Tartuffe

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. 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.
Elmire	But, mother⁠ ⁠…
Madame Pernelle	Daughter, by your leave, your conduct In everything is altogether wrong; You ought to set a good example for ’em; Their dear departed mother did much better. You are extravagant; and it offends me, To see you always decked out like a princess. A woman who would please her husband’s eyes Alone, wants no such wealth of fineries.
Cléante	But, madam, after all⁠ ⁠…
Madame Pernelle	Sir, as for you, The lady’s brother, I esteem you highly, Love and respect you. But, sir, all the same, If I were in my son’s, her husband’s, place, I’d urgently entreat you not to come Within our doors. You preach a way of living That decent people cannot tolerate. I’m rather frank with you; but that’s my way⁠— I don’t mince matters, when I mean a thing.
Damis	Mr. Tartuffe, your friend, is mighty lucky⁠ ⁠…
Madame Pernelle	He is a holy man, and must be heeded; I can’t endure, with any show of patience, To hear a scatterbrains like you attack him.
Damis	What! Shall I let a bigot criticaster Come and usurp a tyrant’s power here? And shall we never dare amuse ourselves Till this fine gentleman deigns to consent?
Dorine	If we must hark to him, and heed his maxims, There’s not a thing we do but what’s a crime; He censures everything, this zealous carper.
Madame Pernelle	And all he censures is well censured, too. He wants to guide you on the way to heaven; My son should train you all to love him well.
Damis	No, madam, look you, nothing⁠—not my father Nor anything⁠—can make me tolerate him. I should belie my feelings not to say so. His actions rouse my wrath at every turn; And I foresee that there must come of it An open rupture with this sneaking scoundrel.
Dorine	Besides, ’tis downright scandalous to see This unknown upstart master of the house⁠— This vagabond, who hadn’t, when he came, Shoes to his feet, or clothing worth six farthings, And who so far forgets his place, as now To censure everything, and rule the roost!
Madame Pernelle	Eh! Mercy sakes alive! Things would go better If all were governed by his pious orders.
Dorine	He passes for a saint in your opinion. In fact, he’s nothing but a hypocrite.
Madame Pernelle	Just listen to her tongue!
Dorine	I wouldn’t trust him, Nor yet his Lawrence, without bonds and surety.
Madame Pernelle	I don’t know what the servant’s character May be; but I can guarantee the master A holy man. You hate him and reject him Because he tells home truths to all of you. ’Tis sin alone that moves his heart to anger, And heaven’s interest is his only motive.
Dorine	Of course. But why, especially of late, Can he let nobody come near the house? Is heaven offended at a civil call That he should make so great a fuss about it? I’ll tell you, if you like, just what I think; Pointing to Elmire. Upon my word, he’s jealous of our mistress.
Madame Pernelle	You hold your tongue, and think what you are saying. He’s not alone in censuring these visits; The turmoil that attends your sort of people, Their carriages forever at the door, And all their noisy footmen, flocked together, Annoy the neighbourhood, and raise a scandal. I’d gladly think there’s nothing really wrong; But it makes talk; and that’s not as it should be.
Cléante	Eh! madam, can you hope to keep folk’s tongues From wagging? It would be a grievous thing If, for the fear of idle talk about us, We had to sacrifice our friends. No, no; Even if we could bring ourselves to do it, Think you that everyone would then be silenced? Against backbiting there is no defence So let us try to live in innocence, To silly tattle pay no heed at all, And leave the