University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

Same Scene.
Enter Damis, C., and Dorine, L.
Dam.
May I be called the worst of sneaking knaves
If any weight of power can hold me back—
Any respect—from doing something rash.

Dor.
A little curb yourself, for goodness sake;
Your father only talk'd about the scheme,
And 'tis not always plans are carried out.

Dam.
I'll terminate this upstart's vile intrigues,
And make him know a little of my mind.

Dor.
Now gently, gently—to your mother's care
Leave both your father and this same Tartuffe.
Upon the latter she has influence—
He shows respect for everything she says;
So much so, one might think his heart was touched.
She means to sound him on this marriage scheme,
Learn all his sentiments, and let him know
What mischievous results he may occasion
By giving any hope of such a plan;
His servant told me he was coming down,
So go, I pray, and let me wait him here.

Dam.
I would be present at the interview.

Dor.
No, they must be alone.

Dam.
I will not speak.

Dor.
Then you deceive yourself—I know your temper;
You will be sure to spoil the whole affair.

Dam.
No—I'll look on, and keep my temper, too.

Dor.
You'll wear me out. He comes! conceal yourself!

[Damis hides in closet, R.
Enter Tartuffe, R. C.
Tar.
Lock up my hair-shirt with the greatest care,
And pray that Heaven may illumine you.
If any one should ask for me, just say
I've gone to share my mite among the pris'ners.

Dor.
All affectation and hypocrisy!

Tar.
What would you?

Dor.
Only that—

Tar.
Stay, I entreat,
Before you speak, just take this handkerchief.

Dor.
Why?

Tar.
Cover those white shoulders rather more,
Such objects to the soul are perilous.
At once! at once! or I must quit the spot.

Dor.
There's not the least occasion, sir, for that,
I shall depart when I have said two words:
My lady is about to come down stairs,
And begs the favor of an interview.

Tar.
She's welcome to it.

Dor.
(aside)
How I soften him—
My life upon it, but my guess is right.

Tar.
Will she come soon?

Dor.
Methinks I hear her now.
Yes—'tis herself, I leave you both together.

[Exit L.
Enter Elmire, L.
Tar.
May Heav'n accord you health of mind and body,
And may it bless your days to that extent
Which the most humble of its vot'ries wishes.

Elm.
I'm much obliged for such a pious pray'r;
But take a chair, pray, and we'll talk at ease.

Tar.
(sitting.)
From your late illness are you quite recovered?

Elm.
(sitting.)
Yes, perfectly, it left me very soon.

Tar.
I cannot give that merit to my prayers,
To think they brought such favor down from Heav'n;
But this I say: I have not breath'd a prayer
That had not your recov'ry for its aim.

Elm.
Methinks 'tis too much zeal on my account.

Tar.
A health so precious cannot be o'erpriz'd,
To save that health, I would have giv'n my life.

Elm.
This is, indeed, true Christian charity;
I owe you much for such excessive kindness.

Tar.
Indeed I do, far less than you deserve.

Elm.
I wish'd to speak in secret of a matter,
And am rejoic'd that we are unobserved.

Tar.
And so am I,—it is great happiness,
Madam, to find myself alone with you;
For such a moment I have often pray'd,
But have not gain'd the precious boon till now.

Elm.
I only wish to hear a few short words
Which shall reveal the secrets of your heart.

[Damis shows himself a little.
Tar.
And, madam, I desire no greater bliss
Than to lay bare my soul before your eyes;
And to assure you, that when I have spoken
Against the visits which your charms attract,
My zeal has never been arous'd by hate,
But by a transport which allures me on—

[She draws back a litle.
Elm.
A pure emotion.
Good—I thought as much:
It was the safety of my soul concern'd you.

Tar.
(Taking Elmire's hand.)
Yes, madam, and my ardor is so great—

Elm.
You hurt my hand!

Tar.
'Tis from excess of zeal,
Never would I have hurt you by design;
No, I would rather—rather—

[Puts his hand on her knee.
Elm.
Sir, your hand!

Tar.
I touch'd your gown—the texture is most soft.

Elm.
True, true, but—

[Drawing away her chair.
Tar.
(Advancing his chair, and admiring the lace on Elmire's dress.)
Nay, 'tis really marvellous
To see how art improves the gifts of nature.

Elm.
True, true—but now on business let us talk;
They say my husband means to break his word,
By giving you his daughter. Is it true?

Tar.
He did say something, but to speak the truth,
It is not there I place my happiness.
Elsewhere the fascinations I behold
Of that high bliss which solely I desire.

Elm.
You mean, you feel no love for earthly things.

Tar.
My breast encloses not a heart of stone.

Elm.
I know, that Heav'n alone can claim your sighs,
That nothing here can fetter your desire.

Tar.
The love that binds us to eternal beauty
Blunts not our sense to that which earth bestows
The mind may be allured most readily
By the perfection of Heav'n's handiworks.
In such as you, its beauties are reflected,
And in yourself its wonders are display'd.
In that fair face such beauty is reveal'd
As ravishes the eye—transports the heart.
Ne'er could I look on you, most perfect creature,
Without a feeling in my raptur'd soul—
Here was Heav'ns portrait painted by itself!
At first I shudder'd, lest this secret flame
Was only one of Satan's crafty wiles;
And then my heart resolv'd to shun those eyes,
Thinking you were a peril to my soul.
But now I feel—thou most surpassing beauty!—
That in my passion there is nought of guilt;
And, therefore, to my heart I give free course.
'Tis bold in me—most bold, I must confess—
To bring you thus an off'ring of my heart.
Upon your goodness all my hopes depend,
Upon my own poor feeble efforts—none.
You are my hope, my blessing, my sole rest:
On you alone hangs happiness or woe.
To sum up all, I am, as you decide,
Blest, if you wish it; if you wish, it curs'd.

[Damis shows himself.
Elm.
A gallant declaration, I confess,
And somewhat startling too, to speak the truth.
Methinks you should have better arm'd your soul,
And reason'd somewhat more on such a plan.
One whom, like you, all reckon most devout—

Tar.
Devout I may be, still I am but man;
And he who, looking on those heavenly charms,
Feels his heart captured—does not stop to reason.
Doubtless, in me, this language seems most strange;
But, after all, I'm not an angel, madam,
And if my bold avowal meets your blame,
Your own enchantments you should blame no less.
When first I saw those superhuman charms,
My soul rever'd you as its sovereign.
The matchless softness of each heavenly glance,
Broke through each obstacle my heart had rais'd,
Surmounted ev'rything—pray'rs, fastings, tears,
And fixed my wishes upon you alone.
My eyes, my sighs, have often told as much—
Now to reveal myself I use my voice.
If with some little kindness you would look
Upon the pains of your unworthy slave,
Consoling me in your excess of goodness,
And to my poor condition stooping down,
Then—wondrous beauty—I would worship you
[Kneels and lakes her hand; Elmire rises.
With rapture such as never yet was seen.
Your honor, mark, can run no risk with me,
Can suffer no disgrace on my account.
The courtly fops, whom women so admire,
Are ever prompt to boast of what they do;
Their reckless tongues betraying all who trust them,
Sully the idol which their heart adores.
Now such as we burn with a prudent flame—
With us there is no doubt of secrecy,
The care which we must take of our renown
Is the best guarantee to those we love.
When you accept our hearts at once you gain
Love without scandal, joy without alarm.

Elm.
(drawing her hand away.)
I listen, and I own your eloquence
Addresses me in language plain enough.
Do you not fear that I may be inclined
To tell my husband of this gallant mood;
That when he is acquainted with your flame
His friendship for you may receive a check?

Tar.
I know that you have too much kindness, madam;
That you will pardon my temerity;
That, knowing human nature is but weak,
You will excuse the transports of my love,
Though they offend; that you will recollect
Eyes are not blind to beauty—flesh is frail.

Elm.
Others, perhaps, might take a diff'rent course,
But I shall show my prudence in this matter;
My husband shall know nothing; in return,
I have a favor, sir, to beg of you.
I wish that you would zealously promote
The union of Valère with Mariane,
Abandoning this most unrighteous power
Which builds your gain upon another's loss,
And—

Dam.
(rushing from closet.)
Madam, no,—all, all, shall be reveal'd.
Here was I hidden, not a word I've missed,
Sure Providence has brought me to the spot
To crush the traitor who has wrong'd me so.
To show me how to take a sure revenge,
On his hypocrisy and insolence,—
To lay before a cheated father's eyes,
The villain's soul, who dares to talk of love.

Elm.
No, let his future conduct make amends,
Let him deserve my pardon—that's enough.
I've promised—do not make me break my word;
Besides a noisy scandal I detest;
A wife can laugh at folly such as this,
And need not importune a husband's ears.

Dam.
You have your reasons for behaving thus,
And I have mine for taking my own course;
Every attempt to shield him is absurd.
With this eternal show of bigotry,
My indignation he has brav'd too much,
And caused too much disorder in this house;
My father he has govern'd far too long,
Marring my love, while injuring Valère.
But now, at last, the wretch shall be exposed.

Elm.
Damis—

Dam.
No, thank you—leave me to myself,
My heart is at the summit of delight;
Talk as you will I cannot be induc'd
To give up all the lux'ry of revenge;
Be well assur'd I'll see the matter out,
And lo! here comes the opportunity.
[Enter Orgon, C., and shakes hands with Tartuffe.
Father, we've got, to gladden your return,
A new and most surprising incident—
For all your kindness you are well repaid.
This gentleman has just display'd his zeal,
He aims at your dishonour—that is all;
I caught him here, sir, making to your wife
A scandalous avowal of his love.
So passing mild and prudent is her soul
That she would hide this infamous affair;
But I—I cannot screen the shameless wretch,
And think that silence is a wrong to you.

Elm.
I hold that with such vain discourse as this
A husband's mind should never be disturb'd;
That honor is not serv'd in such a fashion;
But 'tis enough, if we ourselves can guard it.
This is my view. (to Damis)
You would have held your peace
If I had had the slightest weight with you.

[Exit, L.
Org.
Good Heav'ns! can I believe what I have heard?

Tar.
Yes, brother, I'm a wicked, guilty, wretch;
A most unhappy sinner cramm'd with evil—
The greatest criminal that e'er was born,
Sullied in ev'ry moment of my life
Which is but one long course of mire and crime.
Heav'n, I see, plainly for my punishment,
To mortify me takes occasion now.
Whate'er the crime of which I am accus'd,
I have not pride enough to make reply.
Give faith to all he says. Yea, arm your wrath,
And drive me from you as a criminal,
I should not then be put to so much shame
As equals the full measure of my guilt!

Org.
(to his son.)
What, traitor! by your falsehood would you dare
To tarnish a pure virtue such as this?

Dam.
What! The feign'd meekness of this hypocrite
Can make you give the lie to—

Org.
Silence, wretch!

Tar.
No, let him speak—you blame him wrongfully—
You would do better in believing him.
Why show me so much kindness in this case?
Know you of what I may be capable?
No, no—you are deceiv'd by empty show,
I am not such as I appear to be;
The world regards me as an honest man,
But, in good truth, I am a worthless wretch.
(crosses to Damis.)
Yes, my beloved son, say what you will—
Call me a villain, thief, or murderer
And if you can find more detested names,
I do not contradict; I merit all,
And on my knees would suffer this disgrace
As just repayment for a life of sin.

[Kneels.
Org.
(to Tartuffe.)
No, 'tis too much. (crosses to Damis.)

Traitor! What! still your heart is hard,

Dam.
That you can be misguided thus!

Org.
Be silent, reprobate. Dear brother, rise.
(to Damis.)
Wretch!

Dam.
He can—

Org.
Silence!

Dam.
I shall choke with rage

Org.
Another word, sir, and I'll knock you down.

Tar.
For mercy's sake restrain your temper, sir;
Rather would I endure the heaviest pain
Than see a hair upon his head disturb'd.

Org.
(to Damis.)
Ungrateful boy.

Tar.
Nay, hear him. On both knees
I beg you will forgive him.

Org.
(falls likewise on his knees.)
Cease, pray cease.
(to Damis.)
Behold his goodness, villain.

Dam.
Then—

Org.
Peace!

Dam.
I—

Org.
Silence! I know the cause of this attack—
You hate him, all of you; but, mark me well,
The more you try to drive him from this house,
The more I am resolv'd to hold him fast;
I'll give him, yes, at once, my daughter's hand,
To crush the pride of all my family.

Dam.
You would compel her to receive his hand?

Org.
Yes, and this evening, too. To stir your wrath
I'll brave you all, and make you clearly know
That I am master here—must be obey'd.
So now, sir, please retract your calumnies,
And ask your pardon at the good man's feet.

Dam.
I—at the feet of that designing knave!

Org.
So, you refuse, sir, and insult him, too;
Oh for a stick— (to Tartuffe)
—nay do not hold my hand.
(to Damis.)
Now, at this very instant, quit my house,
And never dare to show your face again.

Dam.
Yes, I will go, but—

Org.
Quit the house, I say;
You've nothing, rascal, to expect from me
Beyond my curse, and that—

Dam.
Hold, father, hold—
Nought have I ever said or done to merit
That heaviest of blows—a parent's curse.
To you, I've always shown respect and love,
And if my anger carried me too far,
Zeal for your honour was the prompting cause.
Farewell, sir, time may show the difference
Between the seeming friend and outcast son.

[Exit, C.
Org.
That he should thus insult a holy man—

Tar.
Heav'n pardon him the pain he makes me feel!
If you but knew how much it wounds my heart,
When they attempt to set your mind against me.

Org.
Alas!

Tar.
The thought of such ingratitude
Gives the most cruel torture to my soul;
The horror that I feel,—my heart's so full
I cannot speak—I think that I shall die.

Org.
(weeping.)
I wish that I had knock'd the rascal down.
Console yourself, dear friend. Come, weep no more.

Tar.
We'll put an end to all these sad disputes;
I see what trouble I occasion here,
And feel convinc'd that I must quit the house.

Org.
You are not serious?

Tar.
Yes, they hate me so,
And try to make you doubtful of my faith.

Org.
What then? I close my heart to all they say.

Tar.
They'll persecute me still, I do not doubt,
And though you will not listen to them now
Perhaps you will believe another time.

Org.
No, never.

Tar.
Ah, dear brother; but a wife
So easily can sway a husband's heart.

Org.
No, no.

Tar.
I'll go at once, for when I'm gone,
All cause for persecution is remov'd.

Org.
You shall stop here—my very life's at stake.

Tar.
I see that I must mortify myself,
So be it, if you will.

Org.
Ah!

Tar.
That's enough,
I plainly see what I must do henceforth;
Honour is delicate, and as your friend,
I'm bound all chance of scandal to prevent,
I will avoid your wife, and you will find—

Org.
You shall keep close to her in spite of them.
I am delighted to enrage the world,
And wish that you were always seen together.
E'en that is not enough; to brave them all
I will not have another heir, but you.
Now, at this instant, in good legal form,
I'll make you a free gift of my estate—
The cherish'd friend I make my son-in-law
Is more than son, or wife, or relatives.
The gift I proffer, will you not accept?

Tar.
The will of Heav'n be done in everything.

Org.
Poor soul! come, come, we'll draw the deed at once.
And make these envious creatures burst with spleen

[They embrace twice. Exeunt, C