Actors’ Prologue
If medieval priests sold indulgences, medieval theater troupes begged for the indulgence of their audiences. Please don’t throw us in jail for heresy: we’re just actors playing our roles. We’re just lawyers insisting that we not be held liable for verbal offenses not technically uttered in our own voices (MBA, 39–40). To that, contemporary actors might add: Please don’t cancel us on grounds of political correctness. Whence, in my own voice, this humble offering, a new sonnet to serve as a Prologue. Maybe don’t give ’em that old-time religion. The times, they were a-changin’ and, heaven only knows, ours too.
ANNOUNCEMENT FROM THE COMPANY
Oh, brother, where art thou? And sister too?
Come out! Come out and play, and bring your friends!
You think religion’s meant to make you blue?
You scared it’s gonna get you in the end?
Come, feast your eyes, ’cause that’s them in the corner,
Them in the spotlight losing their religion.©1
It’s not the crazy ramblings of some foreigner:
Let farce adjust your viewpoint just a smidgen.
Were medieval folks all theologians?
They didn’t always know what they were gettin’.
A bunch were only going through the motions,
While climbing up a hot stairway to Heaven.
Trot out those Bibles, only time will tell—
and luck—if we are going straight to Hell.
CAST OF CHARACTERS
MATILDA (Mehault/Mahault)
CONNOR (Rifflart)
The PRIEST (Le Prestre)
JOLLY ROGER (Rogier)
PRODUCTION NOTES
The anonymous Confession Rifflart à quatre personnaiges, c’est assavoir Mehault, Rifflart, Le Prestre, et Rogier had appeared only in the Recueil Trepperel (#27) and in the Droz/Lewicka facsimile edition (RTLF, 55–62) until, in 2020, enter Thierry Martin with a new online SFQS edition (https://sottiesetfarces.wordpress.com/tag/recueil-trepperel/; accessed 6 January 2021). I know of no modern French or English translation. Of late fifteenth- or early sixteenth-century Picard provenance, it may have been associated with one of the extra-Parisian urban centers for theater such as Saint-Omer, Bethune, Arras, or Cambrai (RTLF, 56) or, for Martin, from the 1480 repertoire of the Conards of Rouen (SFQS, “Introd.”). Faivre summarized the play in his Répertoire (112–13) but not Petit de Julleville, the RT having been discovered only in 1928 (“ABT,” § “Editions”). Our short farce of 278 verses plays out in rhyming octosyllabic couplets (albeit with a slight error in RTLF, where two separate lines bear the verse number 28). Nevertheless, for ease of consultation, I’ve retained the edition’s slightly imperfect numbering as is.
Plot
Behold! Here begins an ensemble of four—almost five—plays that penetrate the secrecy of the confessional: two from the Recueil du British Museum (#2, Blue Confessions and #5, Confession Follies), two from the Recueil Cohen (#3, Highway Robbery and #4, Confessions of a Medieval Drama Queen), and, for the first time in my series, this one from the Recueil Trepperel. Per the Fourth Lateran Council of 1215, obligatory confession was serious business (above, Introd.); but, to Connor—the Conster, the Con-man—the whole thing is madness (folie), a big joke (desrision), and—what else?—a farce (technically, a sottie [v. 267]). He hasn’t been to confession in at least four years, if at all. (It’s all very Alice-in-Wonderland when he suggests simultaneously that he has “never been in his life” and that he has “stopped going” [v. 110].) That doesn’t sit well at all with his wife, Matilda. Easter is coming, for God’s sake (as it will be in Highway Robbery [#3] and Johnny Slack-Jaw [#9])! Besides, after Holy Week (comprising Holy Wednesday, Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, Holy Saturday, Palm Sunday, and the last week of Lent), Mardi Gras is coming too, when everybody lets loose. Sorbonne students will take to the streets for their quodlibetal disputations (Enders, “The Theater”), and throngs of citizens will parade about during the carnivalesque fête des fous (Bakhtin, Rabelais, chap. 1; Harris, Sacred Folly). It’s also close to the couple’s wedding anniversary … although one does wonder why anyone would marry at Lent. Not much of a reception.
That is the setup for a momentous question posed against the special backdrop of Easter laughter (Jacobelli, Risus Paschalis): What counts as confession anyway? Put a trickster in the presence of a clergyman scarcely more knowledgeable than he, and theology is in for a world of comedic trouble.
Matilda orders Connor to go confess and, shockingly, he obliges, albeit with about as much enthusiasm as Cousin in Everyman, who doesn’t want to go on pilgrimage because of “the cramp in my toe” (ed. Ward, 45). After seeking counsel from his good buddy, Roger, Connor hatches a plan: use Roger’s trick of going to confession without ever confessing (vv. 74–100). Trickery is no stretch, after all, for a Conard of a con-man skilled at feigned ignorance and role-playing. In response to the Priest’s review of the seven deadly sins (sept pechez mortelz; vv. 162–75), the pseudopenitent runs through a whole list of them, including anger. But, if he is insincere, then Tissier’s allusion to a “real confession” is puzzling (RF, 6: 379–80; above, Introd., “True-ish”): all the more so in that the most crucial matter is left unresolved. With something resembling a proper liturgical performative in the Austinian sense (HDTW, 14–24), the Priest implies that Connor has been absolved. “I hereby absolve you,” he proclaims, “I grant you absolution and remission for all your sins. I just absolved you …” (Je t’en absoubz vrayement, / Absoluction et remission. / Tu es absoubz presentement … [vv. 188–90]). Indeed, Connor’s own recital of the words of absolution is more on point (vv. 247–50; below, note 15). But what about remorse and penance?
I guess the Priest is no lawyer because it is only after pronouncing absolution that he thinks to place a condition on it: “But, sweet friend, you must now perform penance” (Mais mon doulx amy debonnaire, / Il te fault penitence faire [vv. 191–92]). In this farcical riff on how to do absolution with words, Connor seems most unlikely to obey the Priest’s directive that he undertake a pilgrimage to Boulogne near Paris, a popular penitential journey at the time (RTLF, 56). So, was Faivre right about the play being pale and anodyne (Répertoire, 112–13)? I think not. Suspended absolution was hardly pabulum: not even in a charming, PG-rated romp.
Characters and Character Development
In the first sixty lines, we hear Connor’s name four times, plus six “Matildas.” It’s as if the actors were afraid that an unruly crowd would miss the protagonists’ names. Either that or Connor and Tilly were such beloved character types that the mere mention of those names would set up expectations for a whole shtick. For Rifflart, it’s all in his name, which we’ve seen before in For the Birds (HD, #4). With occasional connotations of gluttony, card-playing, and violence, the verb riffler or rifler is another form of rafler, signifying “to rifle through,” “to swipe,” “to steal,” “to nick,” or “to clean up,” as in “do well financially” (RTC, 189n). Recall, too, that there is often a Riflart in the Passion plays scourging Christ as fun and games (MTOC, 170–85; RTC, 189n). But, philologically disposed though this Connor might be to make out like a bandit, he is neither violent nor even sarcastic toward his “sweetheart,” his “darling,” his little chickadee (bel oyselon). We know little else about him other than that the working stiff—a roofer, posits Martin (SFQS, note 73)—could use a break from his manual labor on the town’s two bell towers (vv. 140–45). This brings his story into intertextual dialogue with Extreme Husband Makeover (RBM, #6; HD, #11), where a Bell-Maker incarnated what it meant to “melt the bell” (il est temps de fondre la cloche), to wit: to resolve an ongoing, persistent, festering affair (HD, 344–45, 349–51). Not going to confession—or not confessing while you’re there—would certainly qualify as a festering affair. As we shall see, if anyone winds up “as surprised as a Bell-Maker” (être étonné [penaud] comme un fondeur de cloches), it’s the hapless Priest.
Our female lead, “Matilda”—Mahault is a form of Margaret—is most unhappy with her irreligious slacker of a husband whom she nonetheless honors with the polite vous. Her unhappiness even earns her the atypical privilege of opening the farcical proceedings as the female expositor—a copyist’s error, says Martin, who believes that it should be the Priest (SFQS, note 2). He also believes that she is hustling hubby out the door because she has an assignation with Roger (SFQS, notes 16 and 54).
Next up is Jolly Roger, whose limited role is nonetheless a featured one. In the course of only two speeches (about 36 lines altogether), it is he who reveals the ruse of confession sans confession. But, because his first big speech is where the original text is corrupt (vv. 74–100), some imagination is required to fill in the blanks. Have some fun with that, speaking of which:
The unnamed Priest isn’t having any—fun, that is—which is most unusual for farce. There is some implication that he is the selfsame deaf cleric whom Roger has just cited as uncommonly useful, and at whom farce could easily yell and scream. Either way, penitential theologians were concerned about the fate of the sacrament if a priest were deaf (Tentler, Sin and Confession, 126). This one seems just plain dumb. He might well be able to refer to good works (oeuvres de misericorde), the Ten Commandments, the articles of faith (articles de la foy), “ensconcement” in heresy (dont tu es empesché [v. 166]), and the shunning of the excommunicated (excommunié). But he is ill-equipped to see that farce will turn the tables on him and on the sacrament when he flies sinfully off the handle, angered at having had truck with a fool.
Language
In this and the next four farces, I tend to translate the honorific designations for the Priest—Sire or Monsieur—as the more familiar “Father.” As for addressing the penitent, I normally go with the logical “my son” (or, later, “my daughter”). Here, however, I take care to retain the Father’s multiple (and multiply overdetermined) terms of endearment for the “sweet,” “good,” “dear,” and even “great-looking” Connor, with whom he uses tu: bel amy, beaux or beaulz amy, mon amy, mon bel amy, beau doulx amy, doulx amy debonnaire, mon amy doulx, compains, beau filz. Not surprisingly, we encounter a vocabulary of religious awe and astonishment (merveille or merveilleux at vv. 141, 207, and 232) as well as of sin (meffais or pechez at vv. 138, and 184). But most deserving of our attention is the authenticity of liturgical-ish language for getting things off one’s conscience (v. 19), one’s chest, or, as Middle French has it, one’s belly or tummy (la pance, v. 15). Connor also invokes papelartz (v. 56), an ancestor of sorts to Molière’s Tartuffe: the ultimate hypocrite engaged in false piety, a faux dévot who sets the stage not only for “Tartuffie” of our #4 but for the large-scale humanistic obsession with inner reality vs. outward appearances. It’s all part and parcel of tipping a farcical hat to mocquerie (vv. 231–32) and to nous conars (vv. 55 and 85), possibly a shout-out to the local Rouennais acting troupe.1 Droz and Lewicka doubt that our play was composed in Rouen owing to its telltale Picard dialect (RTLF, 56); but the metacommentary works either way for the send-up of idiotic priests, the true conards. Ils déconnent, quoi.
Sets and Staging
A path joins two sets: the home of Connor and Matilda, and the interior of a rudimentary church. Given the reference to the pilgrimage to Boulogne (v. 243), we are probably in the Paris area but not necessarily: the assigned penance could be comic overreach or underreach. Obviously, the focal point is the confessional, which should be situated center stage. In all likelihood, it’s the now familiar booth-like structure, as evidenced by the editors’ advice that, from verse 109 onward, the action takes place “in front of the confessional” (RTLF, 62n). Alternatively, one could confess Connor in a huge empty church. The Priest does comment that there’s nobody else around (v. 113), one of farce’s favorite winks to its spectators. It’s almost as good as the Priest wondering what kind of Fools’ play brought him there today: je ne scay / Quelle sottie m’y mena (vv. 266–67).
Costumes and Props
In light of the Priest’s various penance propositions, he might have on hand a hair shirt and a sackcloth, the latter technically known as a “cilice” (< Latin cilicium). According to the Catholic Encyclopedia, this was “a garment of rough cloth made from goats’ hair and worn in the form of a shirt or as a girdle around the loins, by way of mortification and penance” (http://www.newadvent.org/cathen/07113b.htm; accessed 25 July 2018). The roughhewn sackcloth could be made even more prickly and uncomfortable, moreover, by adding twigs and the like. To bring out the comedy, it is helpful if Connor is clad in a pair of work overalls on top of his rustic shirt and underwear (the chemise and cotte at v. 226).
Scholarly References to Copyrighted Materials (in order of appearance and indicated by © within the text)
· “Dang Me.” By Roger Miller. BMI Work #275944.
· “Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep.” [“All Night, All Day, Angels Watching Over Me.”] By Otis Leon McCoy. (19th c.)
· “All My Trials.” By Joan Baez. ASCAP Work ID: 310153330.
· “Skip to My Lou.” Traditional.
· “Get Happy.” By Harold Arlen and Ted Koehler. ASCAP Work ID: 360219907.
[Scene 1]
MATILDA
[To the audience] In the name of the Lord who suffered his grievous Passion for our Redemption, may He bless you and keep you from evil. Ladies and gentlemen! Our very own parish priest has told you that the Holy Days are at hand. Easter is coming; so, it’s time to go unburden yourselves with a full and true confession. It’s cathartic—I’m just sayin’—and I only bring it up because of one of our own, goes by the name of Connor: he never felt like going. Thinks the whole thing is one big joke.2
Enter Connor
CONNOR
Hey, Tilly! with the great big heart in that tiny little package! Over here! Why so upset, my little dove, ma gentille alouette? How come you’re not singing, Matilda? Somebody got you down? What happened to those good spirits of yours?
MATILDA
Connor, darling, sweetheart: I’d never want to displease you, but I will tell you what I’ve got on my conscience.
CONNOR
Matilda, just tell me what’s on your mind. I’d never get angry. Again.
MATILDA
Then, my dear Connor, I’ll tell you. It’ll be four years at Lent since our wedding day; and the reason I’m so distressed is that I just found out you haven’t been to confession this whole time. Sweetie, you’ve got to go. What are you waiting for? It’s usually not too crowded at this hour, and there’s not a moment to lose. Please.3
CONNOR
Good God, Matilda, sweetheart, that displeases the hell out of me! You know the kind of life I live. What are you trying to do? Get me killed? Arrested? Hanged by the neck till I’m dead?
MATILDA
Connor, you misunderstand completely. We can’t have word getting out that … Now hear this! If you don’t go, I swear: no Easter dessert for you! [Connor, Connor], no pudding, no pie.
CONNOR
Okay, fine, Matilda, let’s get it over with. Since you insist, I’ll go; but you’ll have to tell me what to do because, in all my born days, that’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard! Since when does a man have to go to confession? It’s religulous!
MATILDA
You big dumb ox! You don’t have the sense that God gave a flea. I’ll have you know there’s not a man or a woman alive who doesn’t have to fast at Lent and go to confession. The really devout folks go maybe three or four times.4
[Matilda shows him to the door.]
CONNOR
Easy, Matilda, don’t let it ruffle your feathers!
[To the audience too]5 Do you seriously believe that jokers like us got any business at Church? Or going to confession? Are you kidding? Shove it, clowns! We’re actors, not Bible thumpers!
Oh, the hell with it! One of these days, I really oughta check out the fine print in that marriage contract of ours. It’ll be depressing as all get-out if it turns out I’ve gotta go to confession.
[Matilda succeeds in pushing Connor out the door, but not before he snags a bottle of wine. Lights down on their home, where Matilda remains.]
[Scene 2]
[On the way to church]
[CONNOR]
I guess that’s that. Off to confession I go. Bummer. [I mean: did you ever hear anything so ridiculous?] A jolly good fellow like me who doesn’t give a fig? Now, a figgy pudding, that’s another story.
[People, people, please!] I need some advice. There must be somebody out there who can help me out. [What do you know! If it isn’t Jolly Roger!]
[Scene 3]
[Enter Roger]
CONNOR
Hey, Roger! I’m off to confession. Matilda’s making me go; so, why not just take a rope and hang me!© I mean, you wanna make a deathbed confession, fine. Knock yourself out. But why the hell would a man ever make a confession as long as he can still eat and drink? Then again, my wife’s a pretty smart cookie.
ROGER
Dude. Con-Man. [Con. The Con-ster.] It’s pretty standard. If you want, I can show you exactly how I go about it. Check it out:
When I’ve got to go to confession, I wait till there’s a whole mob scene, right? Sometimes, the priest can’t even get to me and, then, I just say I’ll come back some other time. Gotta keep up appearances and all. It’s what we do. And that, my friend, is how you go four years without gettin’ confessed!6 Even when I do get in, I’ve got a whole system: step right up and start mumbling, that’s the ticket. No need to play dumb or play the fool because, get this: my priest is deaf. I just whisper maybe one out of every three words and, when I get to the end, he asks “Is that it?” And, then, I go “Yes”; and, then, he absolves the hell outta me!7 Who cares how it works?
Seriously, dude: he’s all over me. Come hell or high water, inquiring minds, they wanna know. Whatever it is, he’s gotta try and drag it out of me. “Get it all off my chest” and stuff: it’s like my whole damn life depends on what I been eating. But, in the name of Saint Mary, hallowed be her name, I swear: he ain’t outsmarted me yet! Why, only just the other day, he wouldn’t let up: goin’ on and on about “Is there anything else? Steal anything?”, like I was tryin’ to pull a Barabbas or something and get away clean. So, I did! Just got the hell outta there.8
CONNOR
Wow. Dude. I get the picture. I can’t wait to give it a try, I swear. I’ll see what he’s got to say for himself.
[Connor rehearses gesturally for Roger as the two men head to church.]
[Scene 4]
[Outside the church, there is a long line of parishioners, all moving so quickly through their confessions that Roger’s strategy won’t work. Connor continues to rehearse, now with a loud groan that he hopes the Priest will overhear.]
CONNOR
All night, all day,© is there no end to this pain and suffering? Alas! My wretched heart cries out in the wilderness! Is there no shelter from the storm of this life? Oh where, oh where is a man to turn? All my trials, Lord, soon be over.©
[Connor enters the church while Roger waits outside.]
[Scene 5]
CONNOR
[Alas! be still, my wretched heart!
Is there no place to ease this pain?
Lest all my trials be in vain?
No peace? Is there no final rest?
He really puts me to the test.]9
Hey, Father! God give you great joy, sir! The wife sent me in to confess ’cause I kinda quit goin’.
THE PRIEST
Closer, my son—and louder. Speak up, that I might hear you. There’s nobody else around.
CONNOR
Hey, Father, I’m right here! [Sotto voce] ’Bout as close as I’m gonna get.
[He inspects the paltry ecclesiastical accommodations.] But here? I don’t play no empty house. You’d think the Church would have better digs.
THE PRIEST
A place for everything, and everything in its place. Take all the time you need, my son, there’s no hurry. But, for God’s sake, speak up!
CONNOR
Beggin’ your pardon, Father, but—Mother Mary!—after you. I’m not worthy! I’d never presume to speak first. Definitely not my place. So, please, Father, after you. Go ahead. You first. Spill.
THE PRIEST
Lord have mercy, sweet friend, I can’t possibly speak before you do, my son, because I don’t know what you wish to confess. Pray, get on with it, friend. Summarize.10
CONNOR
But Father, folks are supposed to show you the proper respect on accounta your bein’ a priest and all. Besides, I’m no dumb ox. I’d never be so crazy presumptuous. [Wasn’t brought up in a barn, you know!] So, please: don’t get mad. If you want, I can just leave because there’s no way I’m speaking before you.
[With a wink to the audience] I’ve never done anything so crazy in my life!
THE PRIEST
If that’s how it’s going to be, very well, I’ll tell you this much: you’re supposed to speak first and give a full account of all your sins that you can remember.
CONNOR
[Miming various emotions and activities] Father, I get, you know, [mad.] A lot. Like when I work a week or so on those two bell towers over there—wicked high—and all I get is two bucks for the whole day. [And I barely even fall down!]
So, I repent—okay?—like crazy. In the name of Saint Renley, mea culpa! My bad! Whatever. It’s all my fault. I’m sorry … that I didn’t get at least two and a half!11
THE PRIEST
That’s not quite the accounting I had in mind. Now, please: [He tries to coax the proper words from Connor.] [“God give you great joy and, bless me, Father, for you have sinned …” C’est ma faute, c’est ma très grande faute …]
CONNOR
[Nuh-uh.] It’s not my faute if I slipped up when all’s I got is these old clodhoppers. God give me great joy already and bless my soles! Folks is just a bunch o’ heels. What else is a guy in need supposed to wear to work when—?
THE PRIEST
Seriously?
God help me, I do believe you’re out of your mind. Or crazy. Or drunk. Now, I pray you: unburden yourself already because you’re giving me a splitting headache!
CONNOR
[Nuh-uh.] And they can hang me in the public square—on a holiday, no less!—if I ever done anybody wrong! [Call the cops, if you want:] it’s the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. I’ll even slip the judge a few. You know how he is: not exactly the forgiving kind.12
THE PRIEST
I feel sorry for you, my son, I really do. Now, come a little bit closer and, I pray you: first, you’ll confess to the seven deadly sins that weigh so heavily upon your conscience. Next, I’ll take into account any good works you might happen to have performed, and then, it’s on to the Ten Commandments—I’m fairly confident you’ve violated a few of those. Then, it’s on to the articles of faith and to whether you’ve had contact with anyone who has been excommunicated and such. You owe it to yourself to confess to all that.
CONNOR
Sweet Jesus, Father, Lord of Lords! Sure thing. I’m totally down with everything you just said and—please—if you know of anything else, just come right out and say so. It’s not like anybody’s gonna hear. It’ll be our little secret. On the QT. Very, very hush-hush. Go on, go for it! I’ll confess to the whole kit and caboodle, whatever you come up with.
THE PRIEST
My son, for all your sins that you have now confessed, do you seek absolution?
CONNOR
You betcha, Father, sure thing.
[The Priest gestures a blessing, but Connor makes no move of contrition.]
THE PRIEST
Then, I hereby absolve you. I grant you absolution and remission for all your sins.
[Connor rises and makes a move to leave.] I just absolved you, my good, sweet son, but you must now perform penance.
CONNOR
Seriously, Father? What penance? Haven’t I had enough trouble already?
THE PRIEST
My son, you must fast.
CONNOR
No problem till lunchtime but, if I gotta fast the whole day, what am I supposed to eat?
THE PRIEST
Then you must don a cilice. [Connor looks confused.] A sackcloth.
CONNOR
Got nothin’ up my sleeve, but that sounds like a bunch o’ ciliceness to me.13
THE PRIEST
Then, what do you wish to do, sweet son? Would you perhaps prefer to leave things at putting on a hair shirt? You would simply slip it on over your chest. [And cover up that gut.]
CONNOR
Jeez, no way! What’s wrong with this here shirt? Plus, that thing’s gotta hurt. It’d be all prickly against my skin and stuff—scratch me all over—[and that ain’t no rib tickler]! Holy moly and saints alive, I’m astonished! Where’d you ever come up with a thing like that? What did my shirt ever do to you?14
THE PRIEST
Then, I’m at a loss. In the name of Saint Paul, the Apostle, I don’t know how I can possibly be of service. Just say three “Our Fathers” and get lost!
CONNOR
They can put a noose around my neck if you want, but I only know just the one [“Our Father”].
THE PRIEST
Oh, for God’s sake, that’s the one. Say that one: one, two, three times! [And enough with the comedy routine.] I do believe you’re just playing the fool here. Now: if you’d be so kind as to … get [the flock] outta here!
CONNOR
Lord have mercy, Father, what the flock? [You’re gonna turn a deaf ear?] This is no act! I’d be mortified—grief-stricken, utterly devastated—if I were to lose count on you.
THE PRIEST
Fine. Then don’t keep track. I’ll simply direct that, this evening, before you lay you down to sleep,© you say the one “Our Father” over and over again, continuously without stopping, while you’re taking off your shirt and undergarments. Seems to me you ought to be able to manage that.
CONNOR
But, every night at bedtime, it all comes off in one piece, you know? Or I just sleep in my overalls. Saves time the next morning when I gotta get up. [You think I wanna be riflin’ through all my stuff?]
THE PRIEST
Astonishing. Never seen anything like it.
What do you think this is? A farce? In the name of the blessed Virgin Mary, I’m done talking to you today.
CONNOR
Whatever you say, Father, I swear! [Whispering] You won’t hear another word outta me! Not one peep. Command away! Anything you want. Thy will be done pronto.
THE PRIEST
Then, without further ado—there’s no need to make a whole production, you know—for the sins that you’ve committed, you must go on pilgrimage to Boulogne. [Connor looks confused.] [It’s just outside of Paris, for God’s sake!] Within the next forty-eight hours at the very latest, and don’t you be thinking this is some line.
CONNOR
You got it, Father.
[Connor leaves the Priest and rejoins Roger outside the church.]
[Scene 6]
[CONNOR]
[To both Roger and the audience] And there you have it! From the heavy burden of all those sins o’ mine, I’m absolved! Good deal! Got me a full pardon and all that jazz off that priest, which calls for a little musical number, don’tcha think? [How’s about a little Thelonious Monk? No?] Okey-dokey, then. Mother Mary-Lou, Lou, skip to my Lou, my darlin’:© this one’s for you! Forget your troubles, come on, get happy!©15
[Connor goes back inside the church.]
[Scene 7]
CONNOR returns to the Priest
Hey, Father! I’m baaaack! It just occurred to me that I forgot to ask you to spot me a couple o’ bucks. Truth is, I’m broke. Don’t have two cents to rub together.16
THE PRIEST
And you seriously believe I’m gonna be forkin’ it over? Good God Almighty, not one red cent!
CONNOR
And you seriously believe I’ll be goin’ if you’re not pickin’ up the tab? I got expenses, you know.
THE PRIEST
Have mercy on me, oh God, I turn to you in sorrow and repentance for … having heard your confession here today.
[Exit Connor to rejoin Roger.]
[Scene 8]
CONNOR
What the—? Jesus H. Christ! Some Fools’ play, right? But the wife sent me, [remember?] And there’s no man ever listens to his wife who don’t wind up in the [w]hole … shame and blame game!
ROGER
Jeez, neighbor! You’re the one who believed your wife! If you woulda done like me, I do believe you wouldn’t have gotten so mad. But, hey, go on home to your wife!
[To the audience] And, as for all you gentlemen out there: you too! Don’t take our little play the wrong way and, for God’s sake, don’t sue us!
Now, let us pray … that Our Father who art in Heaven watch over you, me, and the whole lot of us. And get better confessions than He got off Con-man over there.
[What do you say, folks? One more time?]
[The wife’s at home. It’s time to go!
Don’t take offense, it’s just a show,
Milords; so, there’s no need to sue.
To one and all we say God bless:
No con-jobs when you go confess!]17
The END