Tartuffe; Or, The Hypocrite. Жан-Батист Мольер

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