Tartuffe or the hypocrite E-Book

Moliere

• Herausgeber: Raanan Editeur
• Kategorie: Geisteswissenschaft
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020

Beschreibung

Tartuffe, or The Impostor, or The Hypocrite (French: Tartuffe, ou l'Imposteur), first performed in 1664, is one of the most famous theatrical comedies by Molière. The characters of Tartuffe, Elmire, and Orgon are considered among the greatest classical theatre roles.
History
As a result of Molière's play, contemporary French and English both use the word "Tartuffe" to designate a hypocrite who ostensibly and exaggeratedly feigns virtue, especially religious virtue. The play is written entirely in twelve-syllable lines (alexandrines) of rhyming couplets - 1,962 lines in all.
Plot
Orgon's family is up in arms because Orgon and his mother have fallen under the influence of Tartuffe, a pious fraud (and a vagrant prior to Orgon's help). Tartuffe pretends to be pious and to speak with divine authority, and Orgon and his mother no longer take any action without first consulting him.
Tartuffe's antics do not fool the rest of the family or their friends; they detest him. Orgon raises the stakes when he announces that he will marry Tartuffe to his daughter Mariane (already engaged to Valère). Mariane feels very upset at this news, and the rest of the family realizes how deeply Tartuffe has embedded himself into the family.
In an effort to show Orgon how awful Tartuffe really is, the family devises a scheme to trap Tartuffe into confessing to Elmire (Orgon's wife) his desire for her. As a pious man and a guest, he should have no such feelings for the lady of the house, and the family hopes that after such a confession, Orgon will throw Tartuffe out of the house. Indeed, Tartuffe does try to seduce Elmire, but their interview is interrupted when Orgon's son Damis, who has been eavesdropping, is no longer able to control his boiling indignation and jumps out of his hiding place to denounce Tartuffe.
|Source Wikipédia|

Leseprobe

SOMMMAIRE

Characters

ACT I

ACT II

ACT III

ACT IV

ACT V

MOLIÈRE

TARTUFFE

OR

THE HYPOCRITE

COMEDY IN FIVE ACTS

1669

Translated By Curtis Hidden Page

Raanan Éditeur

Digital book725| Publishing 1

Characters

MADAME PERNELLE, Orgon's mother--(the mother-in-law)

ORGON, Elmire's husband--(the dupe)

ELMIRE, Orgon's wife

DAMIS, Orgon's son, Elmire's stepson--(the hot-headed youth)

MARIANE, Orgon's daughter, Elmire's stepdaughter, and Valere's lover--(the ingenue)

CLEANTE, Orgon's brother-in-law--(the raisonneur)

TARTUFFE, the hypocrite

DORINE, Mariane's maid--(the impertinent maid)

M. LOYAL, a bailiff

POLICE OFFICER

FLIPOTE, Madame Pernelle's servant

LAURENT, Tartuffe's servant

The Scene is at Paris

ACT I

SCENE I

Madame Pernelle and her servant Flipote, Elmire, Mariane, Dorine, Damis, Cleante

Mme. Pernelle.

Let's go, Flipote, let's go. I hate this place.

Elmire.

I can't keep up, you rush at such a pace.

Mme. Pernelle.

Peace, my dear, peace; come no farther. I don't wish to cause you any bother.

Elmire.

What duty demands, I insist on giving. But, mother, what has caused your hasty leaving?

Mme. Pernelle.

I just can't stand the way your household runs . . . And no one cares what I wish to have done. Oh, yes, I leave your household quite dissatisfied For all my wise advice has been defied . . . And nobody respects me, and everybody shouts, And truly this is a home for the king of louts!

Dorine.

If . . .

Mme. Pernelle.

You, my dearie, are a bold lassy, A little brazen and very sassy, You butt into everything to speak your mind.

Damis.

But . . .

Mme. Pernelle.

You, grandson, are a fool of the worst kind. It is I, your grandmother, that pronounce this edict And to my son, your father, I have oft predicted That you'll turn out to be a worthless wastrel, And give him in life a foretaste of Hell.

Mariane.

I think . . .

Mme. Pernelle.

My lord, his sister! You seem so discreet And so untainted, so very sweet, But the stillest waters are filled with scum, And your sly ways earn my revulsion.

Elmire.

But . . .

Mme. Pernelle.

Daughter, my views may make you mad, But your conduct in all things is all bad. In your family's eyes you should be an example-setter; In that respect their late mother did far better. You are extravagant, and it wounds me, I guess, To see you sashay about dressed like a princess. A woman who wishes only to please her mate, Dear daughter, need not primp and undulate.

Cleante.

Madam, after all . . .

Mme. Pernelle.

And her brother, as for you, I respect you, love you, and revere you, too, But finally, if I were my son, her spouse, I would at once beg you to leave this house. Without cease you teach your rules and mottos Which decent people should never follow. I now speak frankly, but it is my part; I never spare the words that stir my heart.

Damis.

Your man Tartuffe is satisfied, no fear . . .

Mme. Pernelle.

He is a holy man whom all should hear, And I cannot bear, without great rue, To hear him mocked by a fool like you.

Damis.

What? Am I myself to bear a carping critic, A base usurper with a power tyrannic, Such that we can do nothing for diversion Without hearing about that creep's aversion?

Dorine.

If we were to hear and obey his whims, We couldn't do anything without sins For he forbids all, this false Capuchin.

Mme. Pernelle.

And everything he forbids is well forbidden. He strives to guide you on the road to heaven, And it's my son's duty to make you love him.

Damis.

No, grandma, neither dad nor anyone else Can oblige me to wish for his good health. I'd be false to myself if I didn't say this: When I see him around, I begin to get pissed. I can smell the outcome, and soon this coot And I will find ourselves in a grand dispute.

Dorine.

It's certainly a clear cause for remark When a nobody acts like a patriarch, A beggar who was barefoot when he came hence And whose whole wardrobe wasn't worth two cents! And he's gone so far as to forget his past for He opposes everything and plays the master.

Mme. Pernelle.

Ah! mercy on me! Things would be better, If you'd only follow his holy orders.

Dorine.

He passes for a saint in your fantasy, But, I swear, he acts with hypocrisy.

Mme. Pernelle.

Watch your tongue!

Dorine.

Not to him nor his man Laurent Would I trust my honor without good warrant.

Mme. Pernelle.

I don't know what his servant's like at heart, But for the man himself, I'll guarantee his part. You only treat him with hate and aversion Because he truly strives for your conversion. He hurls his heart up against each sin And the glory of God is all he hopes to win.

Dorine.

Yes.  But why, especially during some Time past, must he ban all guests from our home? Can a courtesy call offend Heaven Enough to merit a huge commotion? Would you like it explained, just between us? [Gesturing toward Elmire.] Of Madam there, on my oath, he's jealous!

Mme. Pernelle.

Be quiet, and think before you speak. Others, too, condemn the company you keep. All this bustle from the people who arrive, The carriages ceaselessly parking at curb-side, And the servants in a circle chattering, Makes noise that your neighbors find nerve-shattering. I'd like to think there's no harm meant, But when gossips talk, they're malevolent.

Cleante.

How can you hope to stop people talking? It would truly be most irritating If, for the sake of idle, foolish chatter, We must renounce the friends that really matter. And even if we could resolve to do it, How could you hope to keep the whole world quiet? No castle wall can defend against lies, So let's ignore the fools who criticize, And strive to live in innocence and ease, Letting gossips gossip as they please.

Dorine.

Daphne, our neighbor, and her petty spouse-- Weren't they the ones who slandered this house? Those whom the whole world finds ridiculous Are always first in line to stick it to us. They never fail to sniff out and swiftly share The earliest rumor of a love affair, Sowing seeds of scandal with eager expedition And twisting truth past all recognition. In their own colors, they paint all others, Brazenly calling all men their brothers; In the faint hope of finding some resemblance, They try to give a gloss of innocence To their schemes or to make others share The burden of blame that is only theirs.

Mme. Pernelle.

All this hair-splitting is off the subject. Orante lives a life that is perfect With all her thoughts on heaven, and I hear That she deeply mourns the way you live here.

Dorine.

The lady herself is quite an example! You want a chaste life?  She's a nice sample. But old age has stuck her in this zealous mood, And everyone knows she's a reluctant prude. 'Cause as long as she could snare a man's heart, She was more than willing to play her part. But now that her eyes have lost their luster, She leaves the world that already left her And uses a pompous veil of phony wisdom To hide the fact that her looks are gone. It's the last resort of the aging flirt, So peeved at having no man at her skirt That, alone and abandoned to solitude, Her only recourse is to become a prude. And these good women censure all with such Great severity; nor do they pardon much. They biliously blame immorality Not from charity, but only from envy That others are drinking in that pleasure From which old age now drains their measure.

Mme. Pernelle [to Elmire].

Such idle tales form a silly song. In your home, my dear, I've been silenced too long Because, like a crap-shooter with the die, Madame won't give up her turn; but now my Chance has come.  I applaud my son's great wisdom In opening his home to this holy person Who's been heaven-sent to meet your needs In turning from evil to God's holy deeds. For your soul's salvation, please pay attention: What he reprehends, merits reprehension. These visits, these balls, these conversations Are flawless signs of Satanic possession. In them you never hear the holy Credo-- Just songs, chatter, gossip, malice, and innuendo. Often the neighbors get stabbed to the heart By vicious lies from the third or fourth part. So good people suffer real anxiety From the sad confusion spread at your party. A slew of slanders are spread along the way And, as a doctor told me the other day, This is truly the Tower of Babylon Because everyone babbles on and on; And, to tell a story that now comes to mind . . . Now look at him and how he laughs!  [Indicating Cleante.]  Go find Some snickering fools. They are just your kind! [To Elmire.]  Adieu, my daughter.  I'll say no more. But I don't intend to darken your door For a long, long time.  You've fallen from grace. [Slapping Flipote.]  Hurry up, there!  Don't stand staring into space! Lord Almighty!  I'll slap your silly face. Go on, you slut, go on.

SCENE II

Cleante, Dorine

Cleante.

I'm not following; I'm sure there'd only be more quarrelling. How that old harridan . . .

Dorine.

Oh, how I regret That she can't hear you use that epithet. She'd tell you at length what she thinks of your wit, And that she's not old enough to merit it.

Cleante.

  What a fuss she made about nearly nothing! And what a passion for Tartuffe, her darling!

Dorine.