you've such a pestilent hussy there

I can't live with her longer, without sin.

I can't discuss things in the state I'm in.

My mind's so flustered by her insolent talk,

To calm myself, I must go take a walk.

SCENE III

MARIANE, DORINE

DORINE

Say, have you lost the tongue from out your head?

And must I speak your role from A to Zed?

You let them broach a project that's absurd,

And don't oppose it with a single word!

MARIANE

What can I do? My father is the master.

DORINE

Do? Everything, to ward off such disaster.

MARIANE

But what?

DORINE

Tell him one doesn't love by proxy;

Tell him you'll marry for yourself, not him;

Since you're the one for whom the thing is done,

You are the one, not he, the man must please;

If his Tartuffe has charmed him so, why let him

Just marry him himself--no one will hinder.

MARIANE

A father's rights are such, it seems to me,

That I could never dare to say a word.

DORINE

Came, talk it out. Valere has asked your hand:

Now do you love him, pray, or do you not?

MARIANE

Dorine! How can you wrong my love so much,

And ask me such a question? Have I not

A hundred times laid bare my heart to you?

Do you know how ardently I love him?

DORINE

How do I know if heart and words agree,

And if in honest truth you really love him?

MARIANE

Dorine, you wrong me greatly if you doubt it;

I've shown my inmost feelings, all too plainly.

DORINE

So then, you love him?

MARIANE

Yes, devotedly.

DORINE

And he returns your love, apparently?

MARIANE

I think so.

DORINE

And you both alike are eager

To be well married to each other?

MARIANE

Surely.

DORINE

Then what's your plan about this other match?

MARIANE

To kill myself, if it is forced upon me.

DORINE

Good! That's a remedy I hadn't thought of.

Just die, and everything will be all right.

This medicine is marvellous, indeed!

It drives me mad to hear folk talk such nonsense.

MARIANE

Oh dear, Dorine you get in such a temper!

You have no sympathy for people's troubles.

DORINE

I have no sympathy when folk talk nonsense,

And flatten out as you do, at a pinch.

MARIANE

But what can you expect?--if one is timid?--

DORINE

But what is love worth, if it has no courage?

MARIANE

Am I not constant in my love for him?

Is't not his place to win me from my father?

DORINE

But if your father is a crazy fool,

And quite bewitched with his Tartuffe? And breaks

His bounden word? Is that your lover's fault?

MARIANE

But shall I publicly refuse and scorn

This match, and make it plain that I'm in love?

Shall I cast off for him, whate'er he be,

Womanly modesty and filial duty?

You ask me to display my love in public ... ?

DORINE

No, no, I ask you nothing. You shall be

Mister Tartuffe's; why, now I think of it,

I should be wrong to turn you from this marriage.

What cause can I have to oppose your wishes?

So fine a match! An excellent good match!

Mister Tartuffe! Oh ho! No mean proposal!

Mister Tartuffe, sure, take it all in all,

Is not a man to sneeze at--oh, by no means!

'Tis no small luck to be his happy spouse.

The whole world joins to sing his praise already;

He's noble--in his parish; handsome too;

Red ears and high complexion--oh, my lud!

You'll be too happy, sure, with him for husband.

MARIANE

Oh dear! ...

DORINE

What joy and pride will fill your heart

To be the bride of such a handsome fellow!

MARIANE

Oh, stop, I beg you; try to find some way

To help break off the match. I quite give in,

I'm ready to do anything you say.

DORINE

No, no, a daughter must obey her father,

Though he should want to make her wed a monkey.

Besides, your fate is fine. What could be better!

You'll take the stage-coach to his little village,

And find it full of uncles and of cousins,

Whose conversation will delight you. Then

You'll be presented in their best society.

You'll even go to call, by way of welcome,

On Mrs. Bailiff, Mrs. Tax-Collector,

Who'll patronise you with a folding-stool.

There, once a year, at carnival, you'll have

Perhaps--a ball; with orchestra--two bag-pipes;

And sometimes a trained ape, and Punch and Judy;

Though if your husband ...

MARIANE

Oh, you'll kill me. Please

Contrive to help me out with your advice.

DORINE

I thank you kindly.

MARIANE

Oh! Dorine, I beg you ...

DORINE

To serve you right, this marriage must go through.

MARIANE

Dear girl!

DORINE

No.

MARIANE

If I say I love Valere ...

DORINE

No, no. Tartuffe's your man, and you shall taste him.

MARIANE

You know I've always trusted you; now help me ...

DORINE

No, you shall be, my faith! Tartuffified.

MARIANE

Well, then, since you've no pity for my fate

Let me take counsel only of despair;

It will advise and help and give me courage;

There's one sure cure, I know, for all my troubles.

(She starts to go.)

DORINE

There, there! Come back. I can't be angry long.

I must take pity on you, after all.

MARIANE

Oh, don't you see, Dorine, if I must bear

This martyrdom, I certainly shall die.

DORINE

Now don't you fret. We'll surely find some way.

To hinder this ... But here's Valere, your lover.

SCENE IV

VALERE, MARIANE, DORINE

VALERE

Madam, a piece of news--quite new to me--

Has just come out, and very fine it is.

MARIANE

What piece of news?

VALERE

Your marriage with Tartuffe.

MARIANE

'Tis true my father has this plan in mind.

VALERE

Your father, madam ...

MARIANE

Yes, he's changed his plans,

And did but now propose it to me.

VALERE

What!

Seriously?

MARIANE

Yes, he was serious,

And openly insisted on the match.

VALERE

And what's your resolution in the matter,

Madam?

MARIANE

I don't know.

VALERE

That's a pretty answer.

You don't know?

MARIANE

No.

VALERE

No?

MARIANE

What do you advise?

VALERE

I? My advice is, marry him, by all means.

MARIANE

That's your advice?

VALERE

Yes.

MARIANE

Do you mean it?

VALERE

Surely.

A splendid choice, and worthy of your acceptance.

MARIANE

Oh, very well, sir! I shall take your counsel.

VALERE

You'll find no trouble taking it, I warrant.

MARIANE

No more than you did giving it, be sure.

VALERE

I gave it, truly, to oblige you, madam.

MARIANE

And I shall take it to oblige you, sir.

Dorine (withdrawing to the back of the stage)

Let's see what this affair will come to.

VALERE

So,

That is your love? And it was all deceit

When you ...

MARIANE

I beg you, say no more of that.

You told me, squarely, sir, I should accept

The husband that is offered me; and I

Will tell you squarely that I mean to do so,

Since you have given me this good advice.

VALERE

Don't shield yourself with talk of my advice.

You had your mind made up, that's evident;

And now you're snatching at a trifling pretext

To justify the breaking of your word.

MARIANE

Exactly so.

VALERE

Of course it is; your heart

Has never known true love for me.

MARIANE

Alas!

You're free to think so, if you please.

VALERE

Yes, yes,

I'm free to think so; and my outraged love

May yet forestall you in your perfidy,

And offer elsewhere both my heart and hand.

MARIANE

No doubt of it; the love your high deserts

May win ...

VALERE

Good Lord, have done with my deserts!

I know I have but few, and you have proved it.

But I may find more kindness in another;

I know of someone, who'll not be ashamed

To take your leavings, and make up my loss.

MARIANE

The loss is not so great; you'll easily

Console yourself completely for this change.

VALERE

I'll try my best, that you may well believe.

When we're forgotten by a woman's heart,

Our pride is challenged; we, too, must forget;

Or if we cannot, must at least pretend to.

No other way can man such baseness prove,

As be a lover scorned, and still in love.

MARIANE

In faith, a high and noble sentiment.

VALERE

Yes; and it's one that all men must approve.

What! Would you have me keep my love alive,

And see you fly into another's arms

Before my very eyes; and never offer

To someone else the heart that you had scorned?

MARIANE

Oh, no, indeed! For my part, I could wish

That it were done already.

VALERE

What! You wish it?

MARIANE

Yes.

VALERE

This is insult heaped on injury;

I'll go at once and do as you desire.

(He takes a step or two as if to go away.)

MARIANE

Oh, very well then.

VALERE (turning back)

But remember this.

'Twas you that drove me to this desperate pass.

MARIANE

Of course.

VALERE (turning back again)

And in the plan that I have formed

I only follow your example.

MARIANE

Yes.

VALERE (at the door)

Enough; you shall be punctually obeyed.

MARIANE

So much the better.

VALERE (coming back again)

This is once for all.

MARIANE

So be it, then.

VALERE (He goes toward the door, but just as he reaches it, turns

around)

Eh?

MARIANE

What?

VALERE

You didn't call me?

MARIANE

I? You are dreaming.

VALERE

Very well, I'm gone. Madam, farewell.

(He walks slowly away.)

MARIANE

Farewell, sir.

DORINE

I must say

You've lost your senses and both gone clean daft!

I've let you fight it out to the end o' the chapter

To see how far the thing could go. Oho, there,

Mister Valere!

(She goes and seizes him by the arm, to stop him. He makes a great

show of resistance.)

VALERE

What do you want, Dorine?

DORINE

Come here.

VALERE

No, no, I'm quite beside myself.

Don't hinder me from doing as she wishes.

DORINE

Stop!

VALERE

No. You see, I'm fixed, resolved, determined.

DORINE

So!

MARIANE (aside)

Since my presence pains him, makes him go,

I'd better go myself, and leave him free.

DORINE (leaving Valere, and running after Mariane)

Now t'other! Where are you going?

MARIANE

Let me be.

DORINE.

Come back.

MARIANE

No, no, it isn't any use.

VALERE (aside)

'Tis clear the sight of me is torture to her;

No doubt, t'were better I should free her from it.

DORINE (leaving Mariane and running after Valere)

Same thing again! Deuce take you both, I say.

Now stop your fooling; come here, you; and you.

(She pulls first one, then the other, toward the middle of the stage.)

VALERE (to Dorine)

What's your idea?

MARIANE (to Dorine)

What can you mean to do?

DORINE

Set you to rights, and pull you out o' the scrape.

(To Valere)

Are you quite mad, to quarrel with her now?

VALERE

Didn't you hear the things she said to me?

DORINE (to Mariane)

Are you quite mad, to get in such a passion?

MARIANE

Didn't you see the way he treated me?

DORINE

Fools, both of you.

(To Valere)

She thinks of nothing else

But to keep faith with you, I vouch for it.

(To Mariane)

And he loves none but you, and longs for nothing

But just to marry you, I stake my life on't.

MARIANE (to Valere)

Why did you give me such advice then, pray?

VALERE (to Mariane)

Why ask for my advice on such a matter?

DORINE

You both are daft, I tell you. Here, your hands.

(To Valere)

Come, yours.

VALERE (giving Dorine his hand)

What for?

DORINE (to Mariane)

Now, yours.

MARIANE (giving Dorine her hand)

But what's the use?

DORINE

Oh, quick now, come along. There, both of you--

You love each other better than you think.

(Valere and Mariane hold each other's hands some time without looking

at each other.)

VALERE (at last turning toward Mariane)

Come, don't be so ungracious now about it;

Look at a man as if you didn't hate him.

(Mariane looks sideways toward Valere, with just a bit of a smile.)

DORINE

My faith and troth, what fools these lovers be!

VALERE (to Mariane)

But come now, have I not a just complaint?

And truly, are you not a wicked creature

To take delight in saying what would pain me?

MARIANE

And are you not yourself the most ungrateful ... ?

DORINE

Leave this discussion till another time;

Now, think how you'll stave off this plaguy marriage.

MARIANE

Then tell us how to go about it.

DORINE

Well,

We'll try all sorts of ways.

(To Mariane)

Your father's daft;

(To Valere)

This plan is nonsense.

(To Mariane)

You had better humour

His notions by a semblance of consent,

So that in case of danger, you can still

Find means to block the marriage by delay.

If you gain time, the rest is easy, trust me.

One day you'll fool them with a sudden illness,

Causing delay; another day, ill omens:

You've met a funeral, or broke a mirror,

Or dreamed of muddy water. Best of all,

They cannot marry you to anyone

Without your saying yes. But now, methinks,

They mustn't find you chattering together.

(To Valere)

You, go at once and set your friends at work

To make him keep his word to you; while we

Will bring the brother's influence to bear,

And get the step-mother on our side, too.

Good-bye.

VALERE (to Mariane)

Whatever efforts we may make,

My greatest hope, be sure, must rest on you.

MARIANE (to Valere)

I cannot answer for my father's whims;

But no one save Valere shall ever have me.

VALERE

You thrill me through with joy! Whatever comes ...

DORINE

Oho! These lovers! Never done with prattling!

Now go.

VALERE (starting to go, and coming back again)

One last word ...

DORINE

What a gabble and pother!

Be off! By this door, you. And you, by t'other.

(She pushes them off, by the shoulders, in opposite directions.)

ACT III

SCENE I

DAMIS, DORINE

DAMIS

May lightning strike me dead this very instant,

May I be everywhere proclaimed a scoundrel,

If any reverence or power shall stop me,

And if I don't do straightway something desperate!

DORINE

I beg you, moderate this towering passion;

Your father did but merely mention it.

Not all things that are talked of turn to facts;

The road is long, sometimes, from plans to acts.

DAMIS

No, I must end this paltry fellow's plots,

And he shall hear from me a truth or two.

DORINE

So ho! Go slow now. Just you leave the fellow--

Your father too--in your step-mother's hands.

She has some influence with this Tartuffe,

He makes a point of heeding all she says,

And I suspect that he is fond of her.

Would God 'twere true!--'Twould be the height of humour

Now, she has sent for him, in your behalf,

To sound him on this marriage, to find out

What his ideas are, and to show him plainly

What troubles he may cause, if he persists

In giving countenance to this design.

His man says, he's at prayers, I mustn't see him,

But likewise says, he'll presently be down.

So off with you, and let me wait for him.

DAMIS

I may be present at this interview.

DORINE

No, no! They must be left alone.

DAMIS

I won't

So much as speak to him.

DORINE

Go on! We know you

And your high tantrums. Just the way to spoil things!

Be off.

DAMIS

No, I must see--I'll keep my temper.

DORINE

Out on you, what a plague! He's coming. Hide!

(Damis goes and hides in the closet at the back of the stage.)

SCENE II

TARTUFFE, DORINE

TARTUFFE (speaking to his valet, off the stage, as soon as he sees

Dorine is there)

Lawrence, put up my hair-cloth shirt and scourge,

And pray that Heaven may shed its light upon you.

If any come to see me, say I'm gone

To share my alms among the prisoners.

DORINE (aside)

What affectation and what showing off!

TARTUFFE

What do you want with me?

DORINE

To tell you ...

TARTUFFE (taking a handkerchief from his pocket)

Ah!

Before you speak, pray take this handkerchief.

DORINE

What?

TARTUFFE

Cover up that bosom, which I can't

Endure to look on. Things like that offend

Our souls, and fill our minds with sinful thoughts.

DORINE

Are you so tender to temptation, then,

And has the flesh such power upon your senses?

I don't know how you get in such a heat;

For my part, I am not so prone to lust,

And I could see you stripped from head to foot,

And all your hide not tempt me in the least.

TARTUFFE

Show in your speech some little modesty,

Or I must instantly take leave of you.

DORINE

No, no, I'll leave you to yourself; I've only

One thing to say: Madam will soon be down,

And begs the favour of a word with you.

TARTUFFE

Ah! Willingly.

DORINE (aside)

How gentle all at once!

My faith, I still believe I've hit upon it.

TARTUFFE

Will she come soon?

DORINE

I think I hear her now.

Yes, here she is herself; I'll leave you with her.