Tartuffe, p.1
Tartuffe, page 1
MOLIÈRE
Tartuffe
a new version by
Frank McGuinness
from a literal translation by
Derval Conroy
Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Premiere Production
Characters
Tartuffe
Act One
Act Two
Act Three
Act Four
Act Five
About the Author
By the Same Author
Copyright
For Philip Tilling
Tartuffe in this adaptation was first performed on 3 March 2023 at the Abbey Theatre, Dublin, with the following cast:
Monsieur Loyal Amy Conroy
Mariane Emma Rose Creaner
Tartuffe Ryan Donaldson
Damis Naoise Dunbar
Dorine Pauline Hutton
Orgon Frank McCusker
Elmire Aislín McGuckin
Filipote Clare McKenna
Valere Emmanuel Okoye
Pernelle Geraldine Plunkett
Officer Darragh Shannon
Cleante Kevin Trainor
Director Caitríona McLaughlin
Set & Costume Designer Katie Davenport
Lighting Designer Sinéad Wallace
Composer & Sound Designer Philip Stewart
Movement Director Paula O’Reilly
Voice Director Andrea Ainsworth
Casting Director Sarah Jones
Production Dramaturg Tanya Dean
Hair & Makeup Designer Leonard Daly
Associate Composer & Sound Designer Jane Deasy
Assistant Lighting Designer Matt Burke
Publicity Image Finn Richards
Characters
The Family
Orgon
son of Madame Pernelle, husband of Elmire, father of Mariane and Damis
Madame Pernelle
Orgon’s mother
Elmire
Orgon’s second wife, Mariane and Damis’s stepmother
Mariane
Orgon’s daughter
Damis
Orgon’s son
Cleante
Elmire’s brother, Orgon’s brother-in-law
Tartuffe
the imposter
Dorine
Mariane’s maid
Valere
Mariane’s suitor
Filipote
Madame Pernelle’s maid
Monsieur Loyal
Arresting Officer
TARTUFFE
Act One
Pernelle, Elmire, Dorine, Damis, Mariane, Cleante, Filipote.
Pernelle
Waste no more of my time – get me my coat.
Elmire
Hold your horses – my heart’s coming up my throat.
Pernelle
No need to bother showing me the door.
You’ve done your duty – none could have done more.
Elmire
We’re happy to show all that’s due to you.
Ma belle mère, why the haste? This hullabaloo –
Pernelle
This house, all in it, put them to the sword –
Morning, noon and night no one heeds a word,
Respect for all has gone out the window.
A madhouse, bedlam – time that I go.
Dorine
If I may –
Pernelle
You may not, you’re a servant,
Too full of your own voice – you will, you won’t,
You’ll this, you’ll that, you think you know it all.
Damis
But – but –
Pernelle
Young man, you’re heading for a fall,
I warn you of that, your own grandmother.
I told my son you’d only cause bother,
Showing you’re bad news at every chance,
Leading all to hell in your merry dance.
Mariane
I think –
Pernelle
Oh the sister, the quiet one,
As she pretends, playing ever so dumb,
Would butter or cheese melt inside your mouth,
Too sweet to be wholesome, rarely strayed from Louth?
Still waters run deep, no truer word spoken,
You’re up to badness in ways well hidden.
Elmire
But Mother –
Pernelle
Don’t bother me, daughter-in-law.
I find you, my lady, the right hard chaw.
Set them good example, these wayward brats.
Their mother who died, she knew what was what.
You spend money like it grows on the trees.
Strutting peahen, you should be on your knees.
See fit to delight the husband you’ve wed.
Show the pound of flesh in the marriage bed.
Cleante
Madame, please –
Pernelle
If I were my son, that woman’s good spouse,
I fear I would have you barred from this house.
You put into practice just what you preach,
I do not admire the laxness you teach,
Nor could a decent, clean-living Christian.
I speak as I find and I fear no man.
I don’t mince my words when my gander’s raised.
Damis
And Monsieur Tartuffe grows fat on your praise.
Pernelle
The man is blessed – no shadow of doubt.
A paragon – not a lump of a lout,
Such as yourself who’s only out to mock.
Damis
So I’ve to treasure this diamond, this rock?
He saunters in here, his wish our command –
He tells us to sit and he tells us to stand.
We do as he bids, master of no revels,
Or else we will end up burning in hell?
Nothing escapes his ever eagle eye –
One single slip, you’re hung out to dry.
Pernelle
Is it not right and proper he should be so?
Only one place that upright man will go –
Heaven, that’s why my son should be his match,
And keep the lot of you under severe latch.
Damis
I’d defy any father on this earth
To allow that scoundrel the slightest worth.
Give me a chance and I swear I’ll not miss,
Let me flatten that peasant with either fist.
Dorine
If you ask me, it is beyond scandal
A stranger now rules within these four walls,
A beggar arrived not a shoe on his foot,
You could see the moon in the shine of his suit,
Now he’s getting somewhat carried away,
Thinking he’s the master and he holds sway.
Pernelle
Mother of the divine crucified saviour,
May we all bask in that pious man’s fervour.
Dorine
You have him canonised a living saint –
Tar and feather him, smear whitewash and paint,
Too good for the chancer –
Pernelle
Watch your tongue –
Dorine
God speed the day I see him hung.
Pernelle
Tartuffe is goodness, goodness incarnate –
I swear on my soul, turn aside from hate,
All you who reject him and wish him ill.
Listen to me, swallow this bitter pill.
What does he do but tell a few home truths?
Sin and sin alone provokes him to wrath.
He bears on his back the mark of heaven.
Dorine
Why does he bar the door to kith and kin?
Why is it now out of bounds to visit?
That’s a rule he follows like Holy Writ.
Do I need spell out what it is I mean?
Madame, he’s the cat – you are the cream.
Pernelle
Be quiet, think about what you’re saying.
This ceilidhing, it’s not quite the done thing.
An open house is not a holy place,
Swarms gathered inside all stuffing their face,
Hanging outside the door, up to no good.
I’d like to think the best, indeed I should,
But tongues are wagging – that’s not a good sign.
Cleante
Then would you have us silent for all time?
Do you think you can prevent people talking?
No, we must gossip as caged birds must sing.
Best ignore this foolish tittle-tattle.
Do your best to conduct yourself well.
Dorine
Daphne next door, the squirt she calls her man,
Might it be that pair who’s taking a hand,
Spitting bile into poison pen letters,
Speaking ill of their elders and betters?
Why is it ones should be locked in a home
Are always the first to be firing stones?
The first sign they spot of something awry,
They leap on it, smelling fresh fish to fry.
They’ll make sure the stars in the heaven know
Who’s doing what to whom down here below.
Time then to join in a chorus of blame,
Safe now to pillory whoever’s shamed.
Pernelle
Same Daphne, each day what’s her first and last breath?
< br /> Prayers that God grant her a happy death,
A woman to cherish, honour, revere –
She’d take a hatchet to ones flocking here,
Distracting her orisons morning, noon, night.
Dorine
Excellent, long may she shine her bright light.
No doubt she’s as honest as she is austere.
Ageing has helped to make her more sincere.
Fair to say Daphne ain’t the draw she was,
So she’s rewriting the get-out-of-jail clause,
Since she let the squirt be her only guide,
Her piety takes the place of her pride.
She enjoyed courting once upon a time,
She now advises dips in quicklime,
Better for the soul if not the body,
Since hers has, shall we say, seen better days.
That’s the way the world works, sad to observe.
Losing your looks, it’s like losing your nerve –
When fellas no more gather round your flame,
They sneer in your face, take your name in vain –
What’s left to do but turn into a prude,
Righteous and strict, eschewing what’s rude,
Crude, rough and ready, fresh bread and wine,
Such filthy fodder, they prefer to decline.
They see fit to find fault with all they choose –
All reputations they batter and bruise,
And why? Is it for the sake of goodness?
Dignity, virtue? They couldn’t care less.
Pernelle
Stuff and nonsense, nothing but fairy tales.
Daughter-in-law, no hope that sense prevails –
No chance of getting a word in edgewise,
In this house we are all cut down to size
By madam here – I christen the upstart.
She’d have us hauled before her horse and cart.
Half a chance, she’ll make us all her skivvy.
Smartest thing happened to Orgon, that day
My son welcomed Tartuffe into his home.
I feel it in my waters and bones
He’s come amongst you in your hour of need.
Tartuffe is a walking Apostle’s Creed.
Listen to him and learn of salvation,
What roads lead to the Lord, which ways to shun.
Visits and balls, cavorting in corners,
They’re not the work of Little Jack Horner –
The devil himself, Beelzebub, Satan,
There’s where you spot him with his lethal clan,
No chance of a sacrament doing the rounds,
The holy Eucharist, it’s spat on the ground,
The dirty chat that could turn your stomach –
That’s fare for all in the land of great craic.
Songs to make a sailor blush, putrid jokes.
What is to become of clean-living folk?
Confused by the chaos and the blather,
Changeable as tomorrow’s weather,
Who knows what way the wind and the rain blow?
Everybody butts in with what they know –
Listen to all this rabble’s carry-on –
You could be in Babel or Babylon.
One time a doctor of theology,
He passed this bit of wisdom on to me –
She points to Cleante.
Look at the sneering puss on that fellow,
Laughing at me like a busted bellows.
You go on jeering, I’ve nothing to say,
I’ve lost my respect for you all this day.
Before I set foot in this house again,
You’ll have neither curtains nor window panes.
I’ll remove myself from scandalous chat.
Bad cess on the lot of you – I mean that.
She gives her servant maid Filipote a smack.
You – stop standing there, gaping and dreaming.
I know you were likely in on the scheming.
I’ll warm your ear, girl, I’ll tan your hide.
Move – are you waiting to be someone’s bride?
Exit Pernelle, Filipote, Elmire, Mariane.
Cleante
I think I might stay put – that old lady –
Dorine
Just as well she mounts her high horse today –
She’s upped and gone before you called her old.
She’d box your ears daring to be so bold.
She imagines she’s still a spring chicken.
Cleante
She’s more like a brooding mother hen,
Fretting over Tartuffe, her pride and joy.
Dorine
She’s restraint itself compared to her boy.
Set eyes on Orgon, you’d see a basket case –
Since meeting Tartuffe master walks in a daze –
A man worth having on your side one time,
Defending the King and his noble line.
He believes that upstart like a brother,
Worships him above wife, child or mother.
They’ve no secrets between the pair of them.
Tartuffe alone can touch the master’s hem.
He is the source of all the world’s wisdom,
Pampered and coddled, his darling diddums,
Tartuffe, adored more than any sweetheart,
Cupid himself is running out of darts.
At dinner who’s perched on the seat of honour?
Who else but that mouth eats enough for four?
He has first choice of all dainty morsels,
If he farts, they smell sweet as caramel.
He’ll sneeze and God-bless-you drowns our ears,
The apple of the boss’s eye, his hero.
He can quote from all their conversations,
You’d think that all the blaggard’s said and done
Should be classed as some sort of miracle –
Hear ye, hear ye, obey the oracle.
Tartuffe, he knows which side his bread’s buttered.
He knows how to set eyes all aflutter,
Cadging money through the night till morning –
Yet he dares to issue dire warnings.
He thundered in here, his eyes out on pins,
Ripped our ribbons, dumped our rouge in the bins.
Something lacy lurked in a Lives of the Saints,
The squeals out of him, was he going to faint?
He claims we’ve begun to give our blessings
On what he would call the devil’s playthings.
Elmire returns.
Elmire
Lucky you let me see her to the door,
You’re spared the tirade – all she’s said before.
I see my husband, he’s not spotted me,
I’m going upstairs – let him know I’m free.
Cleante
Courage, sister, we’ll never say die.
I’ll wait for him here – say hello and goodbye.
Damis
Have a word with him about my sister.
Her marriage brings Tartuffe out in blisters.
He will do all he can to delay
When my father shall name her happy day.
Dorine
Here he comes –
Exit Damis, Elmire.
Enter Orgon.
Orgon
My dearest brother, hello.
Cleante
You just arrived, me about to go.
The countryside, not much in bloom, I hear.
Orgon
Wait, good brother-in-law, I want you near.
He turns to Dorine.
Let me know what’s happening in this place.
Nothing to shame us or bring down disgrace?
Dorine
Poor Madame, her head was splitting in two,
Her temperature hit the roof, a bad flu.
Orgon
And Tartuffe?
Dorine
Tartuffe? Always bright, never hazy,
Hale and hearty, as fresh as a daisy.
Orgon
The poor soul –
Dorine
Could not touch a bite all day –
Breakfast, dinner, her evening supper,
Her head opening – that woman suffers.
Orgon
And Tartuffe?
Dorine
Tartuffe?
Orgon
My own poor Tartuffe?
Dorine
He managed to wolf a pair of partridge
As solemn as if he was taking the pledge,
Then a snack, a half-leg of mutton, minced.
Orgon
The poor man!
Dorine
