Chapter 7

Dorine, Orgon, Mariane

Orgon [perceiving Dorine]. What do you stare at? You must be eaten up with curiosity To eavesdrop on my daughter and me. Dorine. I don't know whether the rumor I hear Is sly conjecture or a wicked smear; But I've just heard word of this marriage, And I trust it is only verbiage. Orgon. Why? Is the idea itself so very absurd? Dorine. I wouldn't believe it, sir, if you gave your word! Orgon. I will make you believe it by-and-by. Dorine. Yes. You're going to tell us a bald-faced lie. Orgon. I am only saying what you will soon see. Dorine. Nonsense! Orgon. What I say, dear girl, will soon be. Dorine. Go on. Don't believe him! It's too bizarre! He's joking. Orgon. I say . . . Dorine. No, you've gone too far, And no one believes you. Orgon. Damn you, you shrew . . . Dorine. Well, I believe you then; the worse for you. What? Monsieur, can you pose as one who's sage, Gravely stroking your bearded visage? And still be fool enough to wish . . . Orgon. Hear me! I have given you too much liberty, And it no longer gives me any pleasure. Dorine. Monsieur, please. Keep your anger within measure. Are you mocking us with your silly plot? Your daughter is no match for a bigot; He has other schemes to worry about. And what would you gain if she wed this lout? With your wealth, what benefit would it bring To pick a bum . . . Orgon. Ssh! Say he has nothing; For that reason, you should revere him the more. He is a holy man and nobly poor. It raises him up to greater grandeur That he has renounced all wealth by his pure Detachment from the merely temporal And his powerful love for the Eternal. But my assistance may give him the means To restore his lands and remove his liens. He is a man of repute in the land of his birth, And, even as he is, he's a man of worth. Dorine. Yes, so he tells us, but his vanity Does not sit so well with true piety. A man pleased with a simple sanctity Needn't vaunt his name and his dignity, And the humility born of devotion Suffers beneath such blatant ambition. What good is his pride? . . . But perhaps I digress: Let's speak of the man--not his nobleness. Can you bestow, without feeling like a rat, A girl like this on a man like that? And shouldn't you think of propriety And foresee the end with anxiety? We know that some girls cannot remain chaste If their husband's tush is not to their taste, And that the best-laid plans for an honest life Are somewhat easier for the best-laid wife, And that many a man with a horned head Has driven his wife to another man's bed. It is entirely too much to ask That a wife be faithful to a flabby ass. And one who gives a girl to a man she hates Is guilty before God for all her mistakes. Consider the perils you expose yourself to. Orgon. So you think I should learn how to live from you! Dorine. You could do worse than follow my lead. Orgon. Dear daughter, do drop this maid's daffy creed; I know what's best for you in this affair. It's true I betrothed you to young Valere, But I hear he likes his dicing and drinking And even worse is inclined to free-thinking. I note with regret we don't see him at mass. Dorine. Must he be there the same moment you pass Like those who attend only to be seen? Orgon. Your advice isn't wanted. Don't intervene. Tartuffe is on the path to salvation, And that is a treasure past calculation. This wedding will bring blessings beyond measure, And be crowned with great sweetness and pleasure. Together you will live, thriving on love Like new-born babes, or a pair of turtledoves. You will never be found in angry debate For you will find all that you wish in this mate. Dorine. She'll only make him a cuckold, I'm sure. Orgon. What? Dorine. He looks just like a caricature, And his fate, monsieur, will make him an ass No matter how much virtue your daughter has. Orgon. Don't interrupt me and remember your place And quit sticking your nose up in my face! Dorine. I'm only trying, sir, to protect you.

[Hereafter she always interrupts him at the moment he begins speaking to his daughter.]

Orgon. You're too kind, but do shut up--please do! Dorine. If I didn't like you . . . Orgon. I don't need liking. Dorine. But I will like you, sir, despite your griping. Orgon. Oh? Dorine. Your honor is dear and I'd be provoked To find you the butt of some smutty joke. Orgon. Can't you keep quiet? Dorine. In all good conscience, It's a shame to foster such an alliance. Orgon. Shut up, you viper, with your brazen traits . . . Dorine. What? You've been reborn, yet you give way to hate? Orgon. Yes, your twaddle has made me quite high-strung, And I now insist that you hold your tongue. Dorine. All right. But I'll think in silence nonetheless. Orgon. Think if you wish to, but strive for success At shutting your mouth . . . or beware. [Turning to his daughter] Let's see, I have weighed everything quite maturely. Dorine [aside]. I hate this silence. [She falls quiet every time Orgon turns toward her.] Orgon. Without being smug, I'll Say Tartuffe's face . . . Dorine. Yes, he has a fine muzzle! Orgon. Is so fine that even if you forgot His other traits . . . Dorine [aside]. And they're a sorry lot!

[Orgon turns toward Dorine and, with his arms folded, listens while staring in her face.]

If I were in her place, most assuredly No man would wed me with impunity, And I'd prove to him right after the wedding That a wife's vengeance lies in the bedding! Orgon [to Dorine]. So you refuse to obey me, is that true? Dorine. What's your beef, sir? I'm not speaking to you. Orgon. Then what are you doing? Dorine. Soliloquizing. Orgon. Very well. [aside] To give her a good chastising, I think she needs a taste of the back of my hand. [He prepares to slap her, but each time Dorine sees him looking at her, she stands silent and erect.] Child, you should approve of all I have planned . . . And have faith in the spouse . . . who's my designee. [To Dorine.] Speak to yourself! Dorine. I've nothing to say to me. Orgon. Just one little word. Dorine. I'm not in the mood. Orgon. Because I was ready! Dorine. What ineptitude! Orgon. Now, daughter, let's see some obedience. Accept my choice with complete deference. Dorine [running away]. I'd thumb my nose at such a silly spouse. [Orgon tries to slap Dorine and misses.] Orgon. Daughter, your maid is a pest and would arouse Vice in a saint--she's an absolute shrew! I'm so upset that I can't continue. Her taunts have nearly driven me to swear, And I need to calm down in the open air.