Act IV: Scene I

CLEANTE.Yes, it's become the talk of all the town,And make a stir that's scarcely to your credit;And I have met you, sir, most opportunely,To tell you in a word my frank opinion.Not to sift out this scandal to the bottom,Suppose the worst for us--suppose DamisActed the traitor, and accused you falsely;Should not a Christian pardon this offence,And stifle in his heart all wish for vengeance?Should you permit that, for your petty quarrel,A son be driven from his father's house?I tell you yet again, and tell you frankly,Everyone, high or low, is scandalised;If you'll take my advice, you'll make it up,And not push matters to extremities.Make sacrifice to God of your resentment;Restore the son to favour with his father.

TARTUFFE.Alas! So far as I'm concerned, how gladlyWould I do so! I bear him no ill will;I pardon all, lay nothing to his charge,And wish with all my heart that I might serve him;But Heaven's interests cannot allow it;If he returns, then I must leave the house.After his conduct, quite unparalleled,All intercourse between us would bring scandal;God knows what everyone's first thought would be!They would attribute it to merest schemingOn my part--say that conscious of my guiltI feigned a Christian love for my accuser,But feared him in my heart, and hoped to win himAnd underhandedly secure his silence.

CLEANTE.You try to put us off with specious phrases;But all your arguments are too far-fetched.Why take upon yourself the cause of Heaven?Does Heaven need our help to punish sinners?Leave to itself the care of its own vengeance,And keep in mind the pardon it commands us;Besides, think somewhat less of men's opinions,When you are following the will of Heaven.Shall petty fear of what the world may thinkPrevent the doing of a noble deed?No!--let us always do as Heaven commands,And not perplex our brains with further questions.

TARTUFFE.Already I have told you I forgive him;And that is doing, sir, as Heaven commands.But after this day's scandal and affrontHeaven does not order me to live with him.

CLEANTE.And does it order you to lend your earTo what mere whim suggested to his father,And to accept gift of his estates,On which, in justice, you can make no claim?

TARTUFFE.No one who knows me, sir, can have the thoughtThat I am acting from a selfish motive.The goods of this world have no charms for me;I am not dazzled by their treacherous glamour;And if I bring myself to take the giftWhich he insists on giving me, I do so,To tell the truth, only because I fearThis whole estate may fall into bad hands,And those to whom it comes may use it illAnd not employ it, as is my design,For Heaven's glory and my neighbours' good.

CLEANTE.Eh, sir, give up these conscientious scruplesThat well may cause a rightful heir's complaints.Don't take so much upon yourself, but let himPossess what's his, at his own risk and peril;Consider, it were better he misused it,Than you should be accused of robbing him.I am astounded that unblushinglyYou could allow such offers to be made!Tell me--has true religion any maximThat teaches us to rob the lawful heir?If Heaven has made it quite impossibleDamis and you should live together here,Were it not better you should quietlyAnd honourably withdraw, than let the sonBe driven out for your sake, dead againstAll reason? 'Twould be giving, sir, believe me,Such an example of your probity ...

TARTUFFE.Sir, it is half-past three; certain devotionsRecall me to my closet; you'll forgive meFor leaving you so soon.

CLEANTE (alone)Ah!