Robert Browning (1812–1889). A Blot in the ’Scutcheon.
The Harvard Classics. 1909–14.
Act II Scene III
And must I speak your role from A to Zed?
You let them broach a project that’s absurd,
And don’t oppose it with a single word!
Tell him you’ll marry for yourself, not him;
Since you’re the one for whom the thing is done,
You are the one, not he, the man must please;
If his Tartuffe has charmed him so, why let him
Just marry him himself—no one will hinder.
That I could never dare to say a word.
Now do you love him, pray, or do you not?
And ask me such a question? Have I not
A hundred times laid bare my heart to you?
Do you know how ardently I love him?
And if in honest truth you really love him?
I’ve shown my inmost feelings, all too plainly.
To be well married to each other?
Just die, and everything will be all right.
This medicine is marvellous, indeed!
It drives me mad to hear folk talk such nonsense.
You have no sympathy for people’s troubles.
And flatten out as you do, at a pinch.
Is’t not his place to win me from my father?
And quite bewitched with his Tartuffe? And breaks
His bounden word? Is that your lover’s fault?
This match, and make it plain that I’m in love?
Shall I cast off for him, whate’er he be,
Womanly modesty and filial duty?
You ask me to display my love in public…?
Mister Tartuffe’s; why, now I think of it,
I should be wrong to turn you from this marriage.
What cause can I have to oppose your wishes?
So fine a match! An excellent good match!
Mister Tartuffe! Oh ho! No mean proposal!
Mister Tartuffe, sure, take it all in all,
Is not a man to sneeze at—oh, by no means!
’Tis no small luck to be his happy spouse.
The whole world joins to sing his praise already;
He’s noble—in his parish; handsome too;
Red ears and high complexion—oh, my lud!
You’ll be too happy, sure, with him for husband.
To be the bride of such a handsome fellow!
To help break off the match. I quite give in,
I’m ready to do anything you say.
Though he should want to make her wed a monkey.
Besides, your fate is fine. What could be better!
You’ll take the stage-coach to his little village,
And find it full of uncles and of cousins,
Whose conversation will delight you. Then
You’ll be presented in their best society.
You’ll even go to call, by way of welcome,
On Mrs. Bailiff, Mrs. Tax-Collector,
Who’ll patronise you with a folding-stool.
There, once a year, at carnival, you’ll have—
Perhaps—a ball; with orchestra—two bag-pipes;
And sometimes a trained ape, and Punch and Judy;
Though if your husband…
Contrive to help me out with your advice.
Let me take counsel only of despair;
It will advise and help and give me courage;
There’s one sure cure, I know, for all my troubles.
I must take pity on you, after all.
This martyrdom, I certainly shall die.
To hinder this… But here’s Valère, your lover.