University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

Same Scene.
Enter Cléante and Tartuffe, L. C.
Cle.
The tale's in ev'ry mouth; and trust me, sir,
You gain but ill-renown for this affair.
I'm glad a moment has at length arrived
In which I plainly can reveal my thoughts.
I will not probe the story to its depths,
I'll pass it over and assume the worst?—
Assume that Damis' conduct has been base;
That you have been most wrongfully accus'd.
Granted all this,—is not a Christian bound
To pardon injuries?—to shun revenge?
Ought you to suffer that, on your account,
A son is banished from his father's house?
Once more I tell you, tell you candidly,
Gentle and simple, all are shock'd alike.
Trust me, you'd better set the matter straight,
And not attempt to carry things too far.
Yield up to heav'n all feelings of revenge,
And reconcile the father with the son.

Tar.
Alas, with all my heart I wish I could;
I harbour, sir, no sense of bitterness,
I pardon all, yea, from my very soul,—
But I must quit the house if he returns.
After his conduct, which indeed was base,
No intercourse between us could exist.
None: else I should be slander'd grievously;
Mere policy my kindness would be call'd,
And all would say, that, conscious of my guilt,
I feign'd a pious zeal for my accuser,—
That in my heart I fear'd him, and had bought
His silence by a show of charity.

Cle.
Your reasons, sir, are somewhat too far fetched.
Are we oblig'd to punish guilty men?
Remember, heav'n exhorts us to forgive:
And, when you thus obey its high command,
Lightly esteem the censure of the world.

Tar.
My heart, as I have said, sir, pardons him,
And thus I follow the command of heav'n.
But after the affront I have received,
It orders not that I should live with him.

Cle.
But does it order you to take a gift;
A gift, I say, most wrongfully bestowed?

Tar.
Oh, those who know me, sir, will never think
That any love of gain has prompted me:
Most valuless to me is this world's wealth,
Its meretricious lustre charms me not.
If I consent to take the father's gift
It is—to speak the truth—because I fear
That so much wealth may fall to wicked hands,
And be employed for sinful purposes;
While I, endow'd with such abundant means,
Would seek heav'n's glory and my neighbour's good.

Cle.
Pray suffer not such delicate alarm
To make you injure the sole, rightful heir.
Let him, without a pang for conscience sake,
Possess his own at his own proper risk.
'Twere better he should misemploy his wealth
Than you should be suspected of a wrong.
And since you feel you cannot live with Damis,
Would it not be the better, wiser course,—
The honest course, for you to quit this house,
Than thus to let your friend expel his son
Without pretext?

Tar.
Good sir, 'tis half past three,
A pious duty summons me up-stairs.
And you will pardon me for leaving you.

[Exit.
Cle.
The knave!

Enter Mariane, Elmire, and Dorine, L.
Dor.
Exert yourself in her behalf,
Pray do, dear sir; for she is sick at heart.
Her father says the contract must be made
To-night, and this has driv'n her to despair.
He's coming. Let us join our efforts all,
Endeavoring by stratagem or force
To thwart this most unfortunate design.

Enter Orgon, L. C.
Org.
I'm glad to find you all assembled here.
The marriage contract, which I bring with me,
Contains a clause which will amuse you much.

Mar.
(crosses to Orgon, and falls on her knees.)
For Heav'n's sake, father! Heav'n well knows my grief.—
For pity's sake, if that can move your heart,
Remit a little of a father's right,
And do not claim obedience such as this.
No—do not force me by this cruelty
To hate the duty Heav'n would have me pay;
Make not the life you gave a life of woe.
If, in despite of all my youthful hopes,
He whom I love must never be my husband,
Still, still, this favour on my knees I beg,
Unite me not to one that I abhor.

Org.
(aside.)
Be firm, my heart, no weakness must you show.

Mar.
'Tis not your love for him that pains my heart;
Make that shine forth—bestow on him your wealth,
And if 'tis not enough, give mine besides—
You have my full consent; but spare myself.
Let me within a convent's gloomy walls
Pass the sad days which Heav'n is pleased to give.

Org.
A convent! Yes—I like this piety,
Which only comes to thwart a father's will.
Get up, girl! This repugnance of your heart
Will but increase the merit of your marriage.
'Tis wholesome thus to mortify the tastes;
So just obey, and trouble me no more.

Dor.
But then, sir—

Org.
Silence! to your equals speak.

[Dorine crosses round to Mariane, L.
Cle.
If I may be allow'd to give advice—

Org.
Brother, your counsels are most excellent—
They're well digested—I esteem them much—
But, as you'll find, I shall not follow them.

[Cleante crosses round to L. table.
Elm.
With what I see I am confounded quite;
[Crosses to Orgon.
Your blindness seems to me miraculous;
'Tis pure infatuation—nothing else—
To close your eyes to what occurred to-day.

Org.
Your humble servant; but I know too well
That you desire to help my scapegrace son,
And will not contradict his calumnies.
You were too calm by far to be believed,
Virtue is not so quiet when attack'd.

Elm.
What! just because a passion is declared,
Is honour bound to take up arms at once?
Is it unable to repel assaults,
Save with injurious words and flashing eyes?
I only look with scorn on such a mode,
And hate a tumult above everything.
I am not one of those ferocious prudes
Whose honour is array'd with claws and teeth:
Preserve me Heav'n from virtue of the sort!

[Crosses to L.
Org.
That's quite enough—I see the whole affair.

Elm.
Absurd! This weakness is most marvellous.
And pray, would you retain your unbelief,
If your own eyes disclosed to you the truth?

Org.
If my own eyes—

Elm.
Yes.

Org.
Stuff!

Elm.
Nay—just suppose
That I could show you all as clear as day.

Org.
Nonsense!

Elm.
Oh, what a man! Still answer me—
I do not ask you to believe my words,
I only say, suppose that you were hid
Where you could plainly hear and plainly see,
What would you say of this same pious man?

Org.
What should I say? Why, nothing, nothing else.
It cannot be.

Elm.
This has gone on too long;
I see I must not trust to mine own lips,
But you must be the witness of the truth.

Org.
Agreed—agreed! Now we shall test your skill.

Elm.
(to Dorine.)
Just send him here.

Dor.
He has a subtle wit,
And may not be so easily entrapped.

Elm.
Nay, we are soon deceived by those we love,
And self-love leads us to deceive ourselves.
Just send him hither.
[Exit Dorine, L. C.
(To Cléante and Mariane.)
You will please retire.
Exeunt Cléante and Mariane, L.
And you (to Orgon)
will hide yourself beneath this table.

Org.
How?

Elm.
Yes—'tis absolutely requisite.

Org.
But why beneath this table?

Elm.
Grant me patience!
I have a plan, and you shall judge of it:
Hide there, I say, and when you're safely there,
Mind that you're quite secure from eyes or ears.

Org.
So be it; I'm too docile, I must own,
And I would see you through this strange affair.

Goes under table.
Em.
Believe me, you will find that I am right,
And mind—this matter is most delicate;
Whate'er I say you must not take offence.
I purpose, by the way of blandishment,
To pluck the vizard from this crafty knave.
When I encourage each unholy wish,
And give full scope to his temerity,
'Tis only to confound him in your eyes:
Mind too—when you are amply satisfied,
You hasten to the rescue of your wife;
You understand—keep silent—here he comes.

Enter Tartuffe, L. C.
Tar.
(L.)
'Twas here, they said, you wish'd to speak with me.

Elm.
(R.)
'Twas true sir, I have secrets to reveal;
But close the door, before I 'ope my lips.
And look around, lest we may be surpris'd.
[He shuts door and returns.
Such an affair as that we had to day
We cannot certainly desire again.
It was indeed a terrible alarm.
That Damis frighten'd me on your account;
And you observ'd, no doubt, how much I strove
To thwart his efforts, and to check his rage:
To speak the truth—so much was I confounded,
I never thought of contradicting him.
But this, thank Heav'n, has all been for the best,
And everything is in a better train;
Your fame for piety has quell'd the storm.
My husband cannot even feel annoy'd,
But, braving all the scandal of the world,
Insists that we should always be together.
Therefore can I, quite fearless of reproach,
Meet you alone, and therefore, can I, too
Open—perhaps, too readily,—my heart.

Tar.
These words are somewhat hard to comprehend,
So diff'rent, madam, was your style just now.

Elm.
I see my first refusal anger'd you—
How little you can read a woman's heart!
How little you can fathom what is meant
When it so timidly defends itself!
Mark you, however strong the power of love,
We still must show reserve in owning it;
Hence we defend ourselves; but by our manner
Too surely you may know our hearts are lost—
May know our lips ill represent our wishes,
And such refusals promise—everything.
I own that this confession is too frank,
And argues little for my modesty,
But since I've given free passage to my words
Let me speak out. Should I have done so much
To check Damis—should I have heard so long,
So quietly, the offer of your heart,
If such an offer filled me with disgust?
Nay, when I urg'd you to give up all though
Of this same marriage, could you not perceive
A certain sentiment on your account
Was prompting me—deep horror of a scheme
To share a heart, which I would have entire.

Tar.
Madam, no doubt it is the greatest joy
To hear such words drop from the lips we love;
Their liquid honey glowing through my soul,
Gives a delight it never knew before.
To please you is my highest, dearest wish,
In you my heart places its only hope:
But still this doating heart would fain have leave
To doubt a little such surpassing bliss.
Your words might seem to me an honest fraud,
Devis'd to bring the marriage scheme to nought;
In short—in fact—to speak without disguise,
I dare not trust those words, with all their sweetness,
Unless some further favor proves their truth,
And plants within this heart a steadfast faith
In all the kindness you possess for me.

Elm.
(after coughing to warn her husband, who lifts the cloth,)
Nay, nay, indeed you're too precipitate.
Would you have ev'ry tenderness at once?
I make a frank avowal of my—love,
Too frank—and still you are not satisfied.

Tar.
The less we merit, less we dare to hope.
Such happiness is promis'd by your words
That till I reach it, I must doubt perforce.
[she looks at him
Yes, doubt, because 'tis rashness to believe
That one who has deserts so small as mine
Can gain so rich a prize. Believe I cannot,
Till some reality confirms me, madam.

Elm.
Your love is really most tyrannical,
And raises a strange trouble in my soul.
How violently it can seize on hearts!
It gives no quarter—grants no breathing time.
'Tis scarcely fair to take advantage thus
Of any weakness one may show for you.

Tar.
If you receive with a benignant face
My homage—why refuse a further proof?

Elm.
I fear that heav'n—

Tar.
No, no, dispel that fear,
Believe me, howsoever great the sin
I'll take the peril all upon myself.
(She coughs.)
Your cough is troublesome?

Elm.
'Tis horrible.

Tar.
Perhaps this little bit of liqorice— (she coughs)


Elm.
No, 'tis a cough that will defy all cure,
You need not waste (coughs)
your liqorice. (coughs)


Tar.
Alas!
'Tis very bad. But to resume our theme:
Your scruples may be easily remov'd.
Evil is only evil when 'tis known—
The scandal of the world creates the sin;
In fact, a secret sin is none at all— (she coughs).

Now, in my case, you're sure of secrecy.

Elm.
I see, I see, resistance is in vain—
Yes, only you can be responsible.

Tar.
Agreed! agreed! I'll answer. I alone.
(They both rise.)

Elm.
Just open yonder door and ascertain
My husband is not in the gallery.

Tar.
No need of so much care on his account;
Madam, we both may lead him by the nose.

Elm.
No matter, leave the room a moment pray,
And see that all's completely safe without.

[Exit Tartuffe, C.
Org.
(rises.)
A knave! a knave! I see, a wicked knave!
I'm quite confounded—all must be a dream.

Elm.
So soon you quit your hiding-place? Absurd!
Come back again, I pray—it is not time.
Trust not conjecture, wait to see the end.
Wait patiently.

Org.
He is the very devil.

[Crosses to L. back.
Elm.
Condemn him not on flimsy evidence,
Ere you decide be thoroughly convinced,
And be not hasty, lest you may be wrong.

[She hides him behind her.
Enter Tartuffe.
Tar.
All, all conduces to my happiness.
I've well observ'd the spot on ev'ry side,
No soul is near us. My delighted heart!

[As he advances she steps aside and discovers Orgon:
Org.
Nay, softly, softly, you are much too quick—
Let not your passion carry you so far.
An honest man—a very honest man—
To woo the daughter and desire the wife!
Long have I thought all was not as it looked—
I thought that we should have a change of tone.
Now I am satisfied—I seek no more.

Elm.
(to Tartuffe.)
Against my will, sir, have I acted thus.

Tar.
You cannot, sir, believe—

Org.
(Crosses to Tartuffe.)
No words, no words—
But just say nothing, and just quit my house.

Tar.
My motive was—

Org.
This talk is idle now—
I tell you, quit my house, and instantly.

Tar.
Change this proud language—quit the house yourself:
The house is mine, and I shall prove it mine.
I'll show how vain it is to have recourse
To such poor stratagems to break with me;
That those who beard me know not what they do—
That I can still avenge the cause of heav'n,
And bring to shame those who would drive me hence.

[Exit. Elmire laughs.
Elm.
What can he mean by language such as this?

Org.
I am confounded—and I cannot laugh.

Elm.
How?

Org.
Oh, that deed! That fatal deed of gift.

Elm.
The deed of gift!

Org.
Yes, yes, the mischief's done.
But there is something else disquiets me.

Elm.
Pray—what?

Org.
I'll tell you all—but first I'll see
Whether a certain chest is still upstairs.

Exeunt L. C.