Tartuffe by Molière (most motivational books TXT) 📕
Description
The first three acts of Molière’s Tartuffe were first performed for Louis XIV in 1664, but the play was almost immediately suppressed—not because the King disliked it, but because the church resented the insinuation that the pious were frauds. After several different versions were written and performed privately, Tartuffe was eventually published in its final five-act form in 1669.
A comic tale of man taken in by a sanctimonious scoundrel, the characters of Tartuffe, Elmire, and Orgon are considered among some of the great classical theater roles. As the family strives to convince the patriarch that Tartuffe is a religious fraud, the play ultimately focuses on skewering not the hypocrite, but his victims, and the hypocrisy of fervent religious belief unchecked by facts or reason—a defense Molière himself used to overcome the church’s proscriptions. In the end, the play was so impactful that both French and English now use the word “Tartuffe” to refer to a religious hypocrite who feigns virtue.
In its original French, the play is written in twelve-syllable lines of rhyming couplets. Curtis Hidden Page’s translation invokes a popular compromise and renders it into the familiar blank verse without rhymed endings that was popularized by Shakespeare. The translation is considered a seminal by modern translators.
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- Author: Molière
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I’m overjoyed. You needn’t try to tell me
I must give up the pleasure of revenge.
I’ll make an end of this affair at once;
And, to content me, here’s my father now. Scene V Orgon, Elmire, Damis, Tartuffe. Damis
Father, we’ve news to welcome your arrival,
That’s altogether novel, and surprising.
You are well paid for your caressing care,
And this fine gentleman rewards your love
Most handsomely, with zeal that seeks no less
Than your dishonour, as has now been proven.
I’ve just surprised him making to your wife
The shameful offer of a guilty love.
She, somewhat over gentle and discreet,
Insisted that the thing should be concealed;
But I will not condone such shamelessness,
Nor so far wrong you as to keep it secret.
Yes, I believe a wife should never trouble
Her husband’s peace of mind with such vain gossip;
A woman’s honour does not hang on telling;
It is enough if she defend herself;
Or so I think; Damis, you’d not have spoken,
If you would but have heeded my advice.
Just Heaven! Can what I hear be credited?
TartuffeYes, brother, I am wicked, I am guilty,
A miserable sinner, steeped in evil,
The greatest criminal that ever lived.
Each moment of my life is stained with soilures;
And all is but a mass of crime and filth;
Heaven, for my punishment, I see it plainly,
Would mortify me now. Whatever wrong
They find to charge me with, I’ll not deny it
But guard against the pride of self-defence.
Believe their stories, arm your wrath against me,
And drive me like a villain from your house;
I cannot have so great a share of shame
But what I have deserved a greater still.
To his son. You miscreant, can you dare, with such a falsehood,
To try to stain the whiteness of his virtue?
What! The feigned meekness of this hypocrite
Makes you discredit …
Silence, cursed plague!
TartuffeAh! Let him speak; you chide him wrongfully;
You’d do far better to believe his tales.
Why favour me so much in such a matter?
How can you know of what I’m capable?
And should you trust my outward semblance, brother,
Or judge therefrom that I’m the better man?
No, no; you let appearances deceive you;
I’m anything but what I’m thought to be,
Alas! and though all men believe me godly,
The simple truth is, I’m a worthless creature.
To Damis. Yes, my dear son, say on, and call me traitor,
Abandoned scoundrel, thief, and murderer;
Heap on me names yet more detestable,
And I shall not gainsay you; I’ve deserved them;
I’ll bear this ignominy on my knees,
To expiate in shame the crimes I’ve done.
To Tartuffe. Ah, brother, ’tis too much!
To his son. You’ll not relent,
You blackguard?
What! His talk can so deceive you …
OrgonSilence, you scoundrel!
To Tartuffe. Brother, rise, I beg you.
To his son. Infamous villain!
DamisCan he …
OrgonSilence!
DamisWhat …
OrgonAnother word, I’ll break your every bone.
TartuffeBrother, in God’s name, don’t be angry with him!
I’d rather bear myself the bitterest torture
Than have him get a scratch on my account.
To his son. Ungrateful monster!
TartuffeStop. Upon my knees
I beg you pardon him …
Throwing himself on his knees too, and embracing Tartuffe.
Alas! How can you?
To his son. Villain! Behold his goodness!
DamisSo …
OrgonBe still.
DamisWhat! I …
OrgonBe still, I say. I know your motives
For this attack. You hate him, all of you;
Wife, children, servants, all let loose upon him,
You have recourse to every shameful trick
To drive this godly man out of my house;
The more you strive to rid yourselves of him,
The more I’ll strive to make him stay with me;
I’ll have him straightway married to my daughter,
Just to confound the pride of all of you.
What! Will you force her to accept his hand?
OrgonYes, and this very evening, to enrage you,
Young rascal! Ah! I’ll brave you all, and show you
That I’m the master, and must be obeyed.
Now, down upon your knees this instant, rogue,
And take back what you said, and ask his pardon.
Who? I? Ask pardon of that cheating scoundrel … ?
OrgonDo you resist, you beggar, and insult him?
A cudgel, here! a cudgel!
To Tartuffe. Don’t restrain me.
To his son. Off with you! Leave my house this instant, sirrah,
And never dare set foot in it again.
Yes, I will leave your house, but …
OrgonLeave it quickly.
You reprobate, I disinherit you,
And give you, too, my curse into the bargain.
What! So insult a saintly man of God!
TartuffeHeaven, forgive him all the pain he gives me!4
To Orgon. Could you but know with what distress I see
Them try to vilify me to my brother!
Ah!
TartuffeThe mere thought of such ingratitude
Makes my soul suffer torture, bitterly …
My horror at it … Ah! my heart’s so full
I cannot speak … I think I’ll die of it.
In tears, running to the door through which he drove away his son.
Scoundrel! I wish I’d never let you go,
But slain you on the spot with my own hand.
To Tartuffe. Brother, compose yourself, and don’t be angry.
TartuffeNay, brother, let us end these painful quarrels.
I see what troublous times I bring upon you,
And think ’tis needful that I leave this house.
What! You can’t mean it?
TartuffeYes, they hate me here,
And try, I find, to make you doubt my faith.
What of it? Do you find I listen to them?
TartuffeNo doubt they won’t stop there. These same reports
You now reject, may some day win a hearing.
No, brother, never.
TartuffeAh! my friend, a woman
May easily mislead her husband’s mind.
No, no.
TartuffeSo let me quickly go away
And thus remove all cause for such attacks.
No, you shall stay; my life depends upon it.
TartuffeThen
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