CAST OF CHARACTERS
The PARDONER (Le Pardonneur)
The SNAKE-OIL SALESMAN (Le Triacleur)
[FRENCHY,] the ALEWIFE (La Tavernière)
[A number of Extras at the Bar, mostly Monks]
PRODUCTION NOTES
The Farce nouvelle tres bonne et fort joyeuse à troys personnages d’un Pardonneur, d’un Triacleur et d’une Tavernière (RBM, #26) appears in ATF, 2: 50–63—again, paginated but without verse numbers—and in RF, 5: 229–73. Tissier also translated it into modern French (FFMA, 2: 161–73), as did Ernest and Paul Fièvre in an online verse edition: http://www.theatre-classique.fr/pages/programmes/edition.php?t=../documents/ANONYME_PARDONNEUR.xml (accessed 19 January 2021). So too did Ana P. O. Tavares and Anabela dos Santos Rodrigues into Portuguese but, sadly, it is no longer available online. While I know of no English translation, The Pardoners’ Tales has been much summarized and discussed, in this instance, by Petit de Julleville (RTC, 159), Faivre (Répertoire, 318–19), Delepierre (DLU, 48–50), the Toldo brothers (“ETCF,” 297–99), and Garapon in “Le Réalisme” (15–16). Published by Nicholas Chrestien between 1547 and 1557 (RF, 5: 231n), it plays out over 321 octosyllabic verses but not in the standard rhyming couplets, which often yield to huitains.
Plot
To paraphrase an old joke: What’s the difference between a Pardoner, a Snake-Oil Salesman, and a bucket of shit?
The bucket. Or, in this case, the box: a strongbox (coffret), to be exact, which serves as both the key prop and the incarnation of the play’s overarching joke (below, § “Costumes and Props”). And what’s the difference between a Pardoner (of Chaucerian fame) and a Snake-Oil Salesman? The former is “a sort of vagabond who travels from town to town selling fake relics and trafficking in indulgences” (RTC, 189); the latter traffics in more terrestrial narcotics, touting the panacea known as mithridate or theriac (theriaca, thériaque > Theriacleur > Triacleur). At first an antidote for snake bites, theriac can be traced all the way back to King Mithridates VI of Pontus (2nd c. BCE), who supposedly perfected the original recipe and from whom it gets its other name, mithridatum.1 The Triacleur is, thus, a literal snake-oil salesman, his grass snake (couleuvre) still emblazoning the contemporary French pharmacist’s insignia. His buyers probably felt much better much faster too: the active ingredient of theriac was opium.
The Pardoners’ Tales opens with over two hundred verses of dueling sales pitches to all the Seigneurs, Messieurs, Messeigneurs there assembled until the pitchmen move on to their next mark, the unnamed Alewife, as she laments her disappearing regulars: pardoners from Amiens and snake-oil salesmen from Venice (2: 59). (Could it be the Wars of Religion?) A masterpiece of intertextuality and double entendres, this farce reprises the jeu-parti-structured ripostes of Match, Point, Counterpoint (HD #6); it brings together the legerdemain of our two resurrected Johnnys (#8 and #9); it lampoons the pilgrims’ progress of Drama Queens (#4) and Holy Deadlock (HD, #7); it channels the two hungry thieves of the Chicken Pie and the Chocolate Cake (FCMF, 151–58); and it picks up on the spiritual and bodily curatives prescribed by Brother Fillerup (#6), Slick Brother Willy (#11), Doc Double-Talk (Playing Doctor [FF, #6]), the Husband-Trader (Husband Swap [HD, #10]), and Master Pierre Doribus (Sottie nouvelle, RT, #9). Mostly, this fever-pitched donnybrook reminds me of the fabulous tale of the big-mouthed actor, Jean de Pontalais, as told by Bonaventure des Périers (1500–1544) in the Nouvelles récréations et joyeux devis (DBD, 108–10). Legend had it that Pontalais had once interrupted a preacher’s sermon with the noisy drum-banging that typically advertised a play. To make a long story short, priest and actor each demand that the other shut up, which culminates in the farceur smashing his drum over the infuriated priest’s head. But this was not just folklore. Pontalais, one of the aliases of the phallically named Jean de l’Espine, was a real flesh-and-blood actor who was quite popular between 1510 and 1540 (RF, 11: 237). Indeed, “Master Jehan du Pontalez” was one of three Parisian farceurs who, with Jacques le Basochien and Jehan Seroc, was imprisoned for a time for having angered Francis I (MES, 336).
The denouement is likewise a masterpiece, involving a feat of sleight of hand at the tavern with the all-important coffret and the allegedly precious relic it contains: le beguin des innocents (explained below, § “Costumes and Props”). When the Pardoner asks the Alewife, here “Frenchy,” to accept the box in lieu of payment—on one condition—we can feel the mythological reversal coming from a mile away (2: 62). Under no circumstances is she to open the box or unwrap its miraculous contents. Needless to say, our latter-day Pandora breaks her promise post haste, unleashing … You’ll see. But this is no Rabelaisian Silenus box in which inner sublime medicine is masked by outer grotesque figures (CWFR, 3). Instead, this farcical “Panderers’ ” Box will ensure that somebody takes their medicine.
Characters and Character Development
The Pardoner and the Snake-Oil Salesman are medicine men, charlatans, pseudohealers, and apothecaries for body and soul. But let’s not put too fine a point on it: they’re con-men, scammers, flimflammers, and pushers. They’re forerunners to Tom Lehrer’s “Old Dope Peddler,” for whom “today’s innocents [or beguin des innocents]—are tomorrow’s clientele.” First to claim the public’s attention with a delicious promo on full or partial remission for their sins is the itinerant Pardoner, a moine vagant like Slick Brother Willy (#11; RF, 5: 32). He’s a smooth-talker unwilling to bite his tongue, although he presumably has one for sale. So, by all means, think Chaucer’s Pardoner, think Elmer Gantry; but, above all, think one-man show. Clearly relishing the spotlight of his opening fifty-eight-verse infomercial, this Pardoner peppers his spiel with all the tics that we associate with untrustworthy hard-sellers. Believe him, he asserts incessantly: it’s all on the up and up (je le vous afferme, j’en suis tout seur, je le vous asseure). He assures, he affirms, he promises, he certifies, he guarantees. Belief, after all, is what it’s all about for two men who deploy croire and cuyder time and time again. But he doth protest too much. Self-indulgent to the end, he could be a man of size, gluttonous enough to indulge his every appetite, be it food or anger. And, oh, the taking of the name of the Lord in vain, as he rounds out the par bieu, mort bieu, corps bieu, sang bieu, vertu bieu, ventre bieu, and chair bieu with an occasional mon Dieu and a Jésus (2: 57–59; RF, 5: 257n). For all his pique, though, the smooth-talking Pardoner is not a fast-talker. There’s a certain slowness of speech akin to that of a modern Swiss accent, which is conveyed by an unusual amount of diaresis or scansion (when a normally silent vowel is pronounced for an extra poetic foot).
Occupying a lower rung on the social ladder is the Snake-Oil Salesman, who is relentlessly tutuoied by his rival (whom he audaciously tutoies back)—that is, when the Pardoner deigns to address him directly at all. That may be why the Triacleur is also at pains to make guarantees of his own (rien de plus certain; je vous affie [2: 54; 57]), as when stressing that he is a credentialed member of a trade that had been municipally regulated since 1484 (RF, 5: 253n). That said, he lacks even the pharmacist’s requisite grass snake. As revealed by one of the few original stage directions, he displays not a couleuvre but an eel, another animal with a rich folkloric past (DBD, 79–81): Adoncq il monstre une enguille au lieu d’une couleuvre et dit (2: 52). He too doth protest too much. A highly focused fast-talker with better-than-average grammar, the Snake-Oil Salesman at first gains the upper hand over his more reactive antagonist. Per the Alewife’s remark about Venice (2: 59) and like Father Amadeus in The Jackass Conjecture (HD, #5), he might speak with an Italian accent. Physically, the mouthy merchant might be missing a few teeth: one possible source for all the tooth relics for sale.
Eager to recoup her business losses, Frenchy has her eye on the prize the whole time, laying it on thick to get into that strongbox. Her own dear husband—don’tcha know?—used to be in the same line of work “pulling teeth” (2: 61), a profession scarcely known for its moral probity (RF, 5: 235). I give you, from SNL, John Belushi’s “Samurai Dentist” or Steve Martin’s Theodoric of York.2 I’ve christened her “Frenchy,” by the way, in honor of Marlene Dietrich’s character in Destry Rides Again. There’s something “wild west” about this saloon; but feel free to substitute “Alewife Annie” or “Ado Annie” for the ultimate girl “who cain’t say no.” Once alone with the coffret, Frenchy echoes the play’s opening debate by debating herself in a lengthy soliloquy. To peek or not to peek? Self-proclaimed simple, frail, and naive soul that she purports to be by nature (nice, fresle et de propre nature [2: 63]), she sounds just like Eve in the Play of Adam: a “weak and tender little thing” (fieblette e tendre chose [MD, 91, v. 227]). But Frenchy is all Pandora at heart; and the two diabolically irreligious tricksters give her more than she bargained for. And a lot less too.
Last but not least, there’s a way in which the spectators are bona fide characters in the play. The Pardoner names them by name; and their epithets require translation (2: 51–53; below, note 8). They are the protagonists’ confrères, connoisseurs, con-seurs (“cunt-sisters?”), and—who knows?—the con-frairie of farce-mounting Conards whose reputation for ass-holiness preceded them (2: 51–52). Worthy of any Rabelaisian list, they are the descendants of the great confessor and “cunt-spanker” (con fesser), Saint Woody (Couillebault) of the “beautiful balls” and the author of dubious “revirginizations” that sound almost like abortions (RF, 5: 245n).3 One can almost imagine a processional of the unholy crew of pseudosaints Boozler (Pion), Poontang (Fente), Meatstick (Boudin), and, fresh off Bro Job (#7), Muffie (Velue) (DSI, 192–94, 214).
Language
The metaphorical world of our play is populated by mythical creatures, starting with the mermaid-like Melusine (2: 52), whose fourteenth-century legend comes down to us from Jehan d’Arras (Maddox and Maddox, Melusine of Lusignan). Other magical beasts are linked to the provenance of the talismanic teeth, feathers, eggs, claws, or nails, but their transumptive reach is complex. Take the coque-grues (coquecigrues in Rabelais): they are neither shellfish nor fowl (RF, 5: 265n). But, as an admixture of cocks, cockle shells, and cranes, they are also part of an idiom that means “when hell freezes over”—which is when each vendor will accept the authenticity of the competition’s booty. Meanwhile, the veritable architecture of Heaven is held up by a beam (chevron) that keeps us focused on the materiality of the stage. Most fascinating of all is the virtually untranslatable wordplay related to the pharmacist’s grass snake, the couleuvre. The French say avaler des couleuvres (“to swallow grass snakes”), which, to closest approximation, means “to bite your tongue” or “to be so insulted that you’re not able to reply.”4 Our two vendors reply like crazy until their thirst gets the better of them, which prompts them to “swallow grass snakes” along with their pride.
Sets and Staging
Tissier surmises that our play is of Norman origin (RF, 5: 232n) but, in light of a reference to the Seine (2: 57), we are likely in Paris. Two sets are needed: the open marketplace (or a Beckettian no-man’s-land), where a game of “three-box Monte” might foretell the flimflam; and Frenchy’s drinking establishment, with its buffet setup featuring three upside-down bowls on the bar for further games of “three-bowl Monte.” Mime is crucial throughout, particularly to punctuate the hucksters’ endless Rabelaisian lists. (I’ve always suspected that Gargantua’s catalogues of games and ass-wipes were meant to be read aloud with accompanying body language [CWFR, 50–54, 34–35].) And sleight of hand is the order of the day, whence my dramaturgy that repeatedly directs the audience’s gaze toward the disappearing and reappearing strongbox.
Costumes and Props
As in Shit for Brains (FF, 271–76), interminable spiels double as a props list as our salesmen go at it tooth and nail. Literally. A little bit of tooth here, a little bit of foot there (de la dent, du pied, etc.): they’re armed to the teeth, as it were, especially the Snake-Oil Salesman who has concealed many items on his person. Both men transport multiple tins, boxes, and buckets of balms, ointments, elixirs, stuff, and nonsense. To make the most of some of the more obscene goodies—tongue, bones, and sausages in honor of Saint Boudin—one could almost stage the Snake-Oil Salesman hotdogging with an anachronistic Sabrett’s cart: something befitting a traveling sausage fest. Also handy for some of the puns: Turkish taffy and novelty-store chattering teeth. (If you ask me, this sounds like medieval product placement.) The Pardoner, sporting a silly chapeau to tip his hat to Pontalais, could carry various contracts too, ideally with many hanging seals. The Snake-Oil Salesman brandishes his eel and, given his allusion to his personal griffins, why not give him some stuffed birds or an Easter basket of marshmallow chicks? Just one caveat for the two men’s stashes: they must be portable enough to bring them into the tavern.
Decisive to the stunning denouement, which I won’t spoil here, is the strongbox, which should contain something metallic to simulate the cling-clang of coins. This “little tin box,” the symbol of corruption in Fiorello, is like the Fool’s cosmetological bait in the Dutch farce Blow in the Box or, better yet, like “Pandarus’s box” from Chaucer’s Troilus and Criseyde. In the end, it all comes down to the pièce de résistance inside, ostensibly a baby’s bonnet belonging to one of the infants massacred during the Slaughter of the Innocents (RF, 5: 271n): C’est, ainsi que je l’entens, / Le beguin d’un des Innocens. / Gardez-le nous bien à point; / Mais ne le developpez point (2: 62). To paraphrase the Littré, however, le beguin also applied to two types of irreligious individuals: a thirteenth-century heretic or a Brother Preacher who thought himself holy enough to decline civic or religious duty. Since our play text calls for both “opening” and “unwrapping” (developer) the coffret’s precious content, I suggest that the object inside the box be doubly shrouded: a bonnet inside a drawstring purse. Bottom line: in a play where there are no innocents to be found (except maybe in the audience), I do believe that I’ve found the mot juste—the acte juste—for the play’s big verbal and visual payoff. But no spoiler alerts. If you absolutely must, see note 26 below. For now, I’ll confine myself to announcing that, when the pardoners bail, our medieval Pandora is not exactly in for an immaculate deception.
Scholarly References to Copyrighted Materials (in order of appearance and indicated by © within the text)
· “Amazing Grace.” By John Newton. (1779).
· “The Lord Bless You and Keep You.” Traditional hymn.
· “Michael Finnegan.” Traditional.
· “I’m a Woman.” By Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller. BMI Work #4175708.
· “Signed, Sealed, Delivered, I’m Yours.” By Lee Garrett, Lula Mae Hardaway, Stevie Wonder, and Syreeta Wright. ASCAP Work ID: 490293528.
· “Take Me to the Pilot.” By Elton John and Bernie Taupin. BMI Work #1450840.
· “Big Rock Candy Mountain.” Traditional.
· “Shake a Tail Feather.” By Otha Hayes, Verlie Rice, and Zephire Williams. BMI Work #1318017.
· “Little Tin Box.” By Jerry Bock and Sheldon Harnick. BMI Work #883643.
· “It’s Raining Men.” By Paul Jabara and Paul Shaffer. BMI Work #1226921.
· “76 Trombones!” By Meredith Willson. ASCAP Work ID: 490040443.
· “Longfellow Serenade.” By Neil Diamond. SESAC Work Number 514272.
· “Dry Bones.” [“Dem Bones.”] By Jay Weldon Johnson and J. Rosomond Johnson. (19th c.)
· “Bust a Move.” By Matt Dike, Luther Rabb, and Marvin Young. ASCAP Work ID: 320348316.
· “Big Spender.” By Cy Coleman and Dorothy Fields. ASCAP Work ID: 20137955.
· “I’m Called Little Buttercup.” By William Schwenk Gilbert, Nicholas Cameron Patrick, and Sir Arthur Seymour Sullivan. From H.M.S. Pinafore (1878). BMI Work #4257023.
· “Respect.” By Otis Redding. BMI Work #1244564.
· “Old Dope Peddler.” By Tom Lehrer. ASCAP Work ID: 450017026.
· “Everything’s Alright.” By Andrew Lloyd-Webber and Timothy Rice. ASCAP Work ID: 250061588.
[Scene 1]
[Possible opening music.]5
[Lights up on a busy Parisian marketplace. The Snake-Oil Salesman, a pushcart of products by his side, is engaged in multiple games of three-card Monte while the Pardoner shakes a strongbox, attempting unsuccessfully to whip the audience into a frenzy.]
The PARDONER begins
[Amazing grace, how sweet the sound!© And peace be with you, gentlemen, my brothers. Quit standing around and feast your eyes on these! Amen! Relics like these? Never again shall holiness sell by the pound. So, say it with me, boys: “amen!” What once was lost can now be found. Amazing grace, how sweet the sound!©]
By the power vested in these holy relics here within, the Lord bless you and keep you© and give you … a piece of the action! My brothers! It’s been quite some time since I’ve been around these here parts but, please God, I’m fixing to make you all wondrous glad you came. So, [pardon me and,] beggin’ your indulgence, gents: for your consideration here today …
I bring you the ears of Saint Woody, the Cun … Cun … Cun-fessor, and—wait, there’s more!—his sister, too, Saint Muffie, and this stuff works miracles, whatever the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.6 I can hardly wait to tell you all about those very miracles. Why, once upon a time, all the way down in Africa—I do solemnly swear—this self-same saint, good Sir Woody, he went and … and … and—[woody or won’t he, folks? He wood!]—he delivered a Jewess who was in the throes of premature labor and, voilà! No more baby! And, next item:
Hear ye! Hear ye! all about what the great, the wise, [the powerful] Saint Muffie did for this other gal. She gave her back her virginity, I assure you! Shut that whole thing down and had ’er outta commission inside o’ thirty minutes flat! And there was plenty o’ dick traffic down there, believe you me. [A real open and shut case!]7
But I digress. It’s time to start naming names! Your friends, your neighbors, your fellow players and parishioners, crazy band o’ jokers that they are, members one and all of that—oh, holey holy!—most sacred of brotherhoods, the Order of the Wood and the Muffie!
He reads the names [gesturally encouraging anyone named to stand, as if former winners of the “Miss Joker” Competition.]
Allez, Messieurs, écoutez-moi! There’s Johnny Pointer, Barb’ry-Doll … There’s [Honey Bea-Bea], Colin Mule and John-Boy Magpie, Tommy Fool … with John-John Deepthroat, Dickie Flick … There’s John-n’-Tonic, Randy Dick, and Peter Tit-Mouse, Ronald Bean with Looney Tunie, Jeannie Queen, and Johnny Sappie, Gus DeBeer, and Marty Hammer. Say “Hear! Hear!” For all your kin again, let’s begin again!©8
Hear ye, hear ye, all ye gentlemen,
all about your kin and company—
company of men (the brotherhood)—
uncles, cousins, granddads, relatives!
Step right up but, then, down on your knees!
All this can be yours, I promise you,
if the price is right, gents: come on down!
Everything you need—the meatiest!—
bring it on ’cause, folks, it’s pardon time!
Bring on the bacon! Warm that pan
for tenderloin and fatty ham,
pigs’ knuckles, meat fit for a king:
Never forget that you’re a man©
in pretty pointy, dainty things:
Go lay that spread for servicing
in stockings, hats, and gowns adorned.
Use doilies, napkins, napkin rings.
Eat up, folks! Dinah, blow your horn.
Come horn right in and go all out:
That’s what a pardon’s all about.
[That’s right, folks!] It’s a goddamn cornucopia! So, here goes nothing! Assume the position and come on down! Get your pardons right here! [There is no movement from the spectators.]
You think a pardon from Saint Woody is some kind of a joke? No way, folks, Jeez! And you think a pardon parade is a joke? Behold! [He brandishes a vellum document with multiple hanging seals.] All one hundred percent genuine, certified pardons! Signed, sealed, deliverance,© they can be yours!
[A fish story, you say?] Behold! Don’t you recognize this? It’s the seal of that mystical mermaid, Melusine, the water nymphomaniac, procured in a kingdom far, far away in el grande Castillo de Genitalia! It’s true! Called for a toast with the Sultan himself, who just gives it right up to me: like Holy Water for chocolate and that’s no Istanbul-shit.9
The SNAKE-OIL SALESMAN
[Moving center stage to position himself in front of the Pardoner] And hail Mary, hail Mary! What a load o’ crap! Hey, buddy! You think anybody believes that bill o’ goods?
Thereupon, he displays an eel instead of a serpent and says:
Stand back, folks, stand back! Stand back, [I say!] Hey, Margot, hey! Where you at, girl? Get your little kisser back up here and say “hi” to the folks! [How’s about a hand for the little lady?]
The PARDONER
What is he, kidding? I’m preaching here! And I’ll have you know that I do not take kindly to people hawking their wares during one of my sermons. Say, folks: bear with me now [and don’t let him pawn anything off on you because …] I’ve got some head of Saint Boozler—right here!—and more names from the Brotherhood. And I do believe those jokers were your very own grandfathers. All your kin again, folks, begin again!© Johnny Battendown, Big-Mouth Inniscups, Johnny Bendero—
The SNAKE-OIL SALESMAN
… ver here, milords! Yo! Got me some salves, gonna be your salve-ation! Just the thing to rub all over your—
The PARDONER
Who does this lunatic think he is? Somebody shut that fool up.
The SNAKE-OIL SALESMAN
No, shut him up! That’s enough preaching already. Shut up!
The PARDONER
Peter Drinkwell, Colin Gobsmack, Willy Blackout, Johnny Hooter …
The SNAKE-OIL SALESMAN
[Hoo-hoo-Hooter!] And gobble, gobble, gobble, [you snotty-faced heap of turkey droppings!] Butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth—eh, gentlemen?—but that’s some cheesy pitch!
The PARDONER
Omigod! I’m not the one who cut the cheese! Have you no shame? What a con-man! And there you have it, folks! Nobody pays any attention to the good saints and their miracles anymore. It’s all liars and confidence men and yea-sayers. Flattery will get you everywhere, you know.
The SNAKE-OIL SALESMAN
Shut up!
The PARDONER
No, you!
The SNAKE-OIL SALESMAN
I have salves and fish oil that I got off Father John, you know, the Evangelist. [He brandishes his eel again.]
The PARDONER
Ha! What a snake in the grass! It’ll be a cold day in hell before anyone believes that one!10
The SNAKE-OIL SALESMAN
The hell you say, boy! Lemme do my job! Hey, it’s a free market! Do I or do I not have my commercial license? You bet I do! I’m fully bonded and insured! Why, only just today before entering this fair city, I myself was restored to good health. Name your poison, folks—laudanum, arsenic, old lace, the wolfsbane of your existence—there’s nothing they can’t give that you too wouldn’ta been cured in no time, sure as I’m standing here! [He brandishes the eel yet again, along with a bottle of gin.] Even if you woulda been bit by a snake, and—omigod!—before you could even say “gin”!11
The PARDONER
[Once bitten, twice die!] My friends, my brothers, frères humains: to preserve you from peril, I got the pork right here! The snout from good Saint Anthony’s very own piggy-wiggy!
The SNAKE-OIL SALESMAN
Milords, behold! [By the light o’ the silvery moonshine,] got me off this monk one time this sparrow’s egg right here, got laid up the Barb’ry Coast. When there’s a full moon, it’s fertile, myrtle; but, when there’s no moon, no go, no embryo! All hail Saint Muffie: [it’s a moon for the misbegotten!] And I got plenty more drugs where that came from, which I’m fixin’ to show you right now.12
The PARDONER
Lying crook! [Charlatan! And who are you calling Myrtle?]
Don’t fall for it, folks! Jesus H. Christ, it’s a scam—you better believe it! It’s a farce! Everywhere you go these days, nothing but dirty tricksters. Present pardoners excluded, of course.
The SNAKE-OIL SALESMAN
Believe him? He layin’ it on thick enough for you, folks? He takes you for a bunch o’ suckers.
The PARDONER
And, now, for your consideration, allow me to show you the crest of Pilate’s cock … that crowed. Plus, from atop Mount Ararat, half a plank from Noah’s Ark!13
The SNAKE-OIL SALESMAN
[Ara-what?] And, take me to the Pilate!© I’m the one come down from the frozen mountaintops, where I collected this here root.
The PARDONER
And there’s another cock and bull story! Lying crook! [Squawk, squawk, squawk!] That’s chicken-shit! Can you believe this guy?
The SNAKE-OIL SALESMAN
[Speaking more and more quickly] Gentlemen, over here! Some salve from those very special ingredients found growin’ only in the Holy Land: growin’, growin’, growin’ …
The PARDONER
Gone! That liar and his squawk-box can go straight to—. Jesus H. Christ! That’s some Mess O’Potamia! Drivel, I say! That’s not even chicken soup! It’s just flour and water. [And you know what they say, folks, “paste makes waste.”]
The SNAKE-OIL SALESMAN
Liar, liar, pants on fire! God damn him! He can go straight to hell if this ain’t the real, genuine article! [I have been to the mountaintop!] Fetched it all the way out at the big Rock Candy Mountain, where they hung the Turk that invented work!©
The PARDONER
Ha! Holy flippin’ Christ, you did not get that [Turkish taffy] from—. That’s a crock-a-doodle-doo!
The SNAKE-OIL SALESMAN
Get a load o’ preacher man over there, takin’ the name o’ the Lord in vain! Jesus fucking Christ! They oughta lock him up and throw away the key! Wouldya listen to the filthy mouth on that priest! All the swearin’ and cussin’. A disgrace to the profession, eh, folks? [{He brandishes a sack, anachronistically full of Ziploc bags filled with pieces of tongue and wafer-like crackers.} Lock him up! Lock him up! Lock him—]
The PARDONER
[Up yours!] I beg your pardon! You’re the one who can’t zip it! Are you completely incapable of holding your tongue for five minutes while I finish my presentation? In point of fact, pal, you’d do well to shut up, or you’ll soon answer to me!
Gentlemen, behold! Here’s the wing of one of the seraphim at the right hand of God! And don’t you be thinking this is some farce! Now, gather round—right here!—and take a gander. Ooh-la-la-la-la!
The SNAKE-OIL SALESMAN
A gander? Ha! [Yo, Boccaccio!] That’s a feather from the goose he had for dinner! [And yeah, yeah, yeah. Every time you hear a bell, an angel gets its wings!]
Jesus H. Christ! You’ve really got that act o’ yours down pat there, pal: flimflammin’ these good folks like that. [Now shake a tail feather©] and get lost!
[The PARDONER]14
[Increasingly irate] And Jesus H. Christ Almighty, you lie! [He makes the sign of the cross.] Crock-a-doodle-lujah, and amen to that!
The SNAKE-OIL SALESMAN
There he goes again! Takin’ the name o’ the Lord in vain! Talk about practicing religion without a license! I’m the one’s got the drugs. Right here in my little tin box.© [A place for everything and everything in its play.] No, wait! That’s two, two, two little tin boxes! [Two for the price of one,] from the very depths of hell! From the gaping maw of Cerberus! Managed to extract ’em, I did, on Easter Sunday, no less! Looky here! [With a toothy grin, he brandishes the boxes, shakes them, and removes some teeth.]15
The PARDONER
[Making the sign of the cross] Benedicite Dominus! You can take thy bounty—das Gift that keeps on giving—and shove it up—. You’re lyin’ through your teeth!
The SNAKE-OIL SALESMAN
But wait, there’s more! Looky here! Got your Hairy Beardtongue right here! Grows right by Persephone herself down in hell, near the Devil’s Paintbrush. And, looky here! Got me some o’ that special root for, you know, messin’ around with alchemy. Dug it up personally, I did, with my own two hands, I absolutely guarantee. And, then, to carry the whole load back up, got my very own specially trained griffins.16
The PARDONER
Well, sweet Jesus, King of Kings! [Knock me over with a griffin feather!] When hell freezes over! You lie!
The SNAKE-OIL SALESMAN
But wait, there’s more! Looky here, folks! Got your baby chestnuts right here! First fruit o’ the tree! The one all the way at the bottom of the Spanish Main! Knocked that junk off, I did, in one fell swoop.
The PARDONER
[And, hallelujah, it’s rainin’ nuts!©] Would you listen to this guy? Those are knockoffs, folks! Do you think he gives a fig about all those lies? [And Jesus wept!] God willing, he’d be in chains right now, drowned at the bottom of the River Seine! At least, until after I finish preaching. Right here, gentlemen! I’ve got part of the kerchief of Our Lady of the Back of Beyond.
The SNAKE-OIL SALESMAN
Here’s part of Hannibal’s foot. And his head. And his thighs too.
The PARDONER
Frankly, pal, I don’t give a damn. If your lips are moving, you’re lying.
The SNAKE-OIL SALESMAN
[He fumbles for some novelty teeth as his voice becomes ever more shrill.] Looky here! From the very walls of Paradise, a small pebble. Check it out! Ooh-la-la!
The PARDONER
Climbed all the way up there, did you? As if you could top me.
He must be high.
The SNAKE-OIL SALESMAN
[Sticks and stones, pal! A full octave higher than your score.©] I was carried up! In a basket. On Good Friday.
The PARDONER
Over here, gentlemen, don’t listen to that basket case! [So, he caught the last performance of Drama Queens. So what?] I have the story of a real miracle to tell you!17
The SNAKE-OIL SALESMAN
[And I’m the oracle here! You want pith? {He brandishes his eel again.} I’ll see your Pythia and raise you one three-card Monty-Python!] Hey! Who wants drugs? [Not to get all Machiavellian or nothin’ but] … got your mandrake right here! [Double, double, toil and trouble, fire burn and cauldron bubble.] Got ear o’ pelican too, but wait! There’s more! [Brandishing the marshmallow chicks] All the way from Greece from Mount Athos—no chicks allowed!—got the feet from four phoenixes. Got these beauties right outta their nests and—feets, don’t fail me now!—rise! Come on, babies, rise!©18
The PARDONER
[Talk about your sermon on the mountebank!] And I’ve got—right here! Allow me to demonstrate—these bones from the Beatific Numbskulls. This one’s from good Saint Pecker, and here’s another one from Saint Poontang of the Sacred Vault.
The SNAKE-OIL SALESMAN
[Them bones, them bones, them dry bonus! Now hear the way of the Lord,© bonehead! {He grabs some sausages and moves to strike.} Phony baloney!] I’ve got me, from Tarantino-land—you’ll give your eye-teeth for this one, folks—the tricuspid of Geoffrey Big-Tooth, who roams the earth bitin’ everybody’s heads off.19 For God’s sake, folks, stand back! For—yea, though I walked through the valley of Golgotha, I fished this baby right off the Mistress of Kegs, outta the burned-out hole of a lightning strike. And look what else I got! [Dragon eggs] from across the [narrow] sea! [He grabs a bucket of prunes.] And a great big pile o’ cockle shells! And, from Heaven on high, some comet dust! And—[bream me up, Scotty!]—a little somethin’ off the foot o’ the Man in the Moon who holds up the holy firmament. Raise high the moonbeams, carpenter! And walrus. [You folks up in the rafters’ll be beamin’ from ear to ear in no time, ’cause—wanna know what?—it’s a matter of truss. {As if the other actor has missed his cue} Act now!]
The PARDONER
[Bite me! You’re a pain in the flying buttress.] And Jesus flippin’ Christ in a bucket! You pinched that off a tree in somebody’s garden! That’s a prune and you’re the pits, you damn homeopath!]
The SNAKE-OIL SALESMAN
Here’s some wood from David’s drum: the one he plays before God!
The PARDONER
And that’s another lie, folks! Jesus H. Christ! Everybody knows David played the harp! [He pops a prune in his mouth and takes a few steps back.]
The SNAKE-OIL SALESMAN
And Jesus flippin’ Christ in a bucket to you too, pal! To the moon with your preachin’, to the moon! Just wait’ll I get my hands on—. I’ll soon give you something to preach about!
[Lights down as a mimed scene of push me pull you ensues, which leaves the Pardoner off-balance.]
[Scene 2]
[Lights up on Frenchy, at the door of her near-empty tavern, now populated by only a few patrons, including a monk.]
FRENCHY, the ALEWIFE
[My whole business has gone to pot!] Got no drinkers comin’ round here no more. Jeez, I’m losin’ my whole clientele: even the regulars. All those snake-oil salesmen from Venice, those pardoners from Amiens, all begging their way from church to church lookin’ for a handout. All of ’em used to come by my place. [She endeavors to attract passersby in mime, eventually venturing into the street within earshot of the two pitchmen.]
The SNAKE-OIL SALESMAN
Gentlemen, you want it? I got it!© Praise the Lord! All good and good for you! Here, milords: one o’ the doorstops from the Pearly Gates! Holding firm up there at the firmament, is it? Not.
And, here: no mortal eye hath seen—till now!—this round stone right here: the very stone that David used to kill Goliath! [Put that giant butt in a sling!] [He feigns prayer.]20
The PARDONER
I’m wasting my time here. Must be losing my touch. I forget what I was going to say.
The SNAKE-OIL SALESMAN
[Hello! Rehearsal. Heard of it?
Knock, knock!
The PARDONER
Who’s there?
The SNAKE-OIL SALESMAN
Goliath.
The PARDONER
Goliath who?
The SNAKE-OIL SALESMAN
Goliath down, thou lookest tired!] So, what do you wanna do here, pal? Wanna go get drunk? What do you say, sir? Truce? If we don’t make peace—[brandishing his eel again]—we’re just gonna keep snaking each other’s deals. And, as you know very well from experience, you can’t go to the same well twice. [Remember those hustlers in The Chicken Pie and the Chocolate Cake?] Two is a crowd.21
The PARDONER
Right you are, pal. Let’s go somewhere and indulge, shall we? We’ll just have to ask around for where we can find a good pinot.
[As if Frenchy has missed her cue.] There must be somebody around here who can direct us.
FRENCHY
Right here, gents! Right this way! You’re here! You’ve come to the right place. Come on in. I’ve got good wine.
The SNAKE-OIL SALESMAN
Dipso facto! You don’t have to ask me twice! [Rehearsal, I said! Heard of it?]
[After they enter, he places the strongbox on the counter with great ceremony, retaining a tin or two on his person.] Here you go. Hang onto this strongbox for me, would you?
FRENCHY
[She promptly hides the box under the counter.] So, tell me, gents, if you don’t mind my askin’, what line o’ work you two boys in anyway?
The PARDONER
Who, us? Begging your—. We’re pardoners, ma’am, at your service. I am, at any rate: the real deal. This one here is just a snake-oil salesman!
FRENCHY
In the name of Saint John, I knew it! [She makes the sign of the cross.] If only my dear, departed husband were here, yes siree, he’d be rolling out the red carpet for you two as we speak or he’d never forgive himself. And it just so happens, he used to be in the same line o’ work as you boys, yes siree.22
The PARDONER
How’s that now?
FRENCHY
Pullin’ teeth. Made a real good living at it too. It was his specialty.
The SNAKE-OIL SALESMAN
[He shakes one of his tins of teeth.] Jesus H. Christ! He was one of us!
FRENCHY
Ha! Just as I thought! Delighted to have you, gents! Relax, please. Take a load off. Enjoy! You two have some catching up to do. [Check it out: a whole beggars’ banquet.]
[Sotto voce] [And, hey, hey, hey big spenders!©] All you can eat for just $99.99.23
[A great deal of gluttonous eating and drinking ensues.]
The PARDONER
[My, my, my! Would you look at the time!] I do believe we’ve imposed quite long enough on your hospitality, my dear lady. [He tips his hat.] Madame.
[With neither hesitation nor searching, he takes the strongbox from where Frenchy has hidden it, places it on the counter, reaches into his garment, and pulls out an object tightly wrapped in cloth. With great speed, he opens the strongbox, puts it inside, and closes the box tightly.]
[This right here is a treasure chest], to be sure. What’s inside is worth a fortune: more than a million in gold. But please: you’ll keep it with our compliments.24
FRENCHY
What is it?
The PARDONER
You’ll find out soon enough, but let’s just call it a “Panderers’ Box.” You’ll keep it, I insist. But it must remain completely intact. You must keep it covered at all times.
FRENCHY
Really? It’s as precious as all that?
The SNAKE-OIL SALESMAN
Absolutely! Jeez, woman, [it’s a pan-dora-cea!]
FRENCHY
I’d rather die than unwrap such a precious gift. [She places the box under the bar.]
The PARDONER
We’ll be on our way, then, first thing … after supper.
[More eating and drinking ensue, during which time another wrapped object falls from one of the men’s pockets. Frenchy speedily picks it up and stashes it under one of three empty bowls at the bar. When her guests have finally finished eating, she moves jovially to escort them to the door. Meanwhile, the Snake-Oil Salesman retrieves the object from under the correct bowl and pockets it on the way out.]
[The PARDONER]
We’ll be off now, baby girl, we bid you adieu. [But, tell me: is it covered?]25
FRENCHY
Adieu, gents, go with God. [It’s covered].26
[{To the audience} And hallowed be my scam!]
[The men leave the tavern; Frenchy watches until they are out of sight.]
The SNAKE-OIL SALESMAN
[From a safe distance in the street] And hallowed be our scam! Jesus H. Christ on a cracker! She bought it tooth and nail!
[Exit the Pardoner and the Snake-Oil Salesman]
[Scene 3]
FRENCHY
[Retrieving the box and beginning her inspection] There’s just got to be some way in, right?, to at least see what it is. Omigod! I’m a nervous wreck! It could be dangerous.
[To the audience] Whatever shall I do? Should I just go ahead and look inside? In violation of the—. Yes? No? What to do, what to do …
Oh, what the hell! I’m just gonna do it! But, first, a prayer to God, that He shouldn’t punish me and such. Right. [She falls to her knees.]
Oh Lord, look down upon your humble creature, even now—Eve? And now?—weak and frail by nature, and forgive me if I should … accidentally happen to take a little peek inside, for I mean no harm.
Okeydokey, then. I’ve gotta get at that precious relic once and for all! [A monk at the bar thinks that she means him and responds accordingly.]
[Here goes nothing!] [She opens the box and unwraps the object.]
Mary, Mother of—! What is this thing? I could almost swear it’s—. Oh my God! It’s underwear! Wait. Let’s not rush to judgment. Maybe it’s just—. Oh, no, it—. No! It is! It’s a pair of britches! And— Mary, Mother of—! They’re full of shit!27
Of all the low-down, dirty, rotten—. The shit people pull these days! God damn the whole lot of ’em, this I pray.
Wanna know what, folks? All the world’s a farce, the men and women in it merely players.
And just wait till my husband hears about this!28
But, for now, I’m outta here. I bid you adieu.
I tell him everything, you know,
but bye for now, folks, gotta go.
We hope that you enjoyed the show.29
The END