I won't escort her down,
For fear she might fall foul of me again;
The good old lady
Bless us! What a pity
She shouldn't hear the way you speak of her!
She'd surely tell you you're too "good" by half,
And that she's not so "old" as all that, neither!
How she got angry with us all for nothing!
And how she seems possessed with her Tartuffe!
Her case is nothing, though, beside her son's!
To see him, you would say he's ten times worse!
His conduct in our late unpleasantness 1
Had won him much esteem, and proved his courage
In service of his king; but now he's like
A man besotted, since he's been so taken
With this Tartuffe. He calls him brother, loves him
A hundred times as much as mother, son,
Daughter, and wife. He tells him all his secrets
And lets him guide his acts, and rule his conscience.
He fondles and embraces him; a sweetheart
Could not, I think, be loved more tenderly;
At table he must have the seat of honour,
While with delight our master sees him eat
As much as six men could; we must give up
The choicest tidbits to him; if he belches,
('tis a servant speaking)2
Master exclaims: "God bless you!" Oh, he dotes
Upon him! he's his universe, his hero;
He's lost in constant admiration, quotes him
On all occasions, takes his trifling acts
For wonders, and his words for oracles.
The fellow knows his dupe, and makes the most on't,
He fools him with a hundred masks of virtue,
Gets money from him all the time by canting,
And takes upon himself to carp at us.
Even his silly coxcomb of a lackey
Makes it his business to instruct us too;
He comes with rolling eyes to preach at us,
And throws away our ribbons, rouge, and patches.
The wretch, the other day, tore up a kerchief
That he had found, pressed in the Golden Legend,
Calling it a horrid crime for us to mingle
The devil's finery with holy things.
ELMIRE (to Cleante)
You're very lucky to have missed the speech
She gave us at the door. I see my husband
Is home again. He hasn't seen me yet,
So I'll go up and wait till he comes in.
And I, to save time, will await him here;
I'll merely say good-morning, and be gone.
I wish you'd say a word to him about
My sister's marriage; I suspect Tartuffe
Opposes it, and puts my father up
To all these wretched shifts. You know, besides,
How nearly I'm concerned in it myself;
If love unites my sister and Valere,
I love his sister too; and if this marriage
Were to
He's coming.
Ah! Good morning, brother.
I was just going, but am glad to greet you.
Things are not far advanced yet, in the country?
Dorine
(To Cleante)
Just wait a bit, please, brother-in-law.
Let me allay my first anxiety
By asking news about the family.
(To Dorine)
Has everything gone well these last two days?
What's happening? And how is everybody?
Madam had fever, and a splitting headache
Day before yesterday, all day and evening.
And how about Tartuffe?
Tartuffe? He's well;
He's mighty well; stout, fat, fair, rosy-lipped.
Poor man!
At evening she had nausea
And couldn't touch a single thing for supper,
Her headache still was so severe.
And how
About Tartuffe?
He supped alone, before her,
And unctuously ate up two partridges,
As well as half a leg o' mutton, deviled.
Poor man!
All night she couldn't get a wink
Of sleep, the fever racked her so; and we
Had to sit up with her till daylight.
How
About Tartuffe?
Gently inclined to slumber,
He left the table, went into his room,
Got himself straight into a good warm bed,
And slept quite undisturbed until next morning.
Poor man!
At last she let us all persuade her,
And got up courage to be bled; and then
She was relieved at once.
And how about
Tartuffe?
He plucked up courage properly,
Bravely entrenched his soul against all evils,
And to replace the blood that she had lost,
He drank at breakfast four huge draughts of wine.
Poor man!
So now they both are doing well;
And I'll go straightway and inform my mistress
How pleased you are at her recovery.
Brother, she ridicules you to your face;
And I, though I don't want to make you angry,
Must tell you candidly that she's quite right.
Was such infatuation ever heard of?
And can a man to-day have charms to make you
Forget all else, relieve his poverty,
Give him a home, and then ?
Stop there, good brother,
You do not know the man you're speaking of.
Since you will have it so, I do not know him;
But after all, to tell what sort of man
He is
Dear brother, you'd be charmed to know him;
Your raptures over him would have no end.
He is a man who ah! in fact a man
Whoever does his will, knows perfect peace,
And counts the whole world else, as so much dung.
His converse has transformed me quite; he weans
My heart from every friendship, teaches me
To have no love for anything on earth;
And I could see my brother, children, mother,
And wife, all die, and never care a snap.