Nob and Nobility Blackadder

Tra la la la!

-Good morning, Mrs Miggins.

-Bonjour, monsieur!

-What?

Bonjour, monsieur! It's French.

So is eating frogs, cruelty to geese and urinating in the street. No reason to copy them.

French is all the fashion! My shop is FULL of Frenchies.

It's that WONDERFUL Scarlet Pimpernel!

The Scarlet Pimpernel is NOT wonderful.

He has filled London with a load of garlic-chewing French toffs

crying, "Ooh-la-la!" because their fathers had their heads cut off!

-Shepherd's pie, please.

-We don't serve PIES any more.

My French clientele consider PIES uncouth.

A nation that eats snails and would go to bed with the kitchen sink

is in no position to preach couthness! What IS on the menu?

Chicken Pimpernel in Scarlet sauce, Scarlet Chicken in Pimpernel sauce,

or huge suspicious-looking sausages in Scarlet Pimpernel sauce.

-What's Scarlet Pimpernel sauce?

-You squeeze a large, ripe frog...

Yes, all right. I'm off to the pub.

-Bonjour, monsieur!

-Sod off.

MIAOW!!

Poor Mildred the cat! What's he ever done to you?

-The abused always kick downwards. I kick the cat, the cat...

-SQUEAK!

-..pounces on the mouse,

-finally the mouse...

-Aaagh!

-..bites you on the behind.

-What do

-I

-do?

-Nothing.

Unless there's an earwig around that you'd like to victimise.

-What's that on your nose?

-Nice, eh?

No, it isn't. It's revolting.

-I'll take it off then.

-Why are you wearing a false BOIL?!

What are we to expect next? A beauty wart? A cosmetic verruca?

-It's a Scarlet Pimple, sir.

-Really?

They're all the rage down our way.

Everyone wants to revere the Pimple and his brilliant disguises.

-#

-They seek him here, they seek him there, the Frenchies seek him everywhere...

-#

What's that revolting garlic smell? All this fellow has done

is pop over to France to grab a few malnourished, whingeing, leftist French nobs,

at the same time picking up some good cheap wine and MARVELLOUS open fruit flans!

We HATE the French! Did our men die in vain at Agincourt?

Was the man who burnt Joan of Arc simply wasting matches?

-BELL RINGS

-His Royal Highness, the Pinhead of Wales summons.

Utter chump though he may be, at least he's not French.

Une toast! Encore une toast!

-Le Pimpernel Scarlet!

-Le Pimpernel Scarlet!

Ah! Le Adder Noir! Come in!

This is my butler, you chaps. Brighter than a brain pie.

We want to know who the Scarlet Pimpernel is,

so we can send him a postal order. Any ideas?

Just send it to "The Biggest Show-off in London."

Tish and pish! Gadzooks! Milarky! How DARE you say such a thing?

Dem me, if you're not a swine! DEM that swine!

Sneaking aristocrats out from under the noses of French revolutionaries is as easy as putting on a hat.

Sink me, sir, this is treason! The Scarlet Pimpernel is a HERO.

The revolution is orchestrated by a ruthless band of killers! Dem those killers!

Now for the French Embassy Ball in honour of the exiled aristocracy.

Where I intend to wear the most magnificent pair of trousers,

from Snibcock and Turkey, Couturiers to the Very Wealthy and the Extremely Fat.

-I don't want to get caught out wearing boring trousers.

-Dem those boring trousers!

We bet your butler 1,000 guineas that he can't go to France,

rescue an aristocrat and present him at the ball.

Ha!

That's turned you white, hasn't it? You lily-livered, caramel-kidneyed, custard-coloured cad!

Not so buoyant now, are you, eh? Eh?

I'll just go and pack.

Perhaps Lord Smedley and Lord Topper will accompany me?

Just the odd death-defying leap and dental torture. Want to come?

Oh, no! Oh, no! Dem! Dem!

I've an appointment with my doctor.

I've a sniffle coming on, I can feel it in my bones. Dem bones! Dem bones!

What about next week? Come on, get your diaries out, chaps.

Dem! Dem! I've left it behind! Behind!

And my father died. I've got to be at his funeral in 10 minutes. Dem sorry!

Goodbye, your Highness!

Oh, dem! I'm the best man. Dem that dead father! Dem him! Goodbye.

See you at the ball.

-Shame they were busy. I'd have liked them to come with us.

-Us?

-Yes.

-You're coming?

-Yes!

-Ah.

Nothing I could say about the horrors involved could put you off?

Oh, no. Let's pack! Just think of those fabulous French birds!

The only women in France are toothless crones who cackle insanely.

They're just playing hard to get.

By removing all their teeth, going mad and ageing 40 years?!

That's right, the little teasers! Go on, pack my silks and satins.

If we are to survive in France, we'll have to dress as the smelliest low-life imaginable.

-Like what?

-This is our Paris collection...

Baldrick is wearing a sheep's bladder jacket, with matching dung-ball accessories.

Hair by Crazy Meg of Bedlam Hair.

Notice how the aroma of rotting pilchards has been woven cunningly into the ensemble.

When do you change your trousers?

-I've never changed my trousers.

-There is an ancient Greek legend

of a terrible container in which were all the evils of the world.

They called it "Pandora's Box", when of course, they meant "Baldrick's Trousers".

They certainly can get a bit whiffy!

When the box was opened, the whole world turned to darkness.

Baldrick, for the good of mankind, NEVER allow curiosity to lead you to open your trousers.

NOTHING of interest lies therein.

Your Highness, it is trousers like these that YOU will have to wear.

Yes, well...

I might give it a miss. My tummy's playing up.

-Wish wish I could come, but just not poss with this tum.

-I see.

-And the chances of me scoring if I look like him are zero.

-That's true.

-Mr B, I've got second thoughts about this trip to France.

-Why?

Looking like this, there's not much chance of ME scoring either.

-Well, this is it.

-If I don't make it back, tell my mother I was alive all the time.

I never kept in touch with the old bat.

Of course, old man.

We must go. The shadows lengthen and we'll have an arduous journey.

Farewell, dear master, and dare I say...friend?

Farewell, brave liberator, and dare I say it...butler?

-Right, put the kettle on.

-What?!

It's too dangerous to go to France!

-How are you going to win your bet?

-By using the thing between my ears.

Oh, your nose.

No, Baldrick, my brain.

We lie low here for a week, then go to Mrs Miggins', pick up a French aristocrat,

-and claim our 1,000 guineas at the ball.

-What if the Prince finds us?

He can't find his own fly-buttons.

What a pair of TROUSERS !!

I shall be the belle of the Embassy ball!

Now, how do you put them on...? Blackadder!

Oh, damn! He's gone to France. Well, I'll do it myself. Um...

What a pleasant week, Baldrick. We must do this more often.

Yes. I'll certainly choose France for my holiday again next year.

Now, work. Off to Mrs Miggins' to pick up any old French toff.

-LOUD BANGING UPSTAIRS

-What's that?

The Prince is still trying to put his trousers on.

Damn!

Now, Mrs Miggins, I'd like a plate of pigs' trotters, frogs' legs, and snails' ears, please,

all with Scarlet Pimpernel sauce.

Not so hostile to the Frenchies now?

Oh, no. I'd sooner be hostile to my own servant.

In fact, I came here to meet some Frenchies.

Vive to that and an eclair for all!

Vive indeed. Now I'm looking for a particular kind of Frenchie:

one who is of noble blood, but also short on cash.

THERE'S just the fellow for you.

The Compte de Frou Frou. > Pretty down on his luck,

and he's made that horse's willy last all morning.

Baldrick, we have struck garlic!

-You can have some lunch, Baldrick.

-Thank you.

-Le Compte de Frou Frou, I believe?

-Yes.

-Do you speak English?

-A leettle.

What does that mean? Do we have to ask each other the way to the beach in very loud voices?

Oh, no. I can order coffee, deal with waiters,

-and make sexy chit-chat with girls.

-Oh, good.

-Just don't ask me to take a physiology class.

-I won't.

Would you like to earn some money?

No. I would like other people to earn it and then GEEVE it to me. Like in France in the good old days.

-This is a chance to RETURN to the good old days.

-Oh, I would LOVE that.

The food is filthy here! This huge sausage is VERY suspicious!

-If I didn't know better, I'd say it was a horse's...

-Yes, yes, yes. The plan is this...

I'm trying to get a Frenchman out of Paris. Will YOU be that Frenchman?

Just come to the Embassy with me, say I rescued you,

and you'll get 50 guineas and as many vol-au-vents as you like.

It will be a pleasure! If there's one thing we aristocrats enjoy, it's a fabulous party!

Oh, the music! Oh, the laughter...!

If only I had my mongoose costume!

Well, obviously it hasn't really got going yet.

I've been at autopsies with more party atmosphere.

Don't worry. We will soon hear music and laughter.

DRAMATIC MUSIC THEN A HARSH, CRUEL LAUGH...

-Bonsoir, m'sieur.

-Good evening. Do you speak English?

-Leetle.

-Good. Then take me to the Ambassador.

-Pardon?

I - have - rescued an aristocrat...

from the clutches of the evil revolutionaries.

Please take me to the AMBASSADOR.

No - I - won't!

I AM an eveel revolutionary,

and have MURDERED the Ambassador,

and have turned him into...

pate!

Ah.

And YOU, aristo peeg, are TRAPPED !

Peeg? Ha! You will regret your insolence, revolutionary DOG !

Dog? Ha! You will regret your arrogance, royalist SNAKE ! Snake? Ha...!

-This is none of my business, so I must be on my way.

-Ah ah ah!

Not so fast, Engleesh!

In rescuing this, er... 'boite de stinkeeweed',

you have perverted revolutionary justice.

Do you know what I do to people who do that?

-They're given a little present and let free?

-No.

-They're smacked and then let off?

-No.

-I know.

-What?

-They're put in prison for the night and guillotined in the morning.

Your little G-NOME is correct, monsieur.

Gentlemen, welcome to the last day of your LIFE !

How dare you, you feelthy weasel!

Weasel? Ha! You can talk, WARTHOG !

-Warthog? Ha!

-Excuse me, Frou Frou.

Look, me old mate... we're both working class, we both hate these rich bastards.

Come on, you've nothing against me.

On the contraree, I hate you Engleesh,

with your boring trousers and your shiny toilet paper, and your idea that Frenchman are great lovers!

I'M French and I'm hung like a baby carrot and a couple of petit pois!

-Farewell, and DEATH to the aristos!

-Death to the aristos!

-Shut up!

Monsieur, why waste your words on this scum? Have no fear, the Scarlet Pimpernel will save us!

Some hope!

He's the most overrated person since Judas Iscariot won the AD31 Best Disciple Contest.

Well, if he should fail us... here...I have these suicide pills.

One for me...POP ! One for you...POP !

and one for the dwarf...GLUG !

-Say thank you, Baldrick.

-Thank you, Mr Frou.

-Ah! The Pimpernel!

-Hurray!

No, the Ambassador, hurray.

Hmm, I've got nothing to do...

so I think I will torture...

YOU, aristo mongrel!

Mongrel? Ha! Go ahead, proletarian SKUNK !

Skunk? Ha! You aristo happypotomus!

Happypotomus? Ha! We'll see...

I'm glad to say I don't think you'll be needing those pills, Mr B.

Am I jumping the gun, Baldrick, or are the words, "I have a plan"

marching into this conversation?

-They certainly are!

-Your record in this department is not exactly 100%.

-So what's the plan?

-We do NOTHING.

Yep, it's another world-beater.

Wait, I haven't finished.

We do nothing until...our heads have actually been cut off.

And then we spring into action?

-Exactly! You know how when you cut a chicken's head off, it runs round the farmyard?

-Ye-es...?

Well, when OUR heads have been cut off, we run round the farmyard,

out the farm gate and escape. What do you think?

My opinion is difficult to express in words. I'll put it this way...

Well, the Scarlet Pimpernel will save us, anyway.

No, he won't! Either I think of an idea, or tomorrow we die...

which I have no intention of doing. I want to be young and wild,

then middle-aged and rich, then old and pretending to be deaf.

Just be quiet and let me think.

-I can't sleep, Mr Blackadder.

-I said, shut UP !

Just think, the Scarlet Pimpernel will be here any moment!

I wish you'd forget this fantasy.

Anyway, the guards would be woken by the noise as he squeezes his swollen head through the door.

-I couldn't sleep when I was little.

-You still are little.

-Well, when I was even littler.

We used to live in a haunted hovel.

Every night my family were troubled by this disgusting ghoul.

It was terrible. First there was this unholy smell,

then this tiny, clammy, hairy creature would materialise in the bed between them.

Fortunately, I could never see it.

Tell me, Baldrick, when you left home, did this repulsive entity mysteriously disappear?

-Yes, that very day.

-Then that mystery is solved. Now, shut up.

I must THINK, or tomorrow we meet our Maker...in my case, God; in your case, God knows.

But I'd be surprised if He's won any design awards.

-Ah! I've thought of a plan.

-Hurray!

-Also, I know how to get you to sleep...

-BOOTS HIM

-Owf!

Good morning, scum. Did you sleep well?

Like a top. And you must be thirsty after your long night's brutality.

-A drink?

-No. Not while I'm on duty.

Oh... Perhaps later?

For you, m'sieur, there is no later.

Gentleman, I am proud to introduce France's most veecious woman...

Will you please welcome... Madame Guillotine herself!!

TERRIBLE SHRIEKING LAUGHTER

Are these the Engleesh PEEGS ?!

-Yes, that's us.

-Leave them with me!

I intend to torture them in a way so GHASTLY, even YOU won't be able to stand it!

I'll be all right. No, you will be SICK !

What if I just leave if I feel queasy? You will be sick immediately!

What if I'm sick quietly in a bag? What is in your mind?

WHISPERS

SO...scum...

prepare to be in PA-A-AIN !!

Yes, certainly. But first, perhaps, a toast to your beauty.

Oh, thank you! OK!

-So you were expecting to be rescued, ha?

-Some bloody hope!

-ENGLISH ACCENT: On the contrary, I'm sorry I'm so late!

-What?!

-Yes, I have come to free you!

-Hooray!

Smedley! I thought you were thick!

No. Just a dem fine actor! Thank God I got here before you took any of those awful suicide pills!

I suppose if someone had taken one and wished that he hadn't, he'd be able to do something about it?

No, they're very odd things. The symptoms are most peculiar.

First of all, the victims become very depressed...

Oh, God...! This whole revolution is SO depressing!

And I'm SO lonely and nobody loves me.

-Then comes death?

-No! Then comes the loss of temper, you BASTARD !

-What are YOU staring at?!

-Ooh!

And THEN death?

No! After the temper, comes the um...er...

-Forgetfulness?

-That's it. The, er...

-Forgetfulness.

Right in the middle of a thingy, you completely forget what...

Oh, nice pair of shoes!

THEN you die?

Oh, no, I forgot one! Then comes a moment of exquisite happiness!

Jumping up and down, waving your arms, knowing that we'll be FREE !

-Free! FREE !

-And then death?

No, you jump in a corner first...

-Hurray! It's the Scarlet Pimpernel!

-Yes, Baldrick.

-And you killed him!

Yes, Baldrick. What's the point of being the Scarlet Pimpernel

if you fall for the poison routine?

Scarlet Pimpernel?! Scarlet GIT!!

-But here's our chance to escape.

-What about Mr Frou?

-I wouldn't pick my nose to save Frou Frou!

-Oh... Ah, Frou Frou, my old friend! What are you doing here?

-I escaped.

-What happened?

-Er, nothing.

-I thought the Scarlet Pimpernel might have saved you.

-Ha ha ha!

-Ha ha ha!

Ah, chaps! Just trying on my new trousers!

I return, sir, with one top French aristocrat fresh from the Bastille.

Pleased to meet you, monsieur. Do sit down.

Shame about the revolutionary caper.

So, how did you get him out?

Sir, it is a heroic tale of courage which I hesitate to tell myself...

I could try.

We left England in good weather, but in Dover Harbour, we were struck by a tidal wave,

and I swam to Boulogne with Baldrick in my trousers.

Then we were taken to Paris,

where I was hung by my testicles to the walls of the Bastille.

Then I decided I'd had enough.

Bravo!

So I rescued the Compte, killed the guards, ran to Versailles,

where I climbed into Robespierre's bedroom, leaving him a small tray of milk chocolates and a rude note.

The rest...was easy.

An incredible story! Worthy of the Scarlet Pimpernel!

Well, I wouldn't know...

I, on the other hand, would, because, you see, sir...

-I

-am the Scarlet Pimpernel!

Oh-oh...

-Good Lord! Topper!

-Yes, your Highness.

But egads, by jingo with dumplings and a good helping of sprouts!

You single-handedly saved all those Frenchies?!

Not quite single-handedly, sir. I operate with my friend, Smedley.

But he seems to have disappeared, slightly mysteriously.

-(Shut up!

-Yes, Mr Blackadder.)

So Blackadder rescued the Scarlet Pimpernel?

-No, sir. He did not.

-Eh?

Prepare yourself for a story of deceit that will make your stomach turn.

Oh, this is interesting, isn't it?

Not only that, but I trust it will lead to the imprisonment of a man who is a liar, a bounder and a cad.

We hate liars, bounders and cads, don't we?

Generally speaking, yes, sir.

But perhaps before Lord Topper talks, he might like some wine? He's looking shaken.

Shaken, but not stirred.

It all began last week. I was in Mrs Miggins' coffee shop when...

Oh, GOD...!

All this treachery is SO depressing!

The whole thing makes you incredibly ANGRY !! It makes you want to...

Nice waistcoat, your Majesty.

Er, sorry, I've forgotten what I was talking about...

A story of dishonour and deceit.

Oh, yes, that's a GREAT story! Great! A WONDERFUL story!

Let me jump into this corner first.

Roast my raisins! He's popped it! Do you think he really WAS the Scarlet Pimpernel?

Judging from the ridiculous manner of his death, I would say he was.

Shame. I wanted to give him this enormous postal order.

Please, sir, let me finish. I would say that he was...n't.

You see, the Scarlet Pimpernel would NEVER reveal his identity.

So you're looking for a man who's just rescued a French aristocrat,

but if asked, "Are you the Scarlet Pimpernel?" he replies, "Absolutely not!"

But, Blackadder, YOU'VE just been to France to rescue an aristocrat!

Oh, Blackadder, are YOU the Scarlet Pimpernel?

Absolutely NOT, sir.

Hooray!

Subtitles by Gillian Spence, BBC Scotland - 1987