Жан-Батист Мольер - Tartuffe; Or, The Hypocrite

You are the sole expounder of the doctrine;
Wisdom shall die with you, no doubt, good brother,
You are the only wise, the sole enlightened,
The oracle, the Cato, of our age.
All men, compared to you, are downright fools.

I'm not the sole expounder of the doctrine,
And wisdom shall not die with me, good brother.
But this I know, though it be all my knowledge,
That there's a difference 'twixt false and true.
And as I find no kind of hero more
To be admired than men of true religion,
Nothing more noble or more beautiful
Than is the holy zeal of true devoutness;
Just so 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 over-zealous 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.

My dear good brother-in-law, have you quite done?

Yes.

I'm your humble servant.
(Starts to go.)

Just a word.
We'll drop that other subject. But you know
Valere has had the promise of your daughter.

Yes.

You had named the happy day.

'Tis true.

Then why put off the celebration of it?

I can't say.

Can you have some other plan
In mind?

Perhaps.

You mean to break your word?

I don't say that.

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

Well, that depends.

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

Heaven be praised!

What answer shall I take him?

Why, anything you please.

But we must know
Your plans. What are they?

I shall do the will
Of Heaven.

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

Good-bye.
CLEANTE (alone)
His love, methinks, has much to fear;
I must go let him know what's happening here.

Now, Mariane.

Yes, father?

Come; I'll tell you
A secret.

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.

I'm grateful for your fatherly affection.

Well spoken, daughter. Now, prove you deserve it
By doing as I wish in all respects.

To do so is the height of my ambition.

Excellent well. What say you of – Tartuffe?

Who? I?

Yes, you. Look to it how you answer.

Why! I'll say of him – anything you please.

ORGON, MARIANE, DORINE (coming in quietly and standing behind
Orgon, so that he does not see her)

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?

Eh?

What say you?

Please, what did you say?

What?

Surely I mistook you, sir?

How now?

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?