Act III
Scene I
Damis, Dorine. | |
Damis |
May lightning strike me dead this very instant,
|
Dorine |
I beg you, moderate this towering passion;
|
Damis |
No, I must end this paltry fellow’s plots,
|
Dorine |
So ho! Go slow now. Just you leave the fellow—
|
Damis |
I may be present at this interview. |
Dorine |
No, no! They must be left alone. |
Damis |
I won’t
|
Dorine |
Go on! We know you
|
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 haircloth shirt and scourge,
|
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!
|
Dorine |
What? |
Tartuffe |
Cover up that bosom, which I can’t
|
Dorine |
Are you so tender to temptation, then,
|
Tartuffe |
Show in your speech some little modesty,
|
Dorine |
No, no, I’ll leave you to yourself; I’ve only
|
Tartuffe |
Ah! Willingly. |
Dorine |
Aside. How gentle all at once!
|
Tartuffe |
Will she come soon? |
Dorine |
I think I hear her now.
|
Scene III
Elmire, Tartuffe. | |
Tartuffe |
May Heaven’s overflowing kindness ever
|
Elmire |
I’m very grateful for your pious wishes.
|
Tartuffe |
After sitting down. And how are you recovered from your illness? |
Elmire |
Sitting down also. Quite well; the fever soon let go its hold. |
Tartuffe |
My prayers, I fear, have not sufficient merit
|
Elmire |
You’re too solicitous on my behalf. |
Tartuffe |
We could not cherish your dear health too much;
|
Elmire |
That’s pushing Christian charity too far;
|
Tartuffe |
I do far less for you than you deserve. |
Elmire |
There is a matter that I wished to speak of
|
Tartuffe |
Madam, I am overjoyed.
|
Elmire |
All that I wish, is just a word from you,
|
Damis, without their seeing him, opens the closet door halfway. |
|
Tartuffe |
I too could wish, as Heaven’s especial favour,
|
Elmire |
That is how I take it,
|
Tartuffe |
Pressing her fingertips. Madam, ’tis so; and such is my devotion … |
Elmire |
Ouch! but you squeeze too hard. |
Tartuffe |
Excess of zeal.
|
He puts his hand on her knee. |
|
Elmire |
What’s your hand doing there? |
Tartuffe |
Feeling your gown; the stuff is very soft. |
Elmire |
Let be, I beg you; I am very ticklish. |
She moves her chair away, and Tartuffe brings his nearer. |
|
Tartuffe |
Handling the lace yoke of Elmire’s dress.
Dear me how wonderful in workmanship
|
Elmire |
Yes, very true. But let us come to business.
|
Tartuffe |
He did hint some such thing; but truly, madam,
|
Elmire |
You mean you cannot love terrestrial things. |
Tartuffe |
The heart within my bosom is not stone. |
Elmire |
I well believe your sighs all tend to Heaven,
|
Tartuffe |
Love for the beauty of eternal things
|
Elmire |
Your declaration’s turned most gallantly;
|
Tartuffe |
Though pious, I am nonetheless a man;
|
Elmire |
I’ve heard you through—your speech is clear, at least.
|
Tartuffe |
I know that you’re too good and generous,
|
Elmire |
Some women might do otherwise, perhaps,
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Scene IV
Elmire, Damis, Tartuffe. | |
Damis |
Coming out of the closet-room where he had been hiding.
No, I say! This thing must be made public.
|
Elmire |
No, no; it is enough if he reforms,
|
Damis |
You’ve reasons of your own for acting thus;
|
Elmire |
Damis … |
Damis |
No, by your leave; I’ll not be counselled.
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Scene V
Orgon, Elmire, Damis, Tartuffe. | |
Damis |
Father, we’ve news to welcome your arrival,
|
Elmire |
Yes, I believe a wife should never trouble
|
Scene VI
Orgon, Damis, Tartuffe. | |
Orgon |
Just Heaven! Can what I hear be credited? |
Tartuffe |
Yes, brother, I am wicked, I am guilty,
|
Orgon |
To his son. You miscreant, can you dare, with such a falsehood,
|
Damis |
What! The feigned meekness of this hypocrite
|
Orgon |
Silence, cursed plague! |
Tartuffe |
Ah! Let him speak; you chide him wrongfully;
|
To Damis. Yes, my dear son, say on, and call me traitor,
|
|
Orgon |
To Tartuffe. Ah, brother, ’tis too much! |
To his son. You’ll not relent,
|
|
Damis |
What! His talk can so deceive you … |
Orgon |
Silence, you scoundrel! |
To Tartuffe. Brother, rise, I beg you. |
|
To his son. Infamous villain! |
|
Damis |
Can he … |
Orgon |
Silence! |
Damis |
What … |
Orgon |
Another word, I’ll break your every bone. |
Tartuffe |
Brother, in God’s name, don’t be angry with him!
|
Orgon |
To his son. Ungrateful monster! |
Tartuffe |
Stop. Upon my knees
|
Orgon |
Throwing himself on his knees too, and embracing Tartuffe. Alas! How can you? |
To his son. Villain! Behold his goodness! |
|
Damis |
So … |
Orgon |
Be still. |
Damis |
What! I … |
Orgon |
Be still, I say. I know your motives
|
Damis |
What! Will you force her to accept his hand? |
Orgon |
Yes, and this very evening, to enrage you,
|
Damis |
Who? I? Ask pardon of that cheating scoundrel … ? |
Orgon |
Do you resist, you beggar, and insult him?
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To Tartuffe. Don’t restrain me. |
|
To his son. Off with you! Leave my house this instant, sirrah,
|
|
Damis |
Yes, I will leave your house, but … |
Orgon |
Leave it quickly.
|
Scene VII
Orgon, Tartuffe. | |
Orgon |
What! So insult a saintly man of God! |
Tartuffe |
Heaven, forgive him all the pain he gives me!4 |
To Orgon. Could you but know with what distress I see
|
|
Orgon |
Ah! |
Tartuffe |
The mere thought of such ingratitude
|
Orgon |
In tears, running to the door through which he drove away his son.
Scoundrel! I wish I’d never let you go,
|
To Tartuffe. Brother, compose yourself, and don’t be angry. |
|
Tartuffe |
Nay, brother, let us end these painful quarrels.
|
Orgon |
What! You can’t mean it? |
Tartuffe |
Yes, they hate me here,
|
Orgon |
What of it? Do you find I listen to them? |
Tartuffe |
No doubt they won’t stop there. These same reports
|
Orgon |
No, brother, never. |
Tartuffe |
Ah! my friend, a woman
|
Orgon |
No, no. |
Tartuffe |
So let me quickly go away
|
Orgon |
No, you shall stay; my life depends upon it. |
Tartuffe |
Then I must mortify myself. And yet,
|
Orgon |
No, never! |
Tartuffe |
Very well, then;
|
Orgon |
No, you shall haunt her, just to spite them all.
|
Tartuffe |
Heaven’s will be done in everything! |
Orgon |
Poor man!
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