Orgon. Peace, I tell you: I know too well the motive of your attack. You all hate him, and I now perceive wife, children, and servants all let loose against him. Every trick is impudently resorted to, to remove this pious person from my house; but the more efforts they put forth to banish him, the more shall I employ to keep him here, and I shall hasten to give him my daughter, to abash the pride of my whole family.

Damis. Do you mean to compel her to accept him?

Orgon. Yes, wretch! and to enrage you, this very evening. Yes! I defy you all, and shall let you know that I am the master, and that I will be obeyed. Come, retract; throw yourself at his feet immediately, you scoundrel, and ask his pardon.

Damis. What! I at the feet of the rascal who, by his impostures …

Orgon. What, you resist, you beggar, and insult him besides! (To Tartuffe). A cudgel! a cudgel! do not hold me back. (To his Son). Out of my house, this minute, and never dare to come back to it.

Damis. Yes, I shall go; but …

Orgon. Quick, leave the place. I disinherit you, you hangdog, and give you my curse besides.

Scene VII.—Orgon, Tartuffe.

Orgon. To offend a saintly person in that way!

Tartuffe. Forgive him, O Heaven! the pang he causes me. (To Orgon). Could you but know my grief at seeing myself blackened in my brother’s sight …

Orgon. Alas!

Tartuffe. The very thought of this ingratitude tortures my soul to that extent. … The horror I conceive of it. … My heart is so oppressed that I cannot speak, and I believe it will be my death.

Orgon (running, all in tears, towards the door, by which his son has disappeared). Scoundrel! I am sorry my hand has spared you, and not knocked you down on the spot. (To Tartuffe.) Compose yourself, brother, and do not grieve.

Tartuffe. Let us put an end to these sad disputes. I perceive what troubles I cause in this house, and think it necessary, brother, to leave it.

Orgon. What! you are jesting surely?

Tartuffe. They hate me, and I find that they are trying to make you suspect my integrity.

Orgon. What does it matter? Do you think that, in my heart, I listen to them?

Tartuffe. They will not fail to continue, you may be sure; and these self-same stories which you now reject, may, perhaps, be listened to at another time.

Orgon. No, brother, never.

Tartuffe. Ah, brother! a wife may easily impose upon a husband.

Orgon. No, no.

Tartuffe. Allow me, by removing hence promptly, to deprive them of all subject of attack.

Orgon. No, you shall remain; my life depends upon it.