Tartuffe

Madame Pernelle and Flipotte, her servant; Elmire, Mariane, Cléante, 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.

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!

Cléante

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 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.

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 guesswork 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!

Tartuffe, Dorine.

Tartuffe

Speaking to his valet, off the stage, as soon as he sees Dorine is there.

Lawrence, put up my haircloth 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.

Orgon, Damis, Tartuffe.

Orgon

Just Heaven! Can what I hear be credited?

Tartuffe

Yes, brother, I am wicked, I am guilty, A miserable sinner, steeped in evil, The greatest criminal that ever lived. Each moment of my life is stained with soilures; And all is but a mass of crime and filth; Heaven, for my punishment, I see it plainly, Would mortify me now. Whatever wrong They find to charge me with, I’ll not deny it But guard against the pride of self-defence. Believe their stories, arm your wrath against me, And drive me like a villain from your house; I cannot have so great a share of shame But what I have deserved a greater still.

Orgon

To his son. You miscreant, can you dare, with such a falsehood, To try to stain the whiteness of his virtue?

Damis

What! The feigned meekness of this hypocrite Makes you discredit⁠ ⁠…

Orgon

Silence, cursed plague!

Tartuffe

Ah! Let him speak; you chide him wrongfully; You’d do far better to believe his tales. Why favour me so much in such a matter? How can you know of what I’m capable? And should you trust my outward semblance, brother, Or judge therefrom that I’m the better man? No, no; you let appearances deceive you; I’m anything but what I’m thought to be, Alas! and though all men believe me godly, The simple truth is, I’m a worthless creature.