Tartuffe; Or, The Hypocrite E-Book

Moliere

• Herausgeber: tredition
• Kategorie: Geisteswissenschaft
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Seitenzahl: 93

Beschreibung

Tartuffe; Or, The Hypocrite - Molière - 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 Tartuffe will marry Orgon's daughter Mariane (who is already engaged to Valère). Mariane becomes 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. Orgon is convinced that Damis was lying and banishes him from the house. Tartuffe even convinces Orgon to order that, to teach Damis a lesson, Tartuffe should be around Elmire more than ever. As a gift to Tartuffe and further punishment to Damis and the rest of his family, Orgon signs over all his worldly possessions to Tartuffe. In a later scene, Elmire challenges Orgon to be witness to a meeting between her and Tartuffe. Orgon, ever easily convinced, decides to hide under a table in the same room, confident that Elmire is wrong. He overhears Elmire resisting Tartuffe's very forward advances. When Tartuffe has incriminated himself definitively and is dangerously close to violating Elmire, Orgon comes out from under the table and orders Tartuffe out of his house. The wily guest means to stay, and Tartuffe finally shows his hand. It turns out that earlier, before the events of the play, Orgon had admitted to Tartuffe that he had possession of a box of incriminating letters (written by a friend, not by him). Tartuffe had taken charge and possession of this box, and now tells Orgon that he (Orgon) will be the one to leave. Tartuffe takes his temporary leave. Orgon's family tries to decide what to do. Very soon, Monsieur Loyal shows up with a message from Tartuffe and the court itself; they must exit the house because it now belongs to Tartuffe. Dorine makes fun of Monsieur Loyal's name, mocking his fake loyalty. Even Madame Pernelle, who had refused to believe any ill about Tartuffe even in the face of her son's actually witnessing it, has become convinced of Tartuffe's duplicity.

Leseprobe

Molire

Tartuffe; Or, The Hypocrite

Introductory Note

Jean Baptiste Poquelin, better known by his stage name of Molière, stands without a rival at the head of French comedy. Born at Paris in January, 1622, where his father held a position in the royal household, he was educated at the Jesuit College de Clermont, and for some time studied law, which he soon abandoned for the stage. His life was spent in Paris and in the provinces, acting, directing performances, managing theaters, and writing plays. He had his share of applause from the king and from the public; but the satire in his comedies made him many enemies, and he was the object of the most venomous attacks and the most impossible slanders. Nor did he find much solace at home; for he married unfortunately, and the unhappiness that followed increased the bitterness that public hostility had brought into his life. On February 17, 1673, while acting in "La Malade Imaginaire," the last of his masterpieces, he was seized with illness and died a few hours later.

The first of the greater works of Molière was "Les Précieuses Ridicules," produced in 1659. In this brilliant piece Molière lifted French comedy to a new level and gave it a new purpose—the satirizing of contemporary manners and affectations by frank portrayal and criticism. In the great plays that followed, "The School for Husbands" and "The School for Wives," "The Misanthrope" and "The Hypocrite" (Tartuffe), "The Miser" and "The Hypochondriac," "The Learned Ladies," "The Doctor in Spite of Himself," "The Citizen Turned Gentleman," and many others, he exposed mercilessly one after another the vices and foibles of the day.

His characteristic qualities are nowhere better exhibited than in "Tartuffe." Compared with such characterization as Shakespeare's, Molière's method of portraying life may seem to be lacking in complexity; but it is precisely the simplicity with which creations like Tartuffe embody the weakness or vice they represent that has given them their place as universally recognized types of human nature.

Characters

Madame Pernelle, mother of Orgon

Orgon, husband of Elmire

Elmire, wife of Orgon

Damis, son of Orgon

Mariane, daughter of Orgon, in love with Valère

Valère, in love with Mariane

Cléante, brother-in-law of Orgon

Tartuffe, a hypocrite

Dorine, Mariane’s maid

Mr. Loyal, a bailiff

A Police Officer

Flipotte, Madame Pernelle’s servant

The Scene is at Paris

ACT 1

Scene 1

MADAME PERNELLE and FLIPOTTE, her servant; ELMIRE, MARIANE, CLEANTE, DAMIS, DORINE

MADAME PERNELLECome, come, Flipotte, and let me get away.ELMIREYou hurry so, I hardly can attend you.MADAME PERNELLEThen don't, my daughter-in law. Stay where you are.I can dispense with your polite attentions.ELMIREWe're only paying what is due you, mother.Why must you go away in such a hurry?MADAME PERNELLEBecause I can't endure your carryings-on,And no one takes the slightest pains to please me.I leave your house, I tell you, quite disgusted;You do the opposite of my instructions;You've no respect for anything; each oneMust have his say; it's perfect pandemonium.DORINEIf . . .MADAME PERNELLEYou're a servant wench, my girl, and muchToo full of gab, and too impertinentAnd free with your advice on all occasions.DAMISBut . . .MADAME PERNELLEYou're a fool, my boy—f, o, o, lJust spells your name. Let grandma tell you thatI've said a hundred times to my poor son,Your father, that you'd never come to goodOr give him anything but plague and torment.MARIANEI think . . .MADAME PERNELLEO dearie me, his little sister!You're all demureness, butter wouldn't meltIn your mouth, one would think to look at you.Still waters, though, they say . . . you know the proverb;And I don't like your doings on the sly.ELMIREBut, mother . . .MADAME PERNELLEDaughter, by your leave, your conductIn everything is altogether wrong;You ought to set a good example for 'em;Their dear departed mother did much better.You are extravagant; and it offends me,To see you always decked out like a princess.A woman who would please her husband's eyesAlone, wants no such wealth of fineries.CLEANTEBut, madam, after all . . .MADAME PERNELLESir, as for you,The lady's brother, I esteem you highly,Love and respect you. But, sir, all the same,If I were in my son's, her husband's, place,I'd urgently entreat you not to comeWithin our doors. You preach a way of livingThat decent people cannot tolerate.I'm rather frank with you; but that's my way—I don't mince matters, when I mean a thing.DAMISMr. Tartuffe, your friend, is mighty lucky . . .MADAME PERNELLEHe is a holy man, and must be heeded;I can't endure, with any show of patience,To hear a scatterbrains like you attack him.DAMISWhat! Shall I let a bigot criticasterCome and usurp a tyrant's power here?And shall we never dare amuse ourselvesTill this fine gentleman deigns to consent?DORINEIf we must hark to him, and heed his maxims,There's not a thing we do but what's a crime;He censures everything, this zealous carper.MADAME PERNELLEAnd all he censures is well censured, too.He wants to guide you on the way to heaven;My son should train you all to love him well.DAMISNo, madam, look you, nothing—not my fatherNor anything—can make me tolerate him.I should belie my feelings not to say so.His actions rouse my wrath at every turn;And I foresee that there must come of itAn open rupture with this sneaking scoundrel.DORINEBesides, 'tis downright scandalous to seeThis unknown upstart master of the house—This vagabond, who hadn't, when he came,Shoes to his feet, or clothing worth six farthings,And who so far forgets his place, as nowTo censure everything, and rule the roost!MADAME PERNELLEEh! Mercy sakes alive! Things would go betterIf all were governed by his pious orders.DORINEHe passes for a saint in your opinion.In fact, he's nothing but a hypocrite.MADAME PERNELLEJust listen to her tongue!DORINEI wouldn't trust him,Nor yet his Lawrence, without bonds and surety.MADAME PERNELLEI don't know what the servant's characterMay be; but I can guarantee the masterA holy man. You hate him and reject himBecause he tells home truths to all of you.'Tis sin alone that moves his heart to anger,And heaven's interest is his only motive.DORINEOf course. But why, especially of late,Can he let nobody come near the house?Is heaven offended at a civil callThat he should make so great a fuss about it?I'll tell you, if you like, just what I think;(Pointing to Elmire)Upon my word, he's jealous of our mistress.MADAME PERNELLEYou hold your tongue, and think what you are saying.He's not alone in censuring these visits;The turmoil that attends your sort of people,Their carriages forever at the door,And all their noisy footmen, flocked together,Annoy the neighbourhood, and raise a scandal.I'd gladly think there's nothing really wrong;But it makes talk; and that's not as it should be.CLEANTEEh! madam, can you hope to keep folk's tonguesFrom wagging? It would be a grievous thingIf, for the fear of idle talk about us,We had to sacrifice our friends. No, no;Even if we could bring ourselves to do it,Think you that everyone would then be silenced?Against backbiting there is no defenceSo let us try to live in innocence,To silly tattle pay no heed at all,And leave the gossips free to vent their gall.DORINEOur neighbour Daphne, and her little husband,Must be the ones who slander us, I'm thinking.Those whose own conduct's most ridiculous,Are always quickest to speak ill of others;They never fail to seize at once uponThe slightest hint of any love affair,And spread the news of it with glee, and give itThe character they'd have the world believe in.By others' actions, painted in their colours,They hope to justify their own; they think,In the false hope of some resemblance, eitherTo make their own intrigues seem innocent,Or else to make their neighbours share the blameWhich they are loaded with by everybody.MADAME PERNELLEThese arguments are nothing to the purpose.Orante, we all know, lives a perfect life;Her thoughts are all of heaven; and I have heardThat she condemns the company you keep.DORINEO admirable pattern! Virtuous dame!She lives the model of austerity;But age has brought this piety upon her,And she's a prude, now she can't help herself.As long as she could capture men's attentionsShe made the most of her advantages;But, now she sees her beauty vanishing,She wants to leave the world, that's leaving her,And in the specious veil of haughty virtueShe'd hide the weakness of her worn-out charms.That is the way with all your old coquettes;They find it hard to see their lovers leave 'em;And thus abandoned, their forlorn estateCan find no occupation but a prude's.These pious dames, in their austerity,Must carp at everything, and pardon nothing.They loudly blame their neighbours' way of living,Not for religion's sake, but out of envy,Because they can't endure to see anotherEnjoy the pleasures age has weaned them from.MADAME PERNELLE (to Elmire)There! That's the kind of rigmarole to please you,Daughter-in-law. One never has a chanceTo get a word in edgewise, at your house,Because this lady holds the floor all day;But none the less, I mean to have my say, too.I tell you that my son did nothing wiserIn all his life, than take this godly manInto his household; heaven sent him here,In your great need, to make you all repent;For your salvation, you must hearken to him;He censures nothing but deserves his censure.These visits, these assemblies, and these balls,Are all inventions of the evil spirit.You never hear a word of godlinessAt them—but idle cackle, nonsense, flimflam.Our neighbour often comes in for a share,The talk flies fast, and scandal fills the air;It makes a sober person's head go round,At these assemblies, just to hear the soundOf so much gab, with not a word to say;And as a learned man remarked one dayMost aptly, 'tis the Tower of Babylon,Where all, beyond all limit, babble on.And just to tell you how this point came in . . .(To Cleante)So! Now the gentlemen must snicker, must he?Go find fools like yourself to make you laughAnd don't . . .(To Elmire)Daughter, good-bye; not one word more.As for this house, I leave the half unsaid;But I shan't soon set foot in it again,(Cuffing Flipotte)Come, you! What makes you dream and stand agape,Hussy! I'll warm your ears in proper shape!March, trollop, march!