Orgon. And Tartuffe?

Dorine. He picked up his courage again as he ought to; and, to fortify himself against all harm, he drank four large draughts of wine at breakfast, to make up for the blood that the mistress had lost.

Orgon. Poor fellow!

Dorine. At present, they are both well; and I shall go and inform the mistress how glad you feel at her recovery.

Scene VI.—Orgon, Cléante.

Cléante. She is laughing at you to your face, brother: and, without wishing to make you angry, I must tell you candidly that it is not without reason. Was there ever such a whim heard of? Can it be possible that any man could so charm you now-a-days as to make you forget everything for him? That after having relieved his indigence, in your own house, you should go as far as …

Orgon. Stop, brother-in-law, you do not know the man of whom you are speaking?

Cléante. I do not know him, if you like; but after all, in order to know what sort of man he is …

Orgon. You would be charmed to know him, brother; and there would be no end to your delight. He is a man … who … ah … a man … in short, a man. One who acts up to his own precepts, enjoys a profound peace, and looks upon the whole world as so much dirt. Yes; I am quite another man since I conversed with him; he teaches me to set my heart upon nothing; he detaches my mind from all friendship; and I could see brother, children, mother, and wife die, without troubling myself in the least about it.

Cléante. Humane sentiments these, brother!

Orgon. Ah! if you had seen how I first met him, you would have conceived the same friendship for him that I feel. Every day he came to church, and, with a gentle mien, kneeled down opposite me. He attracted the notice of the whole congregation by the fervency with which he sent up his prayers to heaven. He uttered sighs, was enraptured, and humbly kissed the ground every moment; and when I went out, he swiftly ran before me to offer me holy water at the door. Informed by his servant, who imitates him in everything, of his poverty, and who he was, I made him some presents: but, with great modesty, he always wished to return some part of them. “It is too much, ” he would say; “too much by half; I do not deserve your pity. ” And when I refused to take them back again, he would go and give them to the poor before my face. At length Heaven moved me to take him to my house, and since then, everything seems to prosper here. I perceive that he reproves everything, and that he takes a great interest, even in my wife, for my sake. He warns me of the people who look too lovingly at her, and he is six times more jealous of her than I am. But you cannot believe how far his zeal goes: the slightest trifle in himself he calls a sin; a mere nothing is sufficient to shock him; so much so that he accused himself, the other day, of having caught a flea whilst he was at his devotions, and of having killed it with too much anger.

Cléante. Zounds! I believe you are mad, brother. Are you making game of me with such a speech? and do you pretend that all this fooling …

Orgon. Brother, this discourse savours of free-thinking. You are somewhat tainted with it; and, as I have often told you, you will get yourself into some unpleasant scrape.

Cléante. The usual clap-trap of your set; they wish everyone to be blind like themselves. To keep one’s eyes open is to be a freethinker; and whosoever does not worship empty mummeries has neither respect for, nor faith in, holy things. Go along; all your speeches do not frighten me; I know what I am saying, and Heaven sees my heart. We are not the slaves of your formalists. There are hypocrites in religion as well as pretenders to courage; and as we never find the truly brave man make much noise where