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

Act IV Scene V

They told me that you wished to see me here.

Yes. I have secrets for your ear alone.

But shut the door first, and look everywhere

For fear of spies.

(TARTUFFE goes and closes the door, and comes back.)We surely can’t afford

Another scene like that we had just now;

Was ever anyone so caught before!

Damis did frighten me most terribly

On your account; you saw I did my best

To baffle his design, and calm his anger.

But I was so confused, I never thought

To contradict his story; still, thank Heaven,

Things turned out all the better, as it happened,

And now we’re on an even safer footing.

The high esteem you’re held in, laid the storm;

My husband can have no suspicion of you,

And even insists, to spite the scandal-mongers,

That we shall be together constantly;

So that is how, without the risk of blame,

I can be here locked up with you alone,

And can reveal to you my heart, perhaps

Only too ready to allow your passion.

Your words are somewhat hard to understand,

Madam; just now you used a different style.

If that refusal has offended you,

How little do you know a woman’s heart!

How ill you guess what it would have you know,

When it presents so feeble a defence!

Always, at first, our modesty resists

The tender feelings you inspire us with.

Whatever cause we find to justify

The love that masters us, we still must feel

Some little shame in owning it; and strive

To make as though we would not, when we would.

But from the very way we go about it

We let a lover know our heart surrenders,

The while our lips, for honour’s sake, oppose

Our heart’s desire, and in refusing promise.

I’m telling you my secret all too freely

And with too little heed to modesty.

But—now that I’ve made bold to speak—pray tell me.

Should I have tried to keep Damis from speaking,

Should I have heard the offer of your heart

So quietly, and suffered all your pleading,

And taken it just as I did—remember—

If such a declaration had not pleased me,

And, when I tried my utmost to persuade you

Not to accept the marriage that was talked of,

What should my earnestness have hinted to you

If not the interest that you’ve inspired,

And my chagrin, should such a match compel me

To share a heart I want all to myself?

’Tis, past a doubt, the height of happiness,

To hear such words from lips we dote upon;

Their honeyed sweetness pours through all my senses

Long draughts of suavity ineffable.

My heart employs its utmost zeal to please you,

And counts your love its one beatitude;

And yet that heart must beg that you allow it

To doubt a little its felicity.

I well might think these words an honest trick

To make me break off this approaching marriage;

And if I may express myself quite plainly,

I cannot trust these too enchanting words

Until the granting of some little favour

I sigh for, shall assure me of their truth

And build within my soul, on firm foundations,

A lasting faith in your sweet charity.

What! Must you go so fast?—and all at once

Exhaust the whole love of a woman’s heart?

She does herself the violence to make

This dear confession of her love, and you

Are not yet satisfied, and will not be

Without the granting of her utmost favours?

The less a blessing is deserved, the less

We dare to hope for it; and words alone

Can ill assuage our love’s desires. A fate

Too full of happiness, seems doubtful still;

We must enjoy it ere we can believe it.

And I, who know how little I deserve

Your goodness, doubt the fortunes of my daring;

So I shall trust to nothing, madam, till

You have convinced my love by something real.

Ah! How your love enacts the tyrant’s role,

And throws my mind into a strange confusion!

With what fierce sway it rules a conquered heart,

And violently will have its wishes granted!

What! Is there no escape from your pursuit?

No respite even?—not a breathing space?

Nay, is it decent to be so exacting,

And so abuse by urgency the weakness

You may discover in a woman’s heart?

But if my worship wins your gracious favour,

Then why refuse me some sure proof thereof?

But how can I consent to what you wish,

Without offending Heaven you talk so much of?

If Heaven is all that stands now in my way,

I’ll easily remove that little hindrance;

Your heart need not hold back for such a trifle.

But they affright us so with Heaven’s commands!

I can dispel these foolish fears, dear madam;

I know the art of pacifying scruples

Heaven forbids, ’tis true, some satisfactions;

But we find means to make things right with Heaven.