Tartuffe
By Molière.
Translated by Curtis Hidden Page.
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Introductory Note
Louis XIV entertained his court, in May of 1664, at his recently finished palace and pleasure-grounds of Versailles, with a week of uninterrupted festival. Molière, now the chief furnisher of the king’s pleasures, gave during the week four plays: The Bores; The Forced Marriage; The Princess of Elis, begun in verse, but hastily finished in prose to be ready for the king’s entertainment; and the first three acts of Tartuffe. These three acts taken alone must have seemed much less serious than the play as a whole seems to us now. They are in fact made up for the most part of excellent light comedy:—the harangues of Madame Pernelle, the retorts of Dorine, the quarrel and reconciliation of the lovers, the famous scene of “The poor man!”, and that of the confounding of Damis. Tartuffe himself does not enter until the second scene of the third act, and in that act he is odious and comical; not, as in the later acts, odious and almost terrifying. The character of Cléante was less seriously conceived than in later versions of the play, since part of his original role was later transferred to Dorine. And some of the more serious passages of these three acts as we have them now, especially in the speeches of Cléante, were probably not yet written.
Nevertheless the character of Tartuffe was clearly enough indicated, and the seriousness of Molière’s attack upon religious hypocrisy was evident enough, to arouse immediate opposition. Anne of Austria, the queen-mother, and all the religious or pseudo-religious “cabal” of the court, in which the Jesuits were powerful, united to persuade the young king that Molière’s play was dangerous to true religion; and its public representation was forbidden. A contemporary account of the week’s festivities says: “Although the play was thought most amusing, yet the king, realising what a resemblance there is between those who in true devoutness seek the way to Heaven, and those who with a vain show of good works nonetheless do evil, could not in his delicate carefulness for the things that concern religion suffer vice to be made so like virtue, that one might be taken for the other; and therefore, though there was no doubt of the good intent of the author, he forbade the giving of the play in public, and deprived himself of the pleasure of it, that offence might not come to others who were less capable of discerning good from evil.” The king was at heart on Molière’s side, whatever he might think public policy demanded. “Your majesty,” wrote Molière in his first formal petition for leave to give the play, “was so good as to declare that you could find no fault in this comedy, though you forbade me to produce it in public.”
The prohibition in fact covered only public performances—although a worthy curate, in a book directed against Molière, calling him “a demon clothed in flesh and dressed as a man … who deserved for his crime of sacrilege and impiety to be condemned to public execution, and that by fire, foretaste of the fires of hell, to expiate this terrible crime of lèse-majesté against God, a crime which tends to destroy our Catholic religion,” had declared that the king ordered Molière “to suppress and tear in pieces, destroy and burn all that he had yet written of it, and write no more such infamous matter, on pain of his life.” Molière made his play known by repeated readings (as Beaumarchais was to do with his Marriage of Figaro over a century later), and even won the approval of the papal legate Chigi, as he boasts in his first petition; and he gave several private performances under the patronage of those nearest the king. First the king’s brother, entertaining part of the court at Villers-Cotteret on September 25, 1664, had Molière produce again the first three acts of Tartuffe. Then Condé, the first prince of the blood, had the play produced three times, November 29, 1664, November 8, 1665, and September 20, 1668.
The edition of Molière’s works, published in 1682, and edited by La Grange and Vinot, speaks of the play as having been given, at these three performances for Condé, “perfect, complete, and finished.” It has therefore been taken for granted by all scholars and editors that the play was completed, practically in the form in which we have it, by November, 1664. There exists however a letter of Condé’s son, the Duc d’Enghien, written in October of 1665, and recently published, in which he urges his agent at Paris to beg Molière, in all secrecy, for a performance of Tartuffe (the one actually given November 8, 1665), and to ask him, “in case the fourth act of Tartuffe be written, whether he could not give that also.” The Duc d’Enghien had been present at the performance of November, 1664; if the whole play had been given then, why should he ask doubtfully, just before the performance of November, 1665, whether the fourth act were yet written, and could be given? The only solution yet suggested is that by “written” the Duc d’Enghien may have meant “rewritten”—which to say the least seems doubtful. I am inclined to think, in spite of the usual accuracy of La Grange, that the adjectives “perfect, complete, and finished” may rightly have applied to the play only at the two later, or possibly even the last, of these three performances for Condé; and that, contrary to the universally accepted opinion, the play was not finished until after 1664, and possibly even not until 1667, when the first public performance was given. There is further evidence pointing in this direction in a letter written by the French Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, Monsieur de Lionne, to the librarian of the ex-Queen of Sweden, Christine, who eagerly wished to arrange a private performance of Tartuffe. On February 26, 1666, Monsieur de Lionne writes: “What you request, in behalf of the Queen of Sweden, regarding the comedy of Tartuffe which Molière had begun and has never finished, is entirely impossible, being a matter not in my control, or even in that of the king. …” Monsieur Mesnard, who gives this letter in the Grands Ecrivains edition of Molière, asks in a note on the line which I have italicised: “Was Monsieur de Lionne so ill informed? Or did he pretend to be?” It is hardly probable that he was ill informed, since the rest of the letter shows familiarity with the king’s personal attitude toward the play, and with Molière’s personal reasons for not wishing to let it go out of his hands. May we not infer that possibly Monsieur de Lionne was right, and that in February of 1666 Molière had not yet given final shape to the last acts of his play? It is certainly interesting and suggestive to consider the last two acts of Tartuffe as perhaps not having been written, in anything like their present form at least, until after The Misanthrope; and this would explain their marked contrast, in tone and in mood, with the first three acts, which belong (excepting possibly a few of the more serious passages) to a somewhat earlier and very different period of Molière’s life.
In any case he was constantly revising the play. In 1667 he gave it a new title, The Impostor the better to protect himself from the charge of criticising in it men of true religion; he changed the name of its principal character (for the word tartuffe had already come into general use as a common noun, suggesting at once hypocrisy and religious unction) to Panulphe, and made him a man of the world, dressed in the latest fashion, with large wig, little hat, short sword, and “lace all over his clothes,” to avoid the resemblance of the black-robed lay confessor Tartuffe with the priesthood; and, as he says, “toning down the play in many places, cut out everything which it seemed possible could furnish the shadow of a pretext to the famous originals of the portrait; but all to no purpose.” In this form the play was produced at Paris, August 5, 1667, while the king, who it seems had orally given permission for its production if properly revised, was absent with the army in Flanders; on the next day the President of the highest court in Paris issued an injunction forbidding further performances, and five days later the Archbishop of Paris promulgated an order forbidding all persons to take part in, read, or hear the play, in public or in private, under penalty of excommunication. Molière at once closed his theatre, and despatched two of his chief actors with his second petition to the king, who promised to take up the matter again on his return. It was not for a year and a half, however, that formal and authoritative permission was finally granted, and the play was given, beginning on February 5, 1669, to the largest audiences that had ever crowded Molière’s theatre. In the meanwhile Molière had still further revised his work (as we know from comparing our present text with a rather detailed contemporary account of the single performance of 1667), had restored the name Tartuffe, and had given to the role of Cléante its seriousness and importance as representing his own ideas and his answer to his enemies.
This answer he repeated, in his own person, in the preface to the first edition of the play:
“If you will take the trouble to examine my comedy in good faith, you will surely see that my intentions are throughout innocent, and that the play in no wise tends to turn to ridicule the things that we ought to reverence; that I have shown in it all that carefulness which the delicacy of the subject called for; and that I have used all the art and the pains that I could, to make clear the distinction between your hypocrite and your man of true devoutness. I have employed to that end two whole acts in preparing the entry of my scoundrel. He does not leave the auditor one moment in doubt; … he says nothing, he does nothing, but what paints him to the spectators as a rascal, and sets off the character of the truly virtuous man I put in opposition to him …
“If the office of comedy is to correct the vices of men, I know not why any should have a special privilege of exemption. This one [hypocrisy] has consequences far more dangerous to the State than all the others. … ’Tis a mighty stroke at any vice to make it the laughingstock of everybody; for men will easily suffer reproof; but they can by no means endure mockery. They will consent to be wicked, but not to be ridiculous.”
Dramatis Personae
-
Madame Pernelle, mother of Orgon
-
Orgon, husband of Elmire
-
Elmire, wife of Orgon
-
Damis, son of Orgon
-
Mariane, daughter of Orgon, in love with Valère
-
Valère, in love with Mariane
-
Cléante, brother-in-law of Orgon
-
Tartuffe, a hypocrite
-
Dorine, Mariane’s maid
-
Mr. Loyal, a bailiff
-
A Police Officer
-
Flipotte, Madame Pernelle’s servant
The Scene is at Paris
Tartuffe
Or,
The Hypocrite
Act I
Scene I
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.
|
Elmire |
We’re only paying what is due you, mother.
|
Madame Pernelle |
Because I can’t endure your carryings-on,
|
Dorine |
If … |
Madame Pernelle |
You’re a servant wench, my girl, and much
|
Damis |
But … |
Madame Pernelle |
You’re a fool, my boy—f, o, o, l
|
Mariane |
I think … |
Madame Pernelle |
O dearie me, his little sister!
|
Elmire |
But, mother … |
Madame Pernelle |
Daughter, by your leave, your conduct
|
Cléante |
But, madam, after all … |
Madame Pernelle |
Sir, as for you,
|
Damis |
Mr. Tartuffe, your friend, is mighty lucky … |
Madame Pernelle |
He is a holy man, and must be heeded;
|
Damis |
What! Shall I let a bigot criticaster
|
Dorine |
If we must hark to him, and heed his maxims,
|
Madame Pernelle |
And all he censures is well censured, too.
|
Damis |
No, madam, look you, nothing—not my father
|
Dorine |
Besides, ’tis downright scandalous to see
|
Madame Pernelle |
Eh! Mercy sakes alive! Things would go better
|
Dorine |
He passes for a saint in your opinion.
|
Madame Pernelle |
Just listen to her tongue! |
Dorine |
I wouldn’t trust him,
|
Madame Pernelle |
I don’t know what the servant’s character
|
Dorine |
Of course. But why, especially of late,
Pointing to Elmire. Upon my word, he’s jealous of our mistress. |
Madame Pernelle |
You hold your tongue, and think what you are saying.
|
Cléante |
Eh! madam, can you hope to keep folk’s tongues
|
Dorine |
Our neighbour Daphne, and her little husband,
|
Madame Pernelle |
These arguments are nothing to the purpose.
|
Dorine |
O admirable pattern! Virtuous dame!
|
Madame Pernelle |
To Elmire. There! That’s the kind of rigmarole to please you,
|
To Cléante. So! Now the gentlemen must snicker, must he?
|
|
To Elmire. Daughter, goodbye; not one word more.
|
|
Cuffing Flipotte.
Come, you! What makes you dream and stand agape,
|
Scene II
Cléante, Dorine. | |
Cléante |
I won’t escort her down,
|
Dorine |
Bless us! What a pity
|
Cléante |
How she got angry with us all for nothing!
|
Dorine |
Her case is nothing, though, beside her son’s!
’tis a servant speaking.2
Master exclaims: “God bless you!”—Oh, he dotes
|
Scene III
Elmire, Mariane, Damis, Cléante, Dorine. | |
Elmire |
To Cléante. You’re very lucky to have missed the speech
|
Cléante |
And I, to save time, will await him here;
|
Scene IV
Cléante, Damis, Dorine. | |
Damis |
I wish you’d say a word to him about
|
Dorine |
He’s coming. |
Scene V
Orgon, Cléante, Dorine. | |
Orgon |
Ah! Good morning, brother. |
Cléante |
I was just going, but am glad to greet you.
|
Orgon |
Dorine … |
To Cléante. Just wait a bit, please, brother-in-law.
|
|
To Dorine. Has everything gone well these last two days?
|
|
Dorine |
Madam had fever, and a splitting headache
|
Orgon |
And how about Tartuffe? |
Dorine |
Tartuffe? He’s well;
|
Orgon |
Poor man! |
Dorine |
At evening she had nausea
|
Orgon |
And how
|
Dorine |
He supped alone, before her,
|
Orgon |
Poor man! |
Dorine |
All night she couldn’t get a wink
|
Orgon |
How
|
Dorine |
Gently inclined to slumber,
|
Orgon |
Poor man! |
Dorine |
At last she let us all persuade her,
|
Orgon |
And how about
|
Dorine |
He plucked up courage properly,
|
Orgon |
Poor man! |
Dorine |
So now they both are doing well;
|
Scene VI
Orgon, Cléante. | |
Cléante |
Brother, she ridicules you to your face;
|
Orgon |
Stop there, good brother,
|
Cléante |
Since you will have it so, I do not know him;
|
Orgon |
Dear brother, you’d be charmed to know him;
|
Cléante |
Your feelings are humane, I must say, brother! |
Orgon |
Ah! If you’d seen him, as I saw him first,
|
Cléante |
Zounds, brother, you are mad, I think! Or else
|
Orgon |
Brother, your language smacks of atheism;
|
Cléante |
That is the usual strain of all your kind;
|
Orgon |
You are the sole expounder of the doctrine;
|
Cléante |
I’m not the sole expounder of the doctrine,
|
Orgon |
My dear good brother-in-law, have you quite done? |
Cléante |
Yes. |
Orgon |
I’m your humble servant. |
Starts to go. | |
Cléante |
Just a word.
|
Orgon |
Yes. |
Cléante |
You had named the happy day. |
Orgon |
’Tis true. |
Cléante |
Then why put off the celebration of it? |
Orgon |
I can’t say. |
Cléante |
Can you have some other plan
|
Orgon |
Perhaps. |
Cléante |
You mean to break your word? |
Orgon |
I don’t say that. |
Cléante |
I hope no obstacle
|
Orgon |
Well, that depends. |
Cléante |
Why must you beat about?
|
Orgon |
Heaven be praised! |
Cléante |
What answer shall I take him? |
Orgon |
Why, anything you please. |
Cléante |
But we must know
|
Orgon |
I shall do the will
|
Cléante |
Come, be serious. You’ve given
|
Orgon |
Goodbye. |
Cléante |
Alone. His love, methinks, has much to fear;
|
Act II
Scene I
Orgon, Mariane. | |
Orgon |
Now, Mariane. |
Mariane |
Yes, father? |
Orgon |
Come; I’ll tell you
|
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;
|
Mariane |
I’m grateful for your fatherly affection. |
Orgon |
Well spoken, daughter. Now, prove you deserve it
|
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,
|
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
|
Orgon |
Tartuffe. |
Mariane |
But, father, I protest it isn’t true!
|
Orgon |
Because I mean to have it be the truth.
|
Mariane |
What, father, you would … ? |
Orgon |
Yes, child, I’m resolved
|
Seeing Dorine. |
|
What are you doing there?
|
|
Dorine |
Upon my word, I don’t know how the rumour
|
Orgon |
What! Is the thing incredible? |
Dorine |
So much so
|
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;
|
Orgon |
But I tell you … |
Dorine |
No. No use.
|
Orgon |
If I let my anger … |
Dorine |
Well, then, we do believe you; and the worse
|
Orgon |
You hark me:
|
Dorine |
There, there, let’s not get angry, sir, I beg you.
|
Orgon |
You hold your tongue. And know, the less he has,
|
Dorine |
Yes, so he says himself. Such vanity
|
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;
|
Dorine |
You’d have him run there just when you do.
|
Orgon |
I don’t ask your opinion on the matter.
|
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;
|
Orgon |
Have done with interrupting. Hold your tongue.
|
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;
|
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;
|
Dorine |
Then mum’s the word; I’ll take it out in thinking. |
Orgon |
Think all you please; but not a syllable
|
Turning to his daughter. | |
As a wise father, I’ve considered all
|
|
Dorine |
I’ll go mad
|
She stops the instant he turns his head. | |
Orgon |
Though he’s no lady’s man,
|
Dorine |
A pretty phiz! |
Orgon |
So that, although you may not care at all
|
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
|
|
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
|
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 | |
Daughter, you must approve of my design. …
|
|
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;
|
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
|
Scene III
Mariane, Dorine. | |
Dorine |
Say, have you lost the tongue from out your head?
|
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;
|
Mariane |
A father’s rights are such, it seems to me,
|
Dorine |
Came, talk it out. Valère has asked your hand:
|
Mariane |
Dorine! How can you wrong my love so much,
|
Dorine |
How do I know if heart and words agree,
|
Mariane |
Dorine, you wrong me greatly if you doubt it;
|
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
|
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.
|
Mariane |
Oh dear, Dorine you get in such a temper!
|
Dorine |
I have no sympathy when folk talk nonsense,
|
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?
|
Dorine |
But if your father is a crazy fool,
|
Mariane |
But shall I publicly refuse and scorn
|
Dorine |
No, no, I ask you nothing. You shall be
|
Mariane |
Oh dear! … |
Dorine |
What joy and pride will fill your heart
|
Mariane |
Oh, stop, I beg you; try to find some way
|
Dorine |
No, no, a daughter must obey her father,
|
Mariane |
Oh, you’ll kill me. Please
|
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 Valère … |
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
|
She starts to go. |
|
Dorine |
There, there! Come back. I can’t be angry long.
|
Mariane |
Oh, don’t you see, Dorine, if I must bear
|
Dorine |
Now don’t you fret. We’ll surely find some way.
|
Scene IV
Valère, Mariane, Dorine. | |
Valère |
Madam, a piece of news—quite new to me—
|
Mariane |
What piece of news? |
Valère |
Your marriage with Tartuffe. |
Mariane |
’Tis true my father has this plan in mind. |
Valère |
Your father, madam … |
Mariane |
Yes, he’s changed his plans,
|
Valère |
What!
|
Mariane |
Yes, he was serious,
|
Valère |
And what’s your resolution in the matter,
|
Mariane |
I don’t know. |
Valère |
That’s a pretty answer.
|
Mariane |
No. |
Valère |
No? |
Mariane |
What do you advise? |
Valère |
I? My advice is, marry him, by all means. |
Mariane |
That’s your advice? |
Valère |
Yes. |
Mariane |
Do you mean it? |
Valère |
Surely.
|
Mariane |
Oh, very well, sir! I shall take your counsel. |
Valère |
You’ll find no trouble taking it, I warrant. |
Mariane |
No more than you did giving it, be sure. |
Valère |
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. |
Valère |
So,
|
Mariane |
I beg you, say no more of that.
|
Valère |
Don’t shield yourself with talk of my advice.
|
Mariane |
Exactly so. |
Valère |
Of course it is; your heart
|
Mariane |
Alas!
|
Valère |
Yes, yes,
|
Mariane |
No doubt of it; the love your high deserts
|
Valère |
Good Lord, have done with my deserts!
|
Mariane |
The loss is not so great; you’ll easily
|
Valère |
I’ll try my best, that you may well believe.
|
Mariane |
In faith, a high and noble sentiment. |
Valère |
Yes; and it’s one that all men must approve.
|
Mariane |
Oh, no, indeed! For my part, I could wish
|
Valère |
What! You wish it? |
Mariane |
Yes. |
Valère |
This is insult heaped on injury;
|
He takes a step or two as if to go away. |
|
Mariane |
Oh, very well then. |
Valère |
Turning back.
But remember this.
|
Mariane |
Of course. |
Valère |
Turning back again.
And in the plan that I have formed
|
Mariane |
Yes. |
Valère |
At the door. Enough; you shall be punctually obeyed. |
Mariane |
So much the better. |
Valère |
Coming back again. This is once for all. |
Mariane |
So be it, then. |
Valère |
He goes toward the door, but just as he reaches it, turns around. Eh? |
Mariane |
What? |
Valère |
You didn’t call me? |
Mariane |
I? You are dreaming. |
Valère |
Very well, I’m gone. Madam, farewell. |
He walks slowly away. |
|
Mariane |
Farewell, sir. |
Dorine |
I must say
|
She goes and seizes him by the arm, to stop him. He makes a great show of resistance. |
|
Valère |
What do you want, Dorine? |
Dorine |
Come here. |
Valère |
No, no, I’m quite beside myself.
|
Dorine |
Stop! |
Valère |
No. You see, I’m fixed, resolved, determined. |
Dorine |
So! |
Mariane |
Aside. Since my presence pains him, makes him go,
|
Dorine |
Leaving Valère, 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. |
Valère |
Aside. ’Tis clear the sight of me is torture to her;
|
Dorine |
Leaving Mariane and running after Valère.
Same thing again! Deuce take you both, I say.
|
She pulls first one, then the other, toward the middle of the stage. |
|
Valère |
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 Valère. Are you quite mad, to quarrel with her now? |
|
Valère |
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 Valère. She thinks of nothing else
|
|
To Mariane. And he loves none but you, and longs for nothing
|
|
Mariane |
To Valère. Why did you give me such advice then, pray? |
Valère |
To Mariane. Why ask for my advice on such a matter? |
Dorine |
You both are daft, I tell you. Here, your hands. |
To Valère. Come, yours. |
|
Valère |
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—
|
Valère and Mariane hold each other’s hands some time without looking at each other. |
|
Valère |
At last turning toward Mariane.
Come, don’t be so ungracious now about it;
|
Mariane looks sideways toward Valère, with just a bit of a smile. |
|
Dorine |
My faith and troth, what fools these lovers be! |
Valère |
To Mariane. But come now, have I not a just complaint?
|
Mariane |
And are you not yourself the most ungrateful … ? |
Dorine |
Leave this discussion till another time;
|
Mariane |
Then tell us how to go about it. |
Dorine |
Well,
|
To Mariane. Your father’s daft; |
|
To Valère. This plan is nonsense. |
|
To Mariane. You had better humour
|
|
To Valère. You, go at once and set your friends at work
|
|
Valère |
To Mariane. Whatever efforts we may make,
|
Mariane |
To Valère. I cannot answer for my father’s whims;
|
Valère |
You thrill me through with joy! Whatever comes … |
Dorine |
Oho! These lovers! Never done with prattling!
|
Valère |
Starting to go, and coming back again. One last word … |
Dorine |
What a gabble and pother!
|
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,
|
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,
|
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.
|
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?
|
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!
|
Act IV
Scene I
Cléante, Tartuffe. | |
Cléante |
Yes, it’s become the talk of all the town,
|
Tartuffe |
Alas! So far as I’m concerned, how gladly
|
Cléante |
You try to put us off with specious phrases;
|
Tartuffe |
Already I have told you I forgive him;
|
Cléante |
And does it order you to lend your ear
|
Tartuffe |
No one who knows me, sir, can have the thought
|
Cléante |
Eh, sir, give up these conscientious scruples
|
Tartuffe |
Sir, it is half-past three; certain devotions
|
Cléante |
Alone. Ah! |
Scene II
Elmire, Mariane, Cléante, Dorine. | |
Dorine |
To Cléante. Sir, we beg you
|
Scene III
Orgon, Elmire, Mariane, Cléante, Dorine. | |
Orgon |
So ho! I’m glad to find you all together. |
To Mariane. Here is the contract that shall make you happy,
|
|
Mariane |
On her knees before Orgon.
Father, I beg you, in the name of Heaven
|
Orgon |
A little touched. Come, come, my heart, be firm! no human weakness! |
Mariane |
I am not jealous of your love for him;
|
Orgon |
These girls are ninnies!—always turning nuns
|
Dorine |
But what … ? |
Orgon |
You hold your tongue, before your betters.
|
Cléante |
If you will let me answer, and advise … |
Orgon |
Brother, I value your advice most highly;
|
Elmire |
To her husband. I can’t find words to cope with such a case;
|
Orgon |
I am your humble servant, and can see
|
Elmire |
And must our honour always rush to arms
|
Orgon |
I know … and you can’t throw me off the scent. |
Elmire |
Once more, I am astounded at your weakness;
|
Orgon |
See it? |
Elmire |
Yes. |
Orgon |
Nonsense. |
Elmire |
Come! If I should find
|
Orgon |
All rubbish. |
Elmire |
What a man! But answer me.
|
Orgon |
Why, then, I’d say … say nothing. It can’t be. |
Elmire |
Your error has endured too long already,
|
Orgon |
Amen! I take you at your word. We’ll see
|
Elmire |
To Dorine. Send him to me. |
Dorine |
To Elmire. The man’s a crafty codger,
|
Elmire |
To Dorine. Oh no! A lover’s never hard to cheat,
|
To Cléante and Mariane. And you, withdraw. |
Scene IV
Elmire, Orgon. | |
Elmire |
Bring up this table, and get under it. |
Orgon |
What? |
Elmire |
One essential is to hide you well. |
Orgon |
Why under there? |
Elmire |
Oh, dear! Do as I say;
|
Orgon |
I’m going a long way to humour you,
|
Elmire |
And then you’ll have, I think, no more to say. |
To her husband, who is now under the table.
But mind, I’m going to meddle with strange matters;
|
Scene V
Tartuffe, Elmire; Orgon under the table. | |
Tartuffe |
They told me that you wished to see me here. |
Elmire |
Yes. I have secrets for your ear alone.
|
Tartuffe goes and closes the door, and comes back. |
|
We surely can’t afford
|
|
Tartuffe |
Your words are somewhat hard to understand,
|
Elmire |
If that refusal has offended you,
|
Tartuffe |
’Tis, past a doubt, the height of happiness,
|
Elmire |
Coughing to draw her husband’s attention.
What! Must you go so fast?—and all at once
|
Tartuffe |
The less a blessing is deserved, the less
|
Elmire |
Ah! How your love enacts the tyrant’s role,
|
Tartuffe |
But if my worship wins your gracious favour,
|
Elmire |
But how can I consent to what you wish,
|
Tartuffe |
If Heaven is all that stands now in my way,
|
Elmire |
But they affright us so with Heaven’s commands! |
Tartuffe |
I can dispel these foolish fears, dear madam;
’Tis a scoundrel speaking.5
There is a science, madam, that instructs us
|
Elmire coughs still louder. |
|
Your cough is very bad. |
|
Elmire |
Yes, I’m in torture. |
Tartuffe |
Would you accept this bit of licorice? |
Elmire |
The case is obstinate, I find; and all
|
Tartuffe |
’Tis very trying. |
Elmire |
More than words can say. |
Tartuffe |
In any case, your scruple’s easily
|
Elmire |
After coughing again.
So then, I see I must resolve to yield;
|
Tartuffe |
It need not, madam; and the thing itself … |
Elmire |
Open the door, I pray you, and just see
|
Tartuffe |
Why take such care for him? Between ourselves,
|
Elmire |
No matter; go, I beg you, look about,
|
Scene VI
Orgon, Elmire. | |
Orgon |
Crawling out from under the table.
That is, I own, a man … abominable!
|
Elmire |
What? You come out so soon? You cannot mean it!
|
Orgon |
Nothing more wicked e’er came out of Hell. |
Elmire |
Dear me! Don’t go and credit things too lightly.
|
As Tartuffe enters, she makes her husband stand behind her. |
Scene VII
Tartuffe, Elmire, Orgon. | |
Tartuffe |
Not seeing Orgon.
All things conspire toward my satisfaction,
|
Orgon |
Stopping him.
Softly! You are too eager in your amours;
|
Elmire |
To Tartuffe. ’Twas quite against my character to play
|
Tartuffe |
What? You believe … ? |
Orgon |
Come, now, no protestations.
|
Tartuffe |
But my intent … |
Orgon |
That talk is out of season.
|
Tartuffe |
You’re the one
|
Scene VIII
Elmire, Orgon. | |
Elmire |
What sort of speech is this? What can it mean? |
Orgon |
My faith, I’m dazed. This is no laughing matter. |
Elmire |
What? |
Orgon |
From his words I see my great mistake;
|
Elmire |
The deed of gift … |
Orgon |
Yes, that is past recall.
|
Elmire |
What’s that? |
Orgon |
You shall know all. Let’s see at once
|
Act V
Scene I
Orgon, Cléante. | |
Cléante |
Whither away so fast? |
Orgon |
How should I know? |
Cléante |
Methinks we should begin by taking counsel
|
Orgon |
I’m all worked up about that wretched box.
|
Cléante |
That box must hide some mighty mystery? |
Orgon |
Argas, my friend who is in trouble, brought it
|
Cléante |
How could you trust them to another’s hands? |
Orgon |
By reason of a conscientious scruple.
|
Cléante |
Your case is bad, so far as I can see;
|
Orgon |
What! Can a soul so base, a heart so false,
|
Cléante |
So! There you go again, quite off the handle!
|
Scene II
Damis, Orgon, Cléante. | |
Damis |
What! father, can the scoundrel threaten you,
|
Orgon |
Too true, my son. It tortures me to think on’t. |
Damis |
Let me alone, I’ll chop his ears off for him.
|
Cléante |
Spoke like a true young man. Now just calm down,
|
Scene III
Madame Pernelle, Orgon, Elmire, Cléante, Mariane, Damis, Dorine. | |
Madame Pernelle |
What’s this? I hear of fearful mysteries! |
Orgon |
Strange things indeed, for my own eyes to witness;
|
Dorine |
Poor man! |
Madame Pernelle |
My son, I cannot possibly
|
Orgon |
What? |
Madame Pernelle |
Worthy men are still the sport of envy. |
Orgon |
Mother, what do you mean by such a speech? |
Madame Pernelle |
There are strange goings-on about your house,
|
Orgon |
What’s that to do with what I tell you now? |
Madame Pernelle |
I always said, my son, when you were little:
|
Orgon |
What’s that fine speech to do with present facts? |
Madame Pernelle |
Be sure, they’ve forged a hundred silly lies … |
Orgon |
I’ve told you once, I saw it all myself. |
Madame Pernelle |
For slanderers abound in calumnies … |
Orgon |
Mother, you’d make me damn my soul. I tell you
|
Madame Pernelle |
Their tongues for spitting venom never lack,
|
Orgon |
Your speech has not a single grain of sense.
|
Madame Pernelle |
My dear, appearances are oft deceiving,
|
Orgon |
I’ll go mad. |
Madame Pernelle |
False suspicions may delude,
|
Orgon |
Must I construe as Christian charity
|
Madame Pernelle |
You must, at least,
|
Orgon |
The devil! How could I see any surer?
|
Madame Pernelle |
In short, ’tis known too pure a zeal inflames him;
|
Orgon |
If you were not my mother, I should say
|
Dorine |
To Orgon. Fortune has paid you fair, to be so doubted;
|
Cléante |
We’re wasting time here in the merest trifling,
|
Damis |
You think his impudence could go far? |
Elmire |
For one, I can’t believe it possible;
|
Cléante |
Don’t trust to that; he’ll find abundant warrant
|
Orgon |
True; yet what could I do? The rascal’s pride
|
Cléante |
I wish with all my heart that some pretence
|
Elmire |
If I had known what weapons he was armed with,
|
Orgon |
To Dorine, seeing Mr. Loyal come in.
Who’s coming now? Go quick, find out.
|
Scene IV
Orgon, Madame Pernelle, Elmire, Mariane, Cléante, Damis, Dorine, Mr. Loyal. | |
Mr. Loyal |
To Dorine, at the back of the stage.
Good day, good sister. Pray you, let me see
|
Dorine |
He’s occupied;
|
Mr. Loyal |
I’m not by way of being unwelcome here.
|
Dorine |
Your name, then? |
Mr. Loyal |
Tell him simply that his friend
|
Dorine |
To Orgon. It is a man who comes, with civil manners,
|
Cléante |
To Orgon. Surely you must see him,
|
Orgon |
To Cléante. Perhaps he’s come to make it up between us:
|
Cléante |
You must not get angry;
|
Mr. Loyal |
To Orgon. Sir, good day. And Heaven send
|
Orgon |
Aside to Cléante. This mild beginning suits with my conjectures
|
Mr. Loyal |
All of your house has long been dear to me;
|
Orgon |
Sir, I am much ashamed, and ask your pardon
|
Mr. Loyal |
My name is Loyal. I’m from Normandy.
|
Orgon |
What, you are here to … |
Mr. Loyal |
Pray, sir, don’t be angry.
|
Orgon |
I? Leave this house? |
Mr. Loyal |
Yes, please, sir
|
Damis |
To Mr. Loyal. Your insolence is monstrous, and astounding! |
Mr. Loyal |
To Damis. I have no business, sir, that touches you; |
Pointing to Orgon.
This is the gentleman. He’s fair and courteous,
|
|
Orgon |
But … |
Mr. Loyal |
Sir, I know you would not for a million
|
Damis |
Your long black gown may well, before you know it,
|
Mr. Loyal |
To Orgon. Sir, make your son be silent or withdraw.
|
Dorine |
Aside. This Mr. Loyal’s looks are most disloyal. |
Mr. Loyal |
I have much feeling for respectable
|
Orgon |
And how could one do worse than order people
|
Mr. Loyal |
Why, we allow you time;
|
Orgon |
I’d give this very minute, and not grudge it,
|
Cléante |
Aside to Orgon. Careful!—don’t make things worse. |
Damis |
Such insolence!
|
Dorine |
By my faith,
|
Mr. Loyal |
My girl, such infamous words are actionable.
|
Cléante |
To Mr. Loyal. Enough of this discussion, sir; have done.
|
Mr. Loyal |
Then au revoir. Heaven keep you from disaster! |
Orgon |
May Heaven confound you both, you and your master! |
Scene V
Orgon, Madame Pernelle, Elmire, Cléante, Mariane, Damis, Dorine. | |
Orgon |
Well, mother, am I right or am I not?
|
Madame Pernelle |
I’m all amazed, befuddled, and beflustered! |
Dorine |
To Orgon. You are quite wrong, you have no right to blame him;
|
Orgon |
Be still. You always need to have that told you. |
Cléante |
To Orgon. Come, let us see what course you are to follow. |
Elmire |
Go and expose his bold ingratitude.
|
Scene VI
Valère, Orgon, Madame Pernelle, Elmire, Cléante, Mariane, Damis, Dorine. | |
Valère |
’Tis with regret, sir, that I bring bad news;
|
Cléante |
His rights are armed; and this is how the scoundrel
|
Orgon |
Man is a wicked animal, I’ll own it! |
Valère |
The least delay may still be fatal, sir.
|
Orgon |
How much I owe to your obliging care!
|
Cléante |
Come hurry;
|
Scene VII
Tartuffe, an Officer, Madame Pernelle, Orgon, Elmire, Cléante, Mariane, Valère, Damis, Dorine. | |
Tartuffe |
Stopping Orgon.
Softly, sir, softly; do not run so fast;
|
Orgon |
Traitor! You saved this worst stroke for the last;
|
Tartuffe |
I shall not be embittered by your insults,
|
Cléante |
Your moderation, I must own, is great. |
Damis |
How shamelessly the wretch makes bold with Heaven! |
Tartuffe |
Your ravings cannot move me; all my thought
|
Mariane |
You must claim
|
Tartuffe |
The act cannot be aught but honourable,
|
Orgon |
Ungrateful wretch, do you forget ’twas I
|
Tartuffe |
I’ve not forgot some help you may have given;
|
Elmire |
The hypocrite! |
Dorine |
How well he knows the trick
|
Cléante |
But if the motive that you make parade of
|
Tartuffe |
To The Officer. Pray, sir, deliver me from all this clamour;
|
The Officer |
Yes, I’ve too long delayed its execution;
|
Tartuffe |
Who? I, sir? |
The Officer |
You. |
Tartuffe |
By why to prison? |
The Officer |
You
|
Dorine |
Now Heaven be praised! |
Madame Pernelle |
At last I breathe again. |
Elmire |
A happy outcome! |
Mariane |
Who’d have dared to hope it? |
Orgon |
To Tartuffe, who is being led by The Officer. There traitor! Now you’re … |
Scene VIII
Madame Pernelle, Orgon, Elmire, Mariane, Cléante, Valère, Damis, Dorine. | |
Cléante |
Brother, hold!—and don’t
|
Orgon |
Well said! We’ll go, and at his feet kneel down,
|
Endnotes
-
Referring to the rebellion called La Fronde, during the minority of Louis XIV. ↩
-
Molière’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 Molière feels called on to apologize for a touch of realism like this. Indeed, these lines were even omitted when the play was given. ↩
-
As given at the Comédie 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. ↩
-
Some modern editions have adopted the reading, preserved by tradition as that of the earliest stage version:
Heaven, forgive him even as I forgive him!
Voltaire gives still another reading:
Heaven, forgive me even as I forgive him!
Whichever was the original version, it appears in none of the early editions, and Molière probably felt forced to change it on account of its too close resemblance to the Biblical phrase. ↩
-
Molière’s note, in the original edition. ↩
Colophon
Tartuffe
was published in 1669 by
Molière.
It was translated from French in 1908 by
Curtis Hidden Page.
This ebook was produced for
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The cover page is adapted from
The Gentleman in the Shop,
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