Chapter 8

Dorine, Mariane

Dorine. Have you entirely lost your voice and heart? Why must I continue playing your part? To think you allow such a mad proposal Without voicing even a meek refusal! Mariane. How can I resist such a harsh patriarch? Dorine. By any means! Don't be an easy mark! Mariane. But how? Dorine. Tell him you can't love on command, That you marry for yourself, not by demand, And since you are most concerned in these affairs You'll choose for yourself the sire of his heirs, And that, if Tartuffe is so charming to him, He can wed him himself--if that's his whim. Mariane. A father, I'm sure, has absolute power; Before him I can only cringe and cower. Dorine. Use your head. Valere wants to tie the knot. Do you really love him, I ask--or not? Mariane. Your injustice to me has a mortal sting! Dorine, how can you ask me such a thing? Haven't I poured out my whole soul to you, And don't you know yet that my love is true? Dorine. How do I know that your heart echoes your voice And that this love is truly your own choice? Mariane. Your doubts, Dorine, wrong me greatly; My real feelings are shown far too plainly. Dorine. You love him then? Mariane. Yes, with the strongest passion. Dorine. And he seems to love you in the same fashion? Mariane. I think so. Dorine. And both of you burn equally For this union in marriage? Mariane. Certainly. Dorine. And about this other man, what's your intention? Mariane. I'd die before I'd submit to coercion. Dorine. Fine! I hadn't thought of that recourse. Death would give you such a forcible divorce. What an ingenious remedy! Geez! I hate to hear such stupid ideas. Mariane. Good Heavens! What a rotten mood you're in! You have no pity for my pain, Dorine! Dorine. I have no sympathy for foolishness And those who meet a crisis with such weakness. Mariane. But what do you want me to do? I was born frail. Dorine. A woman in love needs a heart of steel. Mariane. But haven't I kept it free for my lover Whose task it is to win me from my father? Dorine. What! If your father is a mad fanatic Whose love for Tartuffe is completely lunatic And who has blocked the match you are now bewailing, Is your lover to be damned for failing? Mariane. But am I to display how deeply I'm bitten By rejecting Tartuffe like one who's love-smitten? Am I, because of Valere's strength and beauty, To renounce my modesty and duty? And would you have me show my heart to all . . . ? Dorine. No, no, not at all. I'm wrong to forestall Your marriage to Tartuffe, and my defiance Is apparent in barring that alliance. What reason have I for my outrageous Attempt to stop something so advantageous? Tartuffe! Oh! Isn't he something to behold? Surely Tartuffe is not made from such a mold, If rightly viewed, as to make a person laugh; 'Twould be an honor to be his better half. The whole world already crowns him with glory;-- Both in physique and character he's laudatory; He has red ears and a florid, flushing face With him for a mate you'd live in joyful grace. Mariane. Dear God! Dorine. What delight you will feel within To know that you're wed to a man like him. Mariane. Oh! Please stop talking, and show me the way To avoid this marriage. I will obey, You've said enough, and I'm ready to be led. Dorine. No. A good daughter must obey her dad-- Even if he wishes her to make love To an ape. What are you complaining of? You will proceed to his little villa Where you will get your absolute fill of Uncles and cousins to be entertained. Right away you'll move among the most urbane Of hicks. First you will make some overture To the wives of the judge and the tax assessor, Who will kindly seat you on a folding chair. During Carnival, you may hope to have there A ball with two bagpipes for an orchestra And maybe some puppets and a tame gorilla. But if your husband . . . Mariane. Oh! You're killing me. Please help me avoid this catastrophe. Dorine. I am your servant. Mariane. Oh! Dorine, mercy . . . Dorine. To punish you, I ought to leave things be. Mariane. My dear girl! Dorine. No. Mariane. If I declared my love . . . Dorine. No. Tartuffe is your man; that's sure enough. Mariane. You know that I've always trusted that you'd Help me . . . Dorine. No. I'm sure you will be tartuffed. Mariane. All right! Since my fate no longer moves you, Henceforth you may leave me alone and blue; From deep sorrow my heart will draw relief, And I know an absolute cure for my grief. [She starts to leave.] Dorine. Whoa! I'm not really angry. Come back,--do. In spite of everything, I pity you. Mariane. If I'm to be the one you crucify, You'll see, Dorine, how quickly I shall die. Dorine. Don't torture yourself. We can easily Block them. . . . But look! I think that's Valere I see.