MOLIÈRE
… Tartuffe is a
play about an impostor and a religious hypocrite, who has been very generously
brought in to live in the home of Orgon, where he promptly weasels his way into
an engagement with Orgon’s daughter, even as he is attempting to seduce Orgon’s
wife, Elmire! For once, I have the opportunity to play, not the cuckolded
husband, but rather the wicked rake and seducer himself.
Over the years, I have gone to great lengths to point out
that Tartuffe himself is not affiliated with the Church in any way! And while his dialogue may smack
of the parlance of the pious to manipulate his victims, Tartuffe is clearly an independent
charlatan! I can only suggest that those
who were the most offended by this work, were not those people of true piety
themselves, but rather the very sort of hypocrite whom Tartuffe is intended to
represent, frightened that after years of successfully manipulating their
victims, they might well be found out for who they were. It is, of course,
interesting to consider that, even though the play was initially written over
seven years ago, in 1664(!), our
ongoing scandals of the present day have kept this work just as pertinent as it
was the day it was first produced! …
TARTUFFE (With a powerful low, rich voice, a stillness
not evident in MOLIÈRE’s more neurotic characters, almost ravaging
ELMIRE with his eyes.)
Because one loves the glories of the Lord,
Does not suggest his works ought be ignored.
We should not put up spiritual fences,
To hide from the arousal of the senses.
Divine works bear our Holy Saviour’s mark,
And in you lights a most auspicious spark.
In you rests Heaven’s beauty, charm and grace,
That tender arm; that throat; that angel’s face
How might I gaze at one built so sans flaw
And not regard the Maker with great awe,
Expressing love, both earthly and divine,
As God’s self-portrait deep in you does shine.
I briefly feared that this affixed affection
Should mask a Hell in woman’s fair complexion.
At once I fled from you against all reason.
I feared my soul might flirt with Satan’s treason,
But soon the notion struck my soul most clear:
One might, to God, through earthly joy, yet steer,
Achieving passage through those perfect gates,
Arising through the glory He creates.
I don’t mean here to overstep my bounds,
To offer up my heart with feeble sounds,
Nor to suggest that I somehow deserve
The knowledge of your loving touch, your curve.
I open here my heart, which you may trample,
Or but allow a taste of Heaven’s sample.
I know, one scarce expects this from the pious …
But let that preference not incur your bias:
Amid the glow of charms that shine celestial,
I lose my modest hesitation, lest you’ll
Discount my love as Christian charity.
My pious stance is mere posterity.
The world may paint me as a soul angelic,
While I know that perception as mere relic.
What you’ve perceived in hot, prolonged gaze,
I manifest in humble loving praise.
If this seems contradictory position,
Fix blame upon the object of my mission,
For no amount of earnest flagellation,
Could keep my keen desire from graduation…
MOLIÈRE
As the scene ends, Tartuffe is interrupted by the
entrance of Orgon’s son, Damis, who has overheard this entire
conversation. Damis exposes Tartuffe to Orgon, who, unfortunately, would rather
believe the pious hypocrite than his own son or wife.
And so to solve the riddle, good Elmire
Allows Tartuffe seduce with husband near,
Positioned where he might observe and hear.
If I might just request a volunteer,
A woman to be subject to his leer
To read the lines and delicately veer
As our seducer makes intentions clear?
My usual victim, tonight, could not be here. (As
someone in the audience rises.)
Let’s give the volunteer a hearty cheer.
MOLIÈRE ad libs his way through a brief
conversation. He may ask where she is from, how she’s enjoying the show,
comment on her “interesting” costume, ask if she’s ever acted
before, and give her the script with her part clearly marked. The banter is
light, but always with a sensual come-on just beneath the surface; usually the
less experienced or confident the volunteer, the better, particularly as
MOLIÈRE’s, and then TARTUFFE’s proximity becomes an
imposition on the hapless volunteer.
(Turning to play out to the audience, and crossing to
encircle the VOLUNTEER in such a way that she doesn’t get much chance to
move anywhere.)
TARTUFFE
My dear Elmire: a heavenly delight,
For your fair lips to give fine words such flight,
They fly about my pate, I catch my breath,
This moment I could die a happy death.
How long I’ve longed for kind word of affection,
Which now I feel in your most kind inflection.
But, by your leave, I pause for just a thought:
What if your daughter’s wedding has now brought
You to the point of warming to this lust.
What proof have I to loosen my distrust?
It’s possible that once the wedding’s off,
My passions might again be yours to scoff.
I fear I must withhold my fond decision,
Till you assuage an intimate provision.
I hesitate to act on my delight,
Until my love you manage to requite.
ELMIRE
(She coughs,
to cue Orgon.)
Such haste, my love! Allow me but a chance,
Before engaging in such hallowed dance.
TARTUFFE
So lowly am I, Madame, in my eyes,
Such notion with mere words can’t be revised.
This talk of your affection lends me strength,
But only going to a greater length,
Convinces me your love is free and true,
And that will be once I have been with you.
And though for now, I have some doubt instilled,
That doubt dissolves when promise is fulfilled.
ELMIRE
But how can my submission ever jive,
With God’s dictates for which you ever strive?
TARTUFFE
Is that what bothers you? A churchish fear?
If that is all, then we are free and clear!
I’ll teach you, Ma’am, that Heaven’s
contradictions,
Give latitude to men of pure convictions.
It’s true that Heaven frowns on some dark acts,
Though with great men, our Lord makes higher pacts.
A pious man made study of a science,
In which, through other paths, one finds compliance,
Enabling us to balance indiscretion,
Against the zeal of one’s professed repression.
I’ll teach to you of science’ subtle ways,
To clear your conscience and to ease your days.
For now though, let us finish what we started,
If sin there is, be it on me imparted.
(ELMIRE coughs, louder than before.)
Rough cough.
ELMIRE
Oh, more than anybody thinks.
TARTUFFE
Now, if you’re still concerned, know Heaven winks,
At carnal joys known quietly in private.
Decorum is the way one will survive it.
It’s whiff of scandal, draws out Heaven’s wrath,
And silent sin still sticks to Heaven’s path.
TARTUFFE/MOLIÈRE turns from his playful-nuzzling
of ELMIRE to draw her hand forward, indicating that she should take a bow. He
retrieves the script from her hands and escorts her to the stairs that lead
back into the audience. Just as she is about to sit back down …
MOLIÈRE (Still seductively)
You know, if you’d care to stop backstage after the
show … (HE notices the audience is hearing everything he says) … I might well give you a tour of the
facility!