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Robert Browning (1812–1889). A Blot in the ’Scutcheon.
The Harvard Classics. 1909–14.

Act II Scene IV

Madam, a piece of news—quite new to me—

Has just come out, and very fine it is.

What piece of news?

Your marriage with Tartuffe.

’Tis true my father has this plan in mind.

Your father, madam…

Yes, he’s changed his plans,

And did but now propose it to me.

What!

Seriously?

Yes, he was serious,

And openly insisted on the match.

And what’s your resolution in the matter,

Madam?

I don’t know.

That’s a pretty answer.

You don’t know?

No.

No?

What do you advise?

I? My advice is, marry him, by all means.

That’s your advice?

Yes.

Do you mean it?

Surely.

A splendid choice, and worthy your acceptance.

Oh, very well, sir! I shall take your counsel.

You’ll find no trouble taking it, I warrant.

No more than you did giving it, be sure.

I gave it, truly, to oblige you, madam.

And I shall take it to oblige you, sir.

Let’s see what this affair will come to.

So,

That is your love? And it was all deceit

When you…

I beg you, say no more of that.

You told me, squarely, sir, I should accept

The husband that is offered me; and I

Will tell you squarely that I mean to do so,

Since you have given me this good advice.

Don’t shield yourself with talk of my advice.

You had your mind made up, that’s evident;

And now you’re snatching at a trifling pretext

To justify the breaking of your word.

Exactly so.

Of course it is; your heart

Has never known true love for me.

Alas!

You’re free to think so, if you please.

Yes, yes,

I’m free to think so; and my outraged love

May yet forestall you in your perfidy,

And offer elsewhere both my heart and hand.

No doubt of it; the love your high deserts

May win…

Good Lord, have done with my deserts!

I know I have but few, and you have proved it.

But I may find more kindness in another;

I know of someone, who’ll not be ashamed

To take your leavings, and make up my loss.

The loss is not so great; you’ll easily

Console yourself completely for this change.

I’ll try my best, that you may well believe.

When we’re forgotten by a woman’s heart,

Our pride is challenged; we, too, must forget;

Or if we cannot, must at least pretend to.

No other way can man such baseness prove,

As be a lover scorned, and still in love.

In faith, a high and noble sentiment.

Yes; and it’s one that all men must approve.

What! Would you have me keep my love alive,

And see you fly into another’s arms

Before my very eyes; and never offer

To someone else the heart that you had scorned?

Oh, no, indeed! For my part, I could wish

That it were done already.

What! You wish it?

Yes.

This is insult heaped on injury;

I’ll go at once and do as you desire.

Oh, very well then.

But remember this.

’Twas you that drove me to this desperate pass.

Of course.

And in the plan that I have formed

I only follow your example.

Yes.

Enough; you shall be punctually obeyed.

So much the better.

This is once for all.

So be it, then.

Eh?

What?

You didn’t call me?

I? You are dreaming.

Very well, I’m gone.

Madam, farewell.

Farewell, sir.

I must say

You’ve lost your senses and both gone clean daft!

I’ve let you fight it out to the end o’ the chapter

To see how far the thing could go. Oho, there,

Mister Valère!

What do you want, Dorine?

Come here.

No, no, I’m quite beside myself.

Don’t hinder me from doing as she wishes.

Stop!

No. You see, I’m fixed, resolved, determined.

So!

Since my presence pains him, makes him go,

I’d better go myself, and leave him free.

Now t’other! Where are you going?

Let me be.

Come back.

No, no, it isn’t any use.

’Tis clear the sight of me is torture to her;

No doubt, t’were better I should free her from it.

Same thing again! Deuce take you both, I say.

Now stop your fooling; come here, you; and you.

What’s your idea?

What can you mean to do?

Set you to rights, and pull you out o’ the scrape.

Are you quite mad, to quarrel with her now?

Didn’t you hear the things she said to me?

Are you quite mad, to get in such a passion?

Didn’t you see the way he treated me?

Fools, both of you.

She thinks of nothing else

But to keep faith with you, I vouch for it.

And he loves none but you, and longs for nothing

But just to marry you, I stake my life on’t.

Why did you give me such advice then, pray?

Why ask for my advice on such a matter?

You both are daft, I tell you. Here, your hands.

Come, yours.

What for?

Now, yours.

But what’s the use?

Oh, quick now, come along. There, both of you—

You love each other better than you think.

Come, don’t be so ungracious now about it;

Look at a man as if you didn’t hate him.

My faith and troth, what fools these lovers be!

But come now, have I not a just complaint?

And truly, are you not a wicked creature

To take delight in saying what would pain me?

And are you not yourself the most ungrateful…?

Leave this discussion till another time;

Now, think how you’ll stave off this plaguey marriage.

Then tell us how to go about it.

Well,

We’ll try all sorts of ways.

Your father’s daft;

This plan is nonsense.

You had better humour

His notions by a semblance of consent,

So that in case of danger, you can still

Find means to block the marriage by delay.

If you gain time, the rest is easy, trust me.

One day you’ll fool them with a sudden illness,

Causing delay; another day, ill omens:

You’ve met a funeral, or broke a mirror,

Or dreamed of muddy water. Best of all,

They cannot marry you to anyone

Without your saying yes. But now, methinks,

They mustn’t find you chattering together.

You, go at once and set your friends at work

To make him keep his word to you; while we

Will bring the brother’s influence to bear,

And get the step-mother on our side, too.

Good-bye.

Whatever efforts we may make,

My greatest hope, be sure, must rest on you.

I cannot answer for my father’s whims;

But no one save Valère shall ever have me.

You thrill me through with joy! Whatever comes…

Oho! These lovers! Never done with prattling!

Now go.

One last word…

What a gabble and pother!

Be off! By this door, you. And you, by t’other.