Cléante. This is critical, at least, to judge from appearances; and the deed of gift, and his confidence, have been, to tell you my mind, steps too inconsiderately taken. You may be driven far with such pledges; and since the fellow has these advantages over you, it is a great imprudence on your part to drive him to extremities; and you ought to seek some gentler method.

Orgon. What! to hide such a double-dealing heart, so wicked a soul, under so fair an appearance of touching fervour! And I who received him in my house a beggar and penniless. … It is all over; I renounce all pious people. Henceforth I shall hold them in utter abhorrence, and be worse to them than the very devil.

Cléante. Just so! you exaggerate again! You never preserve moderation in anything. You never keep within reason’s bounds; and always rush from one extreme to another. You see your mistake, and find out that you have been imposed upon by a pretended zeal. But is there any reason why, in order to correct yourself, you should fall into a greater error still, and say that all pious people have the same feelings as that perfidious rascal? What! because a scoundrel has audaciously deceived you, under the pompous show of outward austerity, you will needs have it that every one is like him, and that there is no really pious man to be found now-a-days? Leave those foolish deductions to freethinkers: distinguish between real virtue and its counterfeit; never bestow your esteem too hastily, and keep in this the necessary middle course. Beware, if possible, of honouring imposture; but do not attack true piety also; and if you must fall into an extreme, rather offend again on the other side.

Scene II.—Orgon, Cléante, Damis.

Damis. What! father, is it true that this scoundrel threatens you? that he forgets all that you have done for him, and that his cowardly and too contemptible pride turns your kindness for him against yourself?

Orgon. Even so, my son; and it causes me unutterable grief.

Damis. Leave him to me, I will slice his ears off. Such insolence must not be tolerated: it is my duty to deliver you from him at once; and, to put an end to this matter, I must knock him down.

Cléante. Spoken just like a regular youth. Moderate, if you please, these violent transports. We live under a government, and in an age, in which violence only makes matters worse.

Scene III.—Madame Pernelle, Orgon, Elmire, Cléante, Mariane, Damis, Dorine.

Madame Pernelle. What is all this? What dreadful things do I hear!

Orgon. Some novelties which my own eyes have witnessed, and you see how I am repaid for my kindness. I affectionately harbour a fellow creature in his misery, I shelter him and treat him as my own brother; I heap favours upon him every day; I give him my daughter, and everything I possess: and, at that very moment, the perfidious, infamous wretch forms the wicked design of seducing my wife; and, not content even with these vile attempts, he dares to threaten me with my own favours; and, to encompass my ruin, wishes to take advantage of my indiscreet good nature, drive me from my property which I have transferred to him, and reduce me to that condition from which I rescued him!

Dorine. Poor fellow!

Madame Pernelle. I can never believe, my son, that he would commit so black a deed.

Orgon. What do you mean?

Madame Pernelle. Good people are always envied.

Orgon. What do you mean by all this talk, mother?