feelings not to say so.
  His actions rouse my wrath at every turn;
  And I foresee that there must come of it
  An open rupture with this sneaking scoundrel.

  DORINE
  Besides, 'tis downright scandalous to see
  This 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 now
  To censure everything, and rule the roost!

  MADAME PERNELLE
  Eh! Mercy sakes alive! Things would go better
  If all were governed by his pious orders.

  DORINE
  He passes for a saint in your opinion.
  In fact, he's nothing but a hypocrite.

  MADAME PERNELLE
  Just listen to her tongue!

  DORINE
  I wouldn't trust him,
  Nor yet his Lawrence, without bonds and surety.

  MADAME PERNELLE
  I don't know what the servant's character
  May be; but I can guarantee the master
  A holy man. You hate him and reject him
  Because 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.

  DORINE
  Of course. But why, especially of late,
  Can he let nobody come near the house?
  Is heaven offended at a civil call
  That 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 PERNELLE
  You 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.

  CLEANTE
  Eh! madam, can you hope to keep folk's tongues
  From wagging? It would be a grievous thing
  If, 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 defence
  So let us try to live in innocence,
  To silly tattle pay no heed at all,
  And leave the gossips free to vent their gall.

  DORINE
  Our 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 upon
  The slightest hint of any love affair,
  And spread the news of it with glee, and give it
  The 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, either
  To make their own intrigues seem innocent,
  Or else to make their neighbours share the blame
  Which they are loaded with by everybody.

  MADAME PERNELLE
  These arguments are nothing to the purpose.
  Orante, we all know, lives a perfect life;
  Her thoughts are all of heaven; and I have heard
  That she condemns the company you keep.

  DORINE
  O 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 attentions
  She 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 virtue
  She'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 estate
  Can 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 another
  Enjoy 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 chance
  To 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 wiser
  In all his life, than take this godly man
  Into 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 godliness
  At 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 sound
  Of so much gab, with not a word to say;
  And as a learned man remarked one day
  Most 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 laugh
  And 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!

SCENE II

CLEANTE, DORINE

  CLEANTE
  I won't escort her down,
  For fear she might fall foul of me again;
  The good old lady …

  DORINE
  Bless us! What a pity
  She shouldn't hear the way you speak of her!
  She'd surely tell you you're too "good" by half,
  And that she's not so "old" as all that, neither!

  CLEANTE
  How she got angry with us all for nothing!
  And how she seems possessed with her Tartuffe!

  DORINE
  Her case is nothing, though, beside her son's!
  To see him, you would say he's ten times worse!
  His conduct in our late unpleasantness [1]
  Had won him much esteem, and proved his courage
  In service of his king; but now he's like
  A man besotted, since he's been so taken
  With this Tartuffe. He calls him brother, loves him
  A hundred times as much as mother, son,
  Daughter, and wife. He tells him all his secrets
  And lets him guide his acts, and rule his conscience.