by Ranjit Bolt
This garden has a weed of doubt,
It’s up to you to root it out:
What words affirm, let actions prove:
You’ve spoken, now enact your love,
Bestow some bounty on your slave –
Give me a taste of what I crave.
ELMIRE: (She coughs to alert her husband.)
Isn’t it rather soon to start
Extracting honey from my heart?
That declaration cost me dear
I had to overcome the fear
That all my sex is subject to
But that’s not good enough for you
And now you’re rushing to the sweet
Before we’ve had the soup and meat.
TARTUFFE: This blessing is a great deal more
Than I deserve, Madame; therefore
I daren’t believe it’s come to me.
Words can’t convince me, I must see
And touch, and taste it – then I’ll know,
Even my confidence will grow,
But till you’ve granted my desire
I’ll think it madness to aspire,
To one so far beyond my worth –
Like seeking paradise on earth.
ELMIRE: My! When there’s something that you want
You’re frighteningly adamant!
Your love exerts a brutal sway,
You’re fiercer than a bird of prey
In your pursuit! There’s no respite,
No breathing space. It can’t be right
To harry helpless creatures thus,
Abuse the hold you have on us
In this uncompromising style.
TARTUFFE: Why won’t you go the final mile?
You said you wanted me.
ELMIRE: I know.
Won’t Heaven frown upon us, though?
TARTUFFE: Heaven an obstacle to love?
If so, it’s one I can remove.
ELMIRE: I thought the ten commandments said...
TARTUFFE: Why are you bothering your head
With such inane concerns? Look here:
You haven’t anything to fear,
God’s outlawed certain pleasures, true,
But He grants dispensations, too,
Our conscience needn’t be obeyed,
Exceptions can, and should be made.
To know if something is a sin
First ask what mood you did it in,
Was your intention pure, and sound?
If so, you must be on safe ground.
Simply accede to my desire,
Try to forget about hellfire,
And if you are wrong, giving in,
I’ll take upon myself the sin
And make quite sure that you’re let off –
My goodness, what a nasty cough!
ELMIRE: My chest’s completely up the spout.
TARTUFFE: This liquorice juice’ll sort it out.
ELMIRE: Oh, no, this phlegm is here to stay,
No juice will make it go away.
TARTUFFE: How vexing.
ELMIRE: Very vexing, yes.
TARTUFFE: Well, Moses couldn’t matter less,
The ten commandments don’t apply,
There’s no one here – just you and I,
It’s scandal that creates the sin,
This won’t get out, so let’s begin.
ELMIRE coughs some more.
ELMIRE: It seems I’ve no alternative
But to give in, so in I’ll give –
No stalling, no more argument,
I’ll simply yield, and be content.
I’d have postponed our bliss a while,
Such rampant haste is not my style,
But the consensus seems to be
That you should have your way with me,
I’ve not been taken at my word,
More concrete proofs are now preferred,
I’ve put my case – at least I’ve tried
But others won’t be satisfied,
So I won’t fight them any more,
I’ll give them what they’re asking for.
If, in so doing, I commit
A sin, you’re right, the blame for it
Must lie elsewhere – with those, in fact,
Who drove me to this desperate act.
TARTUFFE: I’ll take the blame. I said I would.
The point is...
ELMIRE: Would you be so good
As just to check the corridor?
It might be prudent, no? Before...
My husband might be lurking there...
TARTUFFE: What if he is, though? Should we care?
For Heaven’s sake, he’s even said
That we’re to meet, the dunderhead!
Trust me – I lead him by the nose –
My power is such, I don’t suppose
That if he walked in through that door
And found us naked on the floor
He would believe his own two eyes!
ELMIRE: I dare say – still, it might be wise
(Don’t you agree?) to just pop out
And have a thorough sniff about.
Exit TARTUFFE; ORGON comes out from under the table.
ORGON: The man’s a monster! You’ve destroyed
My world! What’s left? A gaping void!
ELMIRE: What? Out already? Back you get!
You’ve not had evidence as yet.
Don’t you rely on supposition!
Let the thing come to its fruition!
ORGON: No. He’s a fiend. Straight out of Hell.
ELMIRE: Your doubt’s too easy to dispel!
You’d made a stand. You mustn’t yield.
Not till the truth has been revealed.
Don’t form your judgements with such haste.
This new distrust could prove misplaced.
Re-enter TARTUFFE; ORGON hides behind his wife.
TARTUFFE: I’ve checked. I’ve hunted everywhere.
There’s absolutely no one there.
Madame, now everything conspires
To crown my uttermost desires!
My soul is ra–
ORGON: (Stopping him.) Not quite, Monsieur
Your zeal has lost control, I fear.
I must say, I’d have thought a saint
Might exercise more self-restraint!
My, what a fool you’ve made of me!
My daughter wouldn’t do, I see,
She couldn’t sate your appetite,
You wondered if my wife just might!
I thought I’d make them change their tune,
Now I’m convinced, and none too soon,
I carried incredulity
To mad lengths. Now it’s clear to me
That every word they’ve said is true.
ELMIRE: (To TARTUFFE.) Such are the lengths he drove me to.
It’s not my nature to deceive.
He made me.
TARTUFFE: (To ORGON.) But you can’t believe...
ORGON: No speeches, please. We’ve heard your last.
TARTUFFE: But I...
ORGON: The time for talk is past.
TARTUFFE: But my intention was...
ORGON: Just go...
TARTUFFE: But...
ORGON: Leave this house directly!
TARTUFFE: No.
Why should I leave it? Why don’t you?
These ruses you’ve resorted to
To finish with me – what’s the point?
I’ll put your nose well out of joint
You have no power to injure me –
I’ll punish your hypocrisy.
While also righting Heaven’s wrongs –
What? Leave this house, when it belongs
To me?!
Exit TARTUFFE.
ELMIRE: To him?! What can he mean?
ORGON: Oh, what an imbecile I’ve been!
The deed of gift!
ELMIRE: The deed? What deed?
ORGON: Sweet Jesus! This is all w
e need!
There’s worse, though...
ELMIRE: Worse than what? What’s wrong?
ORGON: Oh, you’ll find out before too long.
(Beating his forehead with his fist.)
I’ve been an absolute moron!
Now where’s that cursèd casket gone?
End of Act Four.
ACT FIVE
A room in Orgon’s house. ORGON, CLEANTE. ORGON is rushing about.
CLEANTE: Where are you going?
ORGON: I’ve no idea.
CLEANTE: So, how do we proceed from here?
We ought to talk it over, eh?
ORGON: The casket fills me with dismay.
The rest is nothing next to it.
You’d think I would have had the wit...
CLEANTE: Do please explain this mystery.
ORGON: It was a trust, or meant to be,
Left here by Argas, my old friend,
He’s gone, but on it may depend –
Goodness, his life, his property...
Before his exile, he chose me
To guard it for him – documents –
Incriminating evidence.
CLEANTE: And you did what with them...? Oh, no –
You gave them to Tartuffe?
ORGON: ’Fraid so.
The renegade, the traitor.
CLEANTE: Why?
ORGON: To have a sort of alibi,
So if it came up, and the State
Decided to investigate,
In conscience, I could then declare
I’d had no part in the affair,
Which, while it isn’t strictly true,
Would do the trick and see me through.
Or such, at least, was Tartuffe’s line.
I went and told the devious swine
And he persuaded me to place
The papers in his care – in case.
CLEANTE: It’s not a brilliant hand you’ve played.
This, and the gift you went and made,
Forgive me, but they seem to me –
Ill-judged, Orgon – to a degree.
You’ve given him a hold on you,
And you’ve antagonised him, too –
Throwing him out was most unwise,
You should have sought a compromise.
ORGON: But to dissemble in that way!
A plaster saint, with feet of clay!
I put him on his feet again!
I’ve had it with religious men.
In fact I hate them, and henceforth
I’ll hound the sods for all I’m worth!
CLEANTE: Now there you go again, you seem
Always to rush from one extreme
Straight to another. Seek the mean,
The prudent, proper, in between.
Your sense of balance goes awry
Repeatedly – I can’t think why:
So, now, you come across one fraud
And straightaway, across the board,
All on the basis of one case
You postulate...
ORGON: Oh, shut yer face!
Enter DAMIS.
DAMIS: Well, father, has he made this threat?
Is there no limit he will set
To perfidy? And does he plan
To scupper and destroy the man
Who made him what he is?
ORGON: My son! –
He has, he does, and no, there’s none!
DAMIS: I’ll crop his ears for him! Just wait!
I’ll kill the insolent ingrate!
I’ll do what any good son must
And fell him with a single thrust!
CLEANTE: I would have said that, in my day,
But, please, there is a middle way –
Moderation, common sense,
They cure our ills, not violence.
Let’s just keep calm and wait and see.
Enter MME PERNELLE, DORINE, MARIANE, ELMIRE.
MME PERNELLE: It’s baffling! What a mystery!
ORGON: Ah, but I saw it. I was there.
Some payment for my love and care!
The man is desperately poor,
I take him in (God knows what for),
Become his brother, more or less,
Heap him with favours and largesse,
Bestow on him my daughter’s hand,
Nay, more than that, my house and land,
I totally transform his life
And then he tries to bed my wife!
The scoundrel hasn’t finished yet:
On top of this, he makes a threat:
To throw me out, to ruin me
With my own generosity!
Armed with advantages he got
From me, he promptly forms a plot
To crush me – treacherous and cruel,
That’s what he is – and I’m a fool!
Talk about turn and turn about!
I give the house – and get chucked out!
I end up poor, he ends up rich,
He’s in my home, I’m in the ditch!
DORINE: Poor man!
MME PERNELLE: This simply can’t be true.
Tartuffe behave like that? Pooh pooh!
ORGON: Would you mind saying that again?
MME PERNELLE: Envy’s the fate of pious men.
ORGON: Mother, what are you trying to say?
MME PERNELLE: This house gets madder every day.
Tartuffe’s the man they love to hate.
ORGON: I’m sorry, how does that relate
To what I’ve told you? Not at all.
MME PERNELLE: I taught you this when you were small:
The envious die, but envy won’t.
ORGON: (To the others.) D’you find that relevant? I don’t.
MME PERNELLE: It’s all lies – stupid, spiteful lies.
ORGON: I saw him, damn it, with these eyes!
MME PERNELLE: No – slanderous tongues on every hand,
All poisonous talk.
ORGON: Well I’ll be damned!
I saw him, heard him, in the act.
MME PERNELLE: Another saint is being attacked.
Against such slurs there’s no defence.
ORGON: But what you’re saying makes no sense:
I saw him, I keep telling you –
Saw – you know: S – A – W.
Christ, must I cram it in your ears?
Or yell at you for twenty years?
MME PERNELLE: Our ears deceive us all the time.
ORGON: Why is matricide a crime?
MME PERNELLE: Most people have suspicious minds
And one perpetually finds
The good mistaken for the bad.
ORGON: It was my wife he would have had.
D’you think that would have been, in fact,
Some sort of charitable act?
MME PERNELLE: You’re quick to form these damning views.
First get your proof, and then accuse.
ORGON: What further proof was needed then?
Should I have only stopped him when...
Should I have waited till he’d... Ah!
Mother, you’ll make me go too far.
MME PERNELLE: Tartuffe do such a thing? No, no,
I’m sorry, but it can’t be so.
Don’t try to lay this at his door –
The man is saintly to the core.
ORGON: I’m miffed, I’m mad, I’m mortified!
God, if you weren’t my mother, I’d...
DORINE: (To ORGON.) She’s totally incredulous
Exactly like you were with us.
CLEANTE: Stop bickering, for Heaven’s sake,
Let’s think what action we must take,
The man has made a monstrous threat.
We’ve not worked out our tactics yet.
DORINE: He’s made a threat, but will he act?
He’d have to be completely cracked!
ELMIRE: He can’t intend to see it through.
CLEANTE: I hate to disillusion you
...
ELMIRE: He’s so ungrateful, then? So base?
CLEANTE: He’ll give his crime a decent face –
He’ll win important people’s trust
And make them think his cause is just;
Cabals and factions thrive that way,
Trapping new victims every day
Within their evil maze. (To ORGON.) Again,
I have to say, to cross him, when
He had such weapons – oh, Orgon,
Why did you?
ORGON: Why would anyone?
I flipped my lid, I blew my top,
I started and I couldn’t stop,
I mean, the man’s infernal pride.
CLEANTE: We ought to leave no course untried.
You never know. I still have hope.
With luck there may as yet be scope
For some accord between you two.
ELMIRE: Needless to say, I never knew
He had these weapons. If I’d known
I would have left things well alone.
My...
A knock at the door.
ORGON: Who the devil can it be?
Dorine, shut up and go and see.
Exit DORINE.
How horrible, a visitor –
The last damned thing I’m ready for.
DORINE and MONSIEUR LOYAL in the vestibule.
MONSIEUR LOYAL: Good even’. Is thy master in?
I feign would have a word with him.
DORINE: There’s nobody he wants to see.
He’s got sufficient company.
MONSIEUR LOYAL: My visit’s for his benefit.
I think you’ll find he’ll welcome it.
DORINE: Your name?
MONSIEUR LOYAL: It ought to be enough
To tell him that Monsieur Tartuffe
Has sent me here to do him ease.
DORINE: I’ll go and tell him. Wait here, please.
(She rejoins the others.)
He’s from Tartuffe. Seems friendly, though.
CLEANTE: Who is this man? We need to know.
What can he want? Let’s have him in.
DORINE goes to fetch him.
ORGON: My manner – how should I begin?
Could be some sort of compromise.
CLEANTE: Amicable’s what I’d advise:
Conciliate, don’t antagonise,
Attend to what he has to say
And if it seems –
DORINE shows MONSIEUR LOYAL in.
MONSIEUR LOYAL: Monsieur, good day –
May Heaven speedily destroy
All those who work for your annoy
And rain down blessings on your head
To overflowing.
