Tartuffe

I think there’s naught more odious
Than whited sepulchres of outward unction,
Those barefaced charlatans, those hireling zealots,
Whose sacrilegious, treacherous pretence
Deceives at will, and with impunity
Makes mockery of all that men hold sacred;
Men who, enslaved to selfish interests,
Make trade and merchandise of godliness,
And try to purchase influence and office
With false eye-rollings and affected raptures;
Those men, I say, who with uncommon zeal
Seek their own fortunes on the road to heaven;
Who, skilled in prayer, have always much to ask,
And live at court to preach retirement;
Who reconcile religion with their vices,
Are quick to anger, vengeful, faithless, tricky,
And, to destroy a man, will have the boldness
To call their private grudge the cause of heaven;
All the more dangerous, since in their anger
They use against us weapons men revere,
And since they make the world applaud their passion,
And seek to stab us with a sacred sword.
There are too many of this canting kind.
Still, the sincere are easy to distinguish;
And many splendid patterns may be found,
In our own time, before our very eyes
Look at Ariston, Periandre, Oronte,
Alcidamas, Clitandre, and Polydore;
No one denies their claim to true religion;
Yet they’re no braggadocios of virtue,
They do not make insufferable display,
And their religion’s human, tractable;
They are not always judging all our actions,
They’d think such judgment savoured of presumption;
And, leaving pride of words to other men,
’Tis by their deeds alone they censure ours.
Evil appearances find little credit
With them; they even incline to think the best
Of others. No caballers, no intriguers,
They mind the business of their own right living.
They don’t attack a sinner tooth and nail,
For sin’s the only object of their hatred;
Nor are they overzealous to attempt
Far more in heaven’s behalf than heaven would have ’em.
That is my kind of man, that is true living,
That is the pattern we should set ourselves.
Your fellow was not fashioned on this model;
You’re quite sincere in boasting of his zeal;
But you’re deceived, I think, by false pretences. 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.
We’ll drop that other subject. But you know
Valère has had the promise of your daughter.

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
In mind?

Orgon

Perhaps.

Cléante

You mean to break your word?

Orgon

I don’t say that.

Cléante

I hope no obstacle
Can keep you from performing what you’ve promised.

Orgon

Well, that depends.

Cléante

Why must you beat about?
Valère has sent me here to settle matters.

Orgon

Heaven be praised!

Cléante

What answer shall I take him?

Orgon

Why, anything you please.

Cléante

But we must know
Your plans. What are they?

Orgon

I shall do the will
Of Heaven.

Cléante

Come, be serious. You’ve given
Your promise to Valère. Now will you keep it?

Orgon

Goodbye.

Cléante

Alone. His love, methinks, has much to fear;
I must go let him know what’s happening here.

Act II

Scene I

	Orgon, Mariane.
Orgon	Now, Mariane.
Mariane	Yes, father?
Orgon	Come; I’ll tell you A secret.
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; That little closet’s mighty fit to hide in. There! We’re all right now. Mariane, in you I’ve always found a daughter dutiful And gentle. So I’ve always love you dearly.
Mariane	I’m grateful for your fatherly affection.
Orgon	Well spoken, daughter. Now, prove you deserve it By doing as I wish in all respects.
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, That all his person shines with noble merit, That he has won your heart, and you would like To have him, by my choice, become your husband. Eh?
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 Has won my heart, and I would like to have Become my husband, by your choice?
Orgon	Tartuffe.
Mariane	But, father, I protest it isn’t true! Why should you make me tell this dreadful lie?
Orgon	Because I mean to have it be the truth. Let this suffice for you: I’ve settled it.
Mariane	What, father, you would⁠ ⁠… ?
Orgon	Yes, child, I’m resolved To graft Tartuffe into my family. So he must be your husband. That I’ve settled. And since your duty⁠ ⁠…
	Seeing Dorine.
	What are you doing there? Your curiosity is keen, my girl, To make you come eavesdropping on us so.
Dorine	Upon my word, I don’t know how the rumour Got started⁠—if ’twas guesswork or mere chance But I had heard already of this match, And treated it as utter stuff and nonsense.
Orgon	What! Is the thing incredible?
Dorine	So much so I don’t believe it even from yourself, sir.
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; He’s fooling.
Orgon	But I tell you⁠ ⁠…
Dorine	No. No use. They won’t believe you.
Orgon	If I let my anger⁠ ⁠…
Dorine	Well, then, we do believe you; and the worse For you it is. What! Can a grown-up man With that expanse of beard across his face Be mad enough to want⁠ ⁠… ?
Orgon	You hark me: You’ve taken on yourself here in this house A sort of free familiarity That I don’t like, I tell you frankly, girl.
Dorine	There, there, let’s not get angry, sir, I beg you. But are you making game of everybody? Your daughter’s not cut out for