Chapter 12

Elmire, Tartuffe

Tartuffe. May Heaven forever in its great bounty Grant you good health both in soul and body, And bless your days as much as he desires Who is the humblest of those your love inspires! Elmire. I'm much obliged for your pious wishes, but please, Let us be seated and put ourselves at ease. Tartuffe [sitting down]. Have you quite recovered from your illness? Elmire [sitting as well]. Yes, my headache quickly lost its sharpness. Tartuffe. My prayers haven't enough value to buy Such grace from the Heavenly One on High, But most of my recent prayers have in essence Been mainly focused on your convalescence. Elmire. Your concern for me is somewhat disquieting. Tartuffe. I dearly cherish your precious well-being, And to restore it I would have given my own. Elmire. Such Christian charity is overblown, But I am much obliged for all your care. Tartuffe. I try to do as much for you as I dare. Elmire. I wish to speak of some private business And am pleased there's no one to overhear us. Tartuffe. I, too, am delighted, and entre nous It's very sweet being one-on-one with you. For this also have I begged the Deity, But only now has he granted it to me. Elmire. I myself want an encounter between us two Where your whole heart is opened through and through.

[Without exposing himself and in order to better hear the conversation, Damis opens the door of the closet in which he is hiding.]

Tartuffe. In exchange for this unique blessing, I Desire only to reveal to you my Whole soul, and to swear that all my preaching About your guests--though perhaps over-reaching-- Was not caused by any anger or hate But rather by a zeal that's passionate And pure . . . Elmire. I wholly understand and declare My belief that you seek only my welfare. Tartuffe [pressing the tips of her fingers]. Yes, madam, it's true; my devotion is such . . . Elmire. You're hurting me. Tartuffe. Passion pushes me too much. I never wanted to hurt you, I swear, And I would rather . . . [He puts his hand on her knee.] Elmire. Why is your hand there? Tartuffe. I'm feeling your dress. Such fine dimity! Elmire. Oh! Please let me go. You're tickling me. [She pushes her chair back, and Tartuffe moves his forward.] Tartuffe [putting his hand on her lacy collar]. Dear Lord! But this workmanship is marvelous! Lacework nowadays is miraculous. I've never seen anything quite so fine. Elmire. That's true. But let's speak of this concern of mine. I hear that my husband may be breaking his word And giving you his daughter. What have you heard? Tartuffe. In truth, madam, some such words did transpire, But that is not the joy to which I aspire, And I see elsewhere those splendid attractions Which I seek to attain through all of my actions. Elmire. Then all your earthly love has been overthrown? Tartuffe. My breast does not hold a heart made of stone. Elmire. I'm sure that all your thoughts are on salvation, And nothing less holds any fascination. Tartuffe. The love that attracts us to what's eternal Does not stop our love for the merely temporal. Our senses can be quite easily charmed By the perfect Earthly works that God has formed. His glory is mirrored in those like you, But in you yourself we see its rarest hue. He has molded your face with such sublime art That it surprises the eye and transports the heart, And I can't gaze upon you, you perfect creature, Without worshipping in you both God and nature, And sensing in my soul an ardent love For this, the most beautiful portrait by God above. At first I feared that my secret passion Might be a tricky trap laid by Satan, And I even resolved to flee from your eyes As if you were something to exorcise. But I finally learned, oh beauty most lovable, That my ardor for you could never be culpable, That I should even consider it right, And so I submit to my heart's delight. I confess that I'm playing an audacious part In presenting to you the gift of my heart, But I place all my faith in your kindness Like a beggar-man hindered by blindness. In you I seek peace, hope, and happiness; On you depends my torment or my bliss. And through you alone I will finally be Happy if you will, or sad if you please. Elmire. That declaration is very urbane, But in a man of God it's a bit profane. You ought to protect your heart a bit better And reflect more deeply on such a matter. A saint like you whom we all hail . . . Tartuffe. I may be holy, but I'm nonetheless male, And when one sees your heavenly charms, It's time for reason to throw up its arms. I know such words from me may seem strange--though, Madam, after all, I am not an angel, And if you condemn the confession I'm making, Admit nonetheless that your beauty's breath-taking. From the first time I set eyes on your supreme Splendor, my heart became yours and you my queen. The ineffable sweetness of your divine gaze Shattered my stout heart and set it ablaze. That look conquered all--fasting, prayers, duty-- And turned my vows into praise of your beauty. My eyes and my sighs have often shown my choice But to make it still clearer I now add my voice. If you should look down with a kindly eye Upon the base woes of a slave such as I And if your great kindness should happen to lead You to stoop down and grant what I need, I should always have for you, oh precious one, A love that beggars all comparison. With me your honor will never be damaged; No disgrace can attend an affair I have managed. All these gallants at court, for whom wives act absurd, Are reckless in their deeds and rash in their words. They endlessly brag about every success. Each favor they receive, they quickly confess, And their wagging tongues, on which you rely, Dishonor the shrine before which they lie. But men like me burn with a discreet fever, And we keep your sweet secrets safe forever. The concern we have for our good reputation Will also preserve you in your own station; In us you will find, if you wish it, my dear, Love without scandal, pleasure without fear. Elmire. I have heard your words, and your rhetoric Leaves your point clear--though you lay it on thick. Aren't you afraid that I could be in the mood To tell my husband of your solicitude, And that a sudden knowledge of that sort Might set back your hopes of his lasting support? Tartuffe. I know that you are only too gracious And that you will forgive my audacious Deeds since they spring from a human failing In that passionate love that you are bewailing, And that you will reflect when you view things afresh That I am not blind, and a man's only flesh. Elmire. Others might take things differently, I suppose, But discretion prevails, and I won't expose This matter to my spouse. In return, it's true, I do want one little favor from you: To push forward without any sly snare The wedding of Mariane and Valere, To renounce on your own the unjust power That would enrich you with another's dower, And . . .