Jean Baptiste Poquelin Molière (1622–1673). Tartuffe. Love for the beauty of eternal things Cannot destroy our love for earthly beauty; 60 Our mortal senses well may be entranced By perfect works that Heaven has fashioned here. Its charms reflected shine in such as you, And in yourself, its rarest miracles; It has displayed such marvels in your face, 65 That eyes are dazed, and hearts are rapt away; I could not look on you, the perfect creature, Without admiring Nature’s great Creator, And feeling all my heart inflamed with love For you, His fairest image of Himself. 70 At first I trembled lest this secret love Might be the Evil Spirit’s artful snare; I even schooled my heart to flee your beauty, Thinking it was a bar to my salvation. But soon, enlightened, O all lovely one, 75 I saw how this my passion may be blameless, How I may make it fit with modesty, And thus completely yield my heart to it. ’Tis I must own, a great presumption in me To dare make you the offer of my heart; 80 My love hopes all things from your perfect goodness, And nothing from my own poor weak endeavour. You are my hope, my stay, my peace of heart; On you depends my torment or my bliss; And by your doom of judgment, I shall be 85 Blest, if you will; or damned, by your decree. Elmire Your declaration’s turned most gallantly; But truly, it is just a bit surprising. You should have better armed your heart, methinks, And taken thought somewhat on such a matter. 90 A pious man like you, known everywhere… Tartuffe Though pious, I am none the less a man; And when a man beholds your heavenly charms, The heart surrenders, and can think no more. I know such words seem strange, coming from me; 95 But, madam, I’m no angel, after all; If you condemn my frankly made avowal You only have your charming self to blame. Soon as I saw your more than human beauty, You were thenceforth the sovereign of my soul; 100 Sweetness ineffable was in your eyes, That took by storm my still resisting heart, And conquered everything, fasts, prayers, and tears, And turned my worship wholly to yourself. My looks, my sighs, have spoke a thousand times; 105 Now, to express it all, my voice must speak. If but you will look down with gracious favour Upon the sorrows of your worthless slave, If in your goodness you will give me comfort And condescend unto my nothingness, 110 I’ll ever pay you, O sweet miracle, An unexampled worship and devotion. Then too, with me your honour runs no risk; With me you need not fear a public scandal. These court gallants, that women are so fond of, 115 Are boastful of their acts, and vain in speech; They always brag in public of their progress; Soon as a favour’s granted, they’ll divulge it; Their tattling tongues, if you but trust to them, Will foul the altar where their hearts have worshipped. 120 But men like me are so discreet in love, That you may trust their lasting secrecy. The care we take to guard our own good name May fully guarantee the one we love; So you may find, with hearts like ours sincere, 125 Love without scandal, pleasure without fear. Elmire I’ve heard you through—your speech is clear, at least. But don’t you fear that I may take a fancy To tell my husband of your gallant passion, And that a prompt report of this affair 130 May somewhat change the friendship which he bears you? Tartuffe I know that you’re too good and generous, That you will pardon my temerity, Excuse, upon the score of human frailty, The violence of passion that offends you, 135 And not forget, when you consult your mirror, That I’m not blind, and man is made of flesh.
Posted on: Sat, 13 Jul 2013 09:02:49 +0000