CAST OF CHARACTERS
BROTHER FILBERT (Frère Fillebert)
[COLETTE], the NEIGHBOR LADY (La Voysine)
[DONNA], the MISTRESS (La Mestresse)
PERRETTE, the Chambermaid (La Povre Garce, Perrete Venés-tost)
PRODUCTION NOTES
The first of our two farces from the Recueil La Vallière (#63), the other being #12, Immaculate Deception, is the Farce nouvelle de Frère Phillebert (fols. 354v–357r), whose name is spelled “Phillebert” in the title only. For many years, only Francisque Michel had edited it as the third play of RFMSJ, vol. 4 (again, paginated within a given play but not continuously throughout the volumes); but, on 29 August 2020, Thierry Martin posted his online edition at https://sottiesetfarces.wordpress.com/2020/08/29/frere-phillebert/. For the former, I cite by volume and local page number (“ABT,” § “Editions”). Frère Phillebert was summarized by Petit de Julleville in RTC (141), by Faivre in Répertoire (175–76), and at length by Gustave Witkowski in MTA (443–51). Depending on who’s counting, it is comprised of 157 to 163 verses that are mostly octosyllabic except in a few moments of metric disorder. To my knowledge, there is no translation into English or any other vernacular.
Plot
“God says awake,” wrote Jacques de Vitry (1180–1240), “the doctor says sleep; God says fast, the doctor says eat; God says mortify your bodies, the doctor says flatter them—not to mention those who, on the pretext of purging you, advise fornication” (cited in MTA, 444). In Brother Fillerup, it all sounds vaguely Platonic, Gorgianic, and, well, orgasmic. At stake in this mystico-médico-burlesque farce (MTA, 451) is a commingling of rhetoric, medicine, cosmetics, and gymnastics, the likes of which even Drama Queen Dolly has never seen (#4). Driving the plot is, to paraphrase Rodgers and Hammerstein: How do you solve a problem like Perrette (MFST, 268)? What else? Prescribe some sex for the desperately ailing chambermaid—and lots of it. Enter that healer of souls, Brother Filbert, who is definitely up for some bad medicine. Indeed, back in the day, a brother might be empowered to do it all, especially in such municipalities as Grenoble or Romans, both of which experienced a shortage of doctors (MTA, 447).
The bare bones of the plot are laid out as easily as la povre garce, Perrette herself, who is described repeatedly as a poor, pathetic “wench,” “wretch,” “creature,” or “slut.” When her mistress (here, “Donna”) is unable to tolerate the girl’s sloth any longer—Perrette is literally dragging her ass—Donna gets a urine specimen and, with BFF “Colette” in tow, hauls that ass to Brother Filbert. Kin in many respects to the charlatans of The Pardoners’ Tales or Slick Brother Willy (#10 and #11), our medicine man diagnoses her quickly after examining the maid’s urine, eyes, and nose. Perrette is suffering from lovesickness or le mal d’amour, the subject of Mary Wack’s still indispensable magnum opus. Ergo, fill ’er up! Cure the hell out of whatever ails her, doctor’s orders. The farce then wraps with an extensive, versified prescription to be filled stat: extensive consortium with the male of the species. Why? Because a hard man is good to find (Répertoire, 176).
As we shall see, however, Filbert’s homeopathy is characterized by highly ambiguous agency. Who is doing what to whom—and for whom? What can it mean, for example, to bleed Perrette “between two groins” (la fault seigner entre deux aynes [4: 13])? The position is all the creepier in that seigner also signified to make the sign of the cross (below, note 9). If, as Donna complains, the chambermaid is a pain in the ass, maybe she’s really got a pain in the ayne (as in, a virile member). So, whose ass is really on the line?
In the barely seven lines that Petit de Julleville devoted to Frère Phillebert, he took offense: “in the hands of Molière, the motif makes for a charming and almost chaste comedy; here, it is still at the rudimentary and vulgar stage” (RTC, 141). To which Filbert would doubtless tell him to take his teleology and shove it up his ass. Nor is this a scrip for a husband (RTC, 141). For one thing, it’s not impossible that Perrette is already married … in which case, the remedy would be less connubial consortium and more adultery. At least, that’s Faivre’s take on our farce: it’s a juridico-medical “legalization of the sex act outside of marriage” (Répertoire, 176). And, in the end, as it were, this misogynistic little piece tells us an awful lot about the early pseudomedical foundations of sexist humor (as detailed elsewhere in Bitches and Pussycats [HD, #8] and Playing Doctor [FF, #6]). Can a feminist dramaturgy salvage Brother Fillerup? Or, to borrow one of the play’s metaphors, do we let the whole thing come tumbling down?
Ultimately, only the mise-en-scène will tell whether Perrette is a hypochondriac, a legitimate patient, or a faker. If she’s wilier than she looks and the whole thing was just a setup to get some sex, she’ll certainly have pulled it off. I’d probably go with the sexually liberated Perrette who reclaims her own body, repels man-ipulations, and tells Brother Fillerup to take his own prescription and shove it up his ass. Or her ass if that’s what a girl wants. Or, if the maid is played by a man, his ass if he wants. Brother Fillerup is a tough Filbert nut to crack; and those nuts were made for cracking.
Characters and Character Development
Ready or not, here he comes. Presenting “Frère Fillebert,” here, “Brother Filbert,” aka “Brother Fillerup” (notwithstanding some question as to his theological credentials [SFQS, note 6]). The nutty “Filbert” reminds us to keep our eye on the nut-ball. Hazelnuts were ripe around Saint Filbert’s Day (22 August), and he’s gonna crack you up. A spiritual con-man and a sex therapist avant la lettre, his reputation precedes him. He is also a malady-chasing voyeur and écouteur who has plausibly caught wind of Perrette’s condition (MTA, 445).
Next on the scene, the unnamed mistress and her unnamed neighbor, “La Mestresse” and “La Voysine.” I’ve christened the former “Donna,” a generic lady of the house, and the latter, “Colette,” the name of another such neighbor in Confession Lessons (FF, #3). Faivre might be right that, overall, the two women are poorly sketched and ill-defined (Répertoire, 176); but that doesn’t preclude a depth to be plumbed by dramaturgy. Both emphasize the proverbial difficulty of “finding good help these days”; and, for Donna, Perrette’s rehabilitation would ensure better service. Meanwhile, Colette is happy to lend moral and physical support to her BFF, including urine transport. When they speak in one voice, apparently to praise Filbert’s irremediably chauvinistic prescription, a witheringly ironic delivery can rectify the medieval message.
As for “Perrete,” which I’ll spell “Perrette” to match other farcical diminutives: her full name is seen only in the Cast of Characters as “Perrete Venés-tost” (RLV, 457v), which yields something like “Petra Come-Early.” Maybe she will, maybe she won’t. But a pierrette by any other name—that is, a small stone, rock, or pebble—is on a rocky course if forced to submit to a quack seeking to get his rocks off. A pierrette also denoted the pit of a stone fruit and—quelle coincidence!—Donna thinks that her chambermaid is the pits, obedient though the girl is. She’s debille to boot (4: 6), as in “debilitated,” “feeble,” or “weak” (albeit not necessarily today’s “idiotic” or “moronic”). But does she melancholically crave what she has never had? Or, as the proverbial girl who “cain’t say no,” does she rapaciously covet more of what she can’t do without? God only knows she cain’t say no to Donna, no matter how humiliating the request.
Poor Perrette! La povre garce!—which, by the way, proved challenging to translate succinctly. With additional connotations of dissolution, poverty, and disease, une garce is a socially inferior gal and even a “miserable slut”: a chick, tramp, tart, trollop, strumpet, floozy, or chippy. ’Tis pity she’s a whore? Or, as Emma Maggie Solberg might prefer, a Virgin Whore? Or she could also be a nice girl, even a virgin (SFQS, “Introd.”). To tease those meanings out, I’ve varied the characters’ idiosyncratic invocations of her condition, occasionally with song lyrics. But, when push comes to shove it, is she pure or impure? Bitch or pussycat (HD, #8)? Comic or tragic? Does Perrette endure all the abuses to which chambermaids were routinely subjected (#5, #7)? (A garce was a rape victim too [TFR, 354–69; MTA, 448n]). Is Brother Fillerup the harrowing story of an all-too-real sexual assault? Or mightn’t it be as lighthearted as Rachel Dratch’s SNL character Debbie Downer? Do we hear the trombone’s telltale “womp, womp” each time Perrette opens her mouth? Speaking of which, what does she sound like? A southern sensibility would work well; feel free to replace any given you or yes, ma’am with y’all or yes’m. Perhaps she has the deep, masculine voice of a chain smoker as well, fixated at the oral level. So, why not give her an opportunity to define herself with a theme song (below, note 3)? After all Perrette, venez tost was the subject of a bawdy song of 1547, as we learn when the character appears in The Trial of Johnny Slowpoke.1 Whatever you decide—ultrafeminine? pregnant? man in drag?—paint yourself a picture of an ass-dragging Perrette-the-Cat in heat.
Language
Talk about your shockers: with the exception of the noneuphemistic Vray Dieu, there’s not much cursing. In lieu of obscene language, Brother Fillerup gives us constant pointing, gesturing, and poking at Perrette’s body during a pseudomedical examination riddled with double entendres on looking, seeing, endowing, and truth-seeking (voir/pourvoir/pour voir). He is literally “deposing her cunt” (con tester) when he inquires about the locus of her illness: D’ou vient se mal qui vous conteste? (4: 11). It’s all very musical too, from Perrette’s assertion that no chant, rondeau, or ballade will cheer her up to this diagnostic refrain: Vray Dieu! Qu’elle est malade, / Helas! D’aymer, la povre garce (4: 8–9; SFQS, note 32; MFST, 261–62). Literally, this means “My one true God, how sick she is, alas, from love, the poor wench”; but, to my ear, it plays to the strains of country music, making for an excellent translational combo of “Poor, Poor, Pitiful Me” and “The Lovesick Blues.” The refrain of the former, “woe-ho-hoe is me,” has the added advantage of laughingly mocking—ho-ho-ho—a whore.
Elsewhere, we come upon the urgently needed soroboro (4: 10), a seemingly untranslatable term that I find in no dictionary. It may be a compound of soros (an exaggeration or a bad joke) and boroflement (a battle or quarrel); or, as for Martin, the biblical character Zorobabel (SFQS, note 44). For all we know, Brother Fillerup might be producing, with great flourish, an herb whose nickname eludes us. Or perhaps he intends oroboro (Middle French ourobouros): the snake eating its own tail and symbolizing infinity. This is the grass snake of the pharmacist’s insignia, an ersatz version of which we shall encounter in The Pardoners’ Tales (#10).
Nothing compares, though, to the linguistic high point and the #MeToo low point of the closing prescription for women of every social class (povre garce ou jeune fille; below, note 9). The declamation thereof is a veritable scene unto itself in which the play’s various metaphorical registers all come together: warfare (with a kind of vagina dentata feel), medicine, food, and, curiously, sailing. Filbert’s recipe is a recepte pour le cotillon / Que la povre garce a perdu (4: 12–15), which is far from straightforward to translate. On one hand, it might be the miraculous restoration of a woman’s virginity, a feat attributed to the great Saint Muffie in The Pardoners’ Tales (and a reading consistent with Martin’s seigner as “penetrating the hymen” [SFQS, note 69]). On the other hand, when Filbert prescribes lying with the male of the species—A! s’el a une foys lysté / Avec le malle (4:10, 12–13)—it’s an open question as to whether the verb tense of this coupling (the present perfect) is anticipatory or retrospective. And what about the cotillon itself? Technically, it’s a peasant girl’s slip as well as a kind of militaristic male armor with all the requisite sexual connotations. Siege shall be laid; the citadel shall be taken (asailly at 4: 9). If anything, Filbert’s bipartite plan for bleeding Perrette “between two groins” (4: 13) would appear to dictate that she look at love—make that sex—from, as Joni Mitchell would say, “both sides now.”
Sets and Staging
I’ve elected to set the play at or near a bustling marketplace near the homes of Donna and next-door neighbor Colette. This allows Donna to hear Filbert’s opening sales pitch, which she may or may not have heard before, and to rush right over to Colette’s for advice (a procedure familiar from Bitches and Pussycats [HD, 245–51] or #11, Slick Brother Willy [sc. 11]). Regardless of whether the women are coming or going, they’re having some trouble corralling Perrette. Alternatively, they might be conversing in a domestic space. But the key location is Brother Filbert’s place of business, situated between the market and the women’s homes, with its designated consultation area. We encountered another such space in Marriage with a Grain of Salt (HD, #12) but, if you’re imagining a circus-tent structure, not so fast. Our text is explicit that Filbert’s office has a door. We know this because, in Scene 2, the women knock on it (4: 9). One can only wonder how an itinerant healer has come by such a pied-à-terre? Is he renting from a local brothel?
Remarkably, Frère Phillebert features no fewer than ten stage directions over its barely 160 verses, some written in the margins of the RLV (Répertoire, 175), and which, as usual, I render unbracketed and italicized. Among the more comedic: the collection and conveyance of a urine specimen (also present in Blind Man’s Buff [FF, 167], Marriage with a Grain of Salt [HD, 410–11], and RBM, #13, the Farce d’un Amoureux [projected for a future volume as Pissed Off]). And just how does she supply her “fresh made” urine (4: 8)? A male actor can’t exactly whip it out and fill up the text’s portable urinal, a vessel normally reserved for ailing men confined to bed (although, that’s what will transpire in Jenin, Filz de Rien [RBM, #20], forthcoming in my next volume as Who’s Your Daddy?). If we’re at market, Perrette could steal a urinal and execute her task offstage. If we’re at Donna’s place, she could fill it up by transferring the contents of a chamber pot.
Once the diagnostic material is in hand, we must determine whose hands. It seems implausible that Donna or Colette would personally take charge of such a yucky prop; but, any hand-off only enhances the hands-on slapstick of leaky, overflowing containers in an indelicate balancing act. Whatever the setup, the lab work arrives chez Filbert in sufficient quantity for a diagnosis. Perrette then delivers an over-the-top performance of medical distress, complete with moaning, groaning, coughing, sneezing, and, eventually, a bona fide giggle fit. (Try filling the examination room with medical marijuana and making Filbert’s office a pot dispensary.) This is also the moment when Perrette’s body language will clinch her character. Who’s pulling the strings of this grope-fest? Is she coughing from smoking, disease, or displeasure (like Elmire in Tartuffe, act 4, sc. 5)? And is that a pistol in her pocket or is he just happy to see Brother Filbert to get her fix? Fix her up, fix him up, fix the whole play up as you like. But be sure to camp it up with a production number. I’d go with a parodic, retro montage of Petticoat Junction, a fitting end for a bunch of medieval drag queens.2
Costumes and Props
With the exception of that all-important urinal, the long-necked forerunner to the bed pan, the key props belong to Brother Filbert: his reading glasses (4: 12), a panoply of medicines and placebos, a number of alchemical recipe books, and a doctor’s little black bag with rudimentary tools of the trade (a stethoscope, a tongue depressor, etc.). Also onstage: a large variety of receptacles for excretions, such as specimen jars, beakers, a glass vase, bed pans, and chamber pots, plus, in an updated production, home pregnancy tests, jars of weed, hash brownies, and drug paraphernalia.
Scholarly References to Copyrighted Materials (in order of appearance and indicated by © within the text)
· “Poor, Poor Pitiful Me.” By Warren Zevon. BMI Work #1189347.
· “The Lovesick Blues.” By Cliff Friend and Irving Mills. ASCAP Work ID: 420097327.
· “Respect.” By Otis Redding. BMI Work #1244564.
· “That Old Black Magic.” By Harold Arlen and Johnny Mercer. ASCAP Work ID: 500035232.
· “Little Less Talk and a Lot More Action.” By Keith W. Hinton and Jimmy Alan Stewart. BMI Work #880887.
· “Joshua Fit the Battle of Jericho.” Spiritual.
· “Do It [till You’re Satisfied].” By Billy Nichols. BMI Work #309081.
· “When the Saints Come Marching In.” Traditional.
· “War Is a Science.” By Stephen Schwartz and Roger Hirson. Music Theatre International. https://www.mtishows.com/pippin.
· “Let ’Em In.” By Paul and Linda McCartney. ASCAP Work ID: 420198209.
· “I Whistle a Happy Tune.” By Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein II. ASCAP Work ID: 390083480.
· “Hokey Pokey.” Traditional.
· “Treat Her Right.” By Roy Head and Gene Kurtz. BMI Work #1542510.
· “Maria.” By Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein II. ASCAP Work ID: 430030594.
· “Waited So Long.” [“Daddy, I’m No Virgin.”] By Carly Simon. ASCAP Work ID: 530179450.
· “Virgin.” [“Not a Virgin Anymore.”] By Annie Poe, Kenneth Burgomaster, and Matthew Wilder. BMI Work #5369139.
· “What a Girl Wants.” By Shelly Peiken and Guy Roche. BMI Work #4993749.
· “I Cain’t Say No.” By Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein II. ASCAP Work ID: 390003762.
· “Hand in My Pocket.” By Glen Ballard and Alanis Morissette. BMI Work #2028578.
· “Petticoat Junction.” By Paul Henning and Curtis Massey. BMI Work #1169258.
[Scene 1]
[Possible opening music]3
[At market, Donna is having trouble rounding up Perrette. From the audience, enter the peripatetic Filbert, little black bag in hand, perhaps engaging various women—or men—as he wanders. He might eavesdrop for a time until he catches sight of the listless Perrette.]
Brother Filbert begins
BROTHER FILBERT
Folks say it everywhere because it’s true: You’re loved by God? Then people don’t love you! But you know what? I couldn’t care less because I am in His good graces: me, my parents, and all my kin. What you want, baby we got it,© every last one of us: the gift of second sight. Name your disease—[gesturing toward the genitalia]—any disease!—and we can cure it. That’s right! There’s not a specialist in this whole city comes close to my hands-on healing. You got the broad, I got the cure for whatever ails the poor wretch.
[He indicates Perrette.] Watch closely now because, before you know it, I’ll be succoring that little tramp but good. Long story short: I’m fixing to hang out here for a piece—[maybe put down some roots]—so I can prescribe the cure [to end all cures]: whatever she needs.
[Scene 2]
Enter the Mistress of the wench
DONNA
Hey! Neighbor!
Enter the Neighbor
COLETTE
Now what?
DONNA
[Pointing at Perrette] Can we at least talk about that pathetic creature? Mother Nature sure as hell skimped on that one. What am I supposed to do with her?
COLETTE
Well, we better think of something. If she could quit dragging her ass, that would at least be a start.
DONNA
Everybody in town is talking about a brother—goes by the name of Filbert—can cure whatever ails you. That’s right: there’s not a Hubert, a Robert, a Lambert, a Hilbert, or a Gilbert gonna fix you up just like that, one, two, three! [Not even a Wilbur but—watch the Bertie, folks! He’s a-comin’ up in another farce! Anyway:] You name it, bro’s got it. Got you. In a flash. [They call him Brother … butterup, pickerup, hiterup, puckerup, Fillerup! Now, giddy-up and] let’s go and see him!4
COLETTE
So, step on it. We better hurry. And, if he can cure that little tramp, so much the better.
[To the audience] For you too, folks! Let’s go!
DONNA
We can bring her along. Maybe that’ll cheer her up. Perrette!
Enter Perrette, the poor wench.
PERRETTE
Yes ma’am?
DONNA
Get over here and gimme a urine specimen.
[As Perrette hesitates, Brother Filbert watches and delivers various asides, initially unnoticed and unheard by the women.]
BROTHER FILBERT
What she needs, by God, is a good stiff one!
DONNA
Perrette!
PERRETTE
Yes ma’am?
COLETTE
What’s gotten into her? She’s a hot mess.
PERRETTE
[Clutching her chest] It’s my heart, here in my bosom!
DONNA
Perrette!
PERRETTE
Yes ma’am?
DONNA
[Impatiently] Get over here and gimme a urine specimen!
Perrette brings the portable urinal.
PERRETTE
Here you go, ma’am. Made me some fresh in this here urinal. See?
COLETTE
Look, there! The color doesn’t lie! That glass is all cloudy already.
BROTHER FILBERT
[They seest through a glass darkly.] Wo-hoe, woe is me!©
The TWO WOMEN sing
And she’s lonesome! She got the lovesick blues!©
BROTHER FILBERT
That’s my cue! A little recon always pays off. Time to make my entrance, hon-hon-hon! And a quick buck too.
The TWO WOMEN, singing
And Lordy, she’s lonesome!©
PERRETTE
Ain’t nothin’ you can sing—country, folk-rock, R and B—gonna cheer me up. I’m all pissed off. [Cue trombone: womp, womp.]
BROTHER FILBERT
Wo-hoe, woe is me!©
[The TWO WOMEN] sing
And she’s lonesome. She got the lovesick blues!©
Perrette starts coughing and her mistress feels her head.5
DONNA
Go on, girl, give it the old heave-ho. Cough it up! Spit it out!
BROTHER FILBERT
Careful she don’t fart it out! Thar she blows!
[Perrette cuts a huge fart.]
COLETTE
[As if we didn’t see that one coming.] She needs looking into, alright.
PERRETTE
Oh my God, it’s my heart!
BROTHER FILBERT
[Aside] Wo-hoe, ho is me!© Heart, my ass! [Heart, her ass!]
DONNA
Come on. Let’s get her in to see the doctor. He’s a specialist, you know. You can see very well that her poor heart’s gonna give out.
COLETTE
So, make it snappy! Let’s get a move on! We’ll bust the door down [if we have to] but please, after you, Madame. [Age before beauty.]
[Exit Brother Filbert in great haste to beat them to the “office.” After some mimed confusion as to who goes first, the women follow with Perrette’s urine in tow. Their haste has messy consequences for the transport of said specimen.]
[Scene 3]
[The women peer inside Brother Filbert’s office.]
DONNA
This is it. Here’s where he hangs out. We better knock. Hello!
[Knock knock!]
BROTHER FILBERT
Who’s there?
[DONNA
Madame.
BROTHER FILBERT
Madame who?
DONNA
Ma damn maid! She’s a wreck!]
[The women push Perrette forward with the urine.]
COLETTE
[Behold!] We bring you the urine of this little tramp. There’s not a marketplace anywhere—nowhere no how—that’s got a doctor like you, got the know-how to get to the bottom of this and fix her up once and for all. See for yourself.
[Perrette clutches her chest and delivers a histrionic pantomime of her illness. Audience response is insufficient.]
BROTHER FILBERT, looking her [and her urine] over
She’s dyin’ up here! [He grabs smelling salts and medical equipment.] Wait much? Poor, poor pitiful thing!© She’s got it all over.
DONNA, heaving a sigh.
There must be something you can do. Just look at her!
BROTHER FILBERT
And habeas corpus to you too! I’m looking, I’m looking. But how far in do you want me to look? She’s dyin’ up here, I said! [And she’s gonna croak in a minute] if she doesn’t turn things around. Just look at her! She’s got it all over!6
COLETTE
Can you tell us what she needs?
BROTHER FILBERT
Why, social intercourse, of course! With the male of the species. Any Tom, Harry, or Dick will do—and fast! I’m not kidding—because I’m telling you: it’s that, or no cure for her!
[He turns to the patient.] Let’s have a look in your eyes. Now—doctor’s orders—do exactly as I say or no cure for you!
PERRETTE
Oh my God! It’s my heart!
[The examination is so thorough—and so thoroughly intrusive—that a ticklish Perrette has a giggle fit.]
BROTHER FILBERT
Heart, my ass! Wo-ho, woe is me!© Now hold still. [And try to stay in character, wouldya?] [He starts to undress her.] Come on, let it all out. [Perrette breaks free.] We’ve simply got to get to the root of your trouble. Now, come closer and whisper in my ear: Tell me, where does it hurt?
DONNA
Out with it, girl!
PERRETTE
It starts in my head. Can’t keep anything down—not even a little Benedictine—and, then, it’s on to my heart. And, then, it goes all the way down, down, down to … [She farts.] And here too, in my lady parts.7
BROTHER FILBERT
Hoo-ha-ha! Lady parts, my ass! Your ass! Mary Magdalene’s ass! I knew I was gettin’ warm! [Did I get it or did I get it?] Wasn’t that my very first guess about the little slut? Poor, poor pitiful thing!© [He continues to palpate and grope.]
COLETTE
Yes sir, doctor, but easy does it. She’s not made of wax, you know. So, come on now, [show us your skill set!] Do that hoodoo that you do so well.©8
BROTHER FILBERT
Hoo-ha-ha! If she’s hoo-done it even once with the male of the species, then—man, oh manhood!—I can pretty much guarantee that it’s all gonna work out. No species-ous reasoning here! Everything’s gonna be fine in the end.
DONNA
So, make it snappy! A little less talk, a lot more action!©
[With great ceremony, he looks through some of his documents as if to find the right recipe.] Brother Filbert puts on his glasses and then writes out a prescription.
BROTHER FILBERT
My special prescription at petticoat junction—
the poor slut has lost it; but it can be found—
is dirt in the skirt! [Fill it! Dirt in the skirt!]
The siege is now over. Charge! Long live the war!
My special prescription at petticoat junction:
[Allons, enfants … walls come a-tumblin’ down!©]
Speaking to them [and to the audience]
The cavalry’s here, guns ablaze, here they come!
[Man your stations for battle and—charge!—storm those gates!
Plus, it better be good—montjoie! Your acting too!
Wild man meets his wild-gal match on the field.]
Take that ass, men! Heads up! Let the bloodbath begin.
Reading
My special prescription at petticoat junction—
the poor slut has lost it; but it can be found:
If one of them gets overcome by the thrusts—
the pulsating, stabbing, the sticking it in—
One hand wipes the other. Stand back! Gird those loins!
’cause that girl’s goin’ down, boys. Just don’t bleed her dry.
It’s hand-to-hand combat, a brawl ass-to-ass,
mouth-to-mouth, burn those love candles down to the stubs.
Burn ’em down at both ends! That part’s her cross to bear.
Plunge that enema in! Go on, expunge away!
Stick it right up her ass and—watch out!—here she comes!
[To the men in the audience]
Bump and grind, bump and grind till that broad pops a vein.
Go on, do it, do it until she’s satisfied.
Do whatever it is,© until she’s had her fill,
boys. You gotta go deep till she feels some relief.
Do it, do it till she can’t tell which end is up!
Because enema, thy name is woman. That’s that.9
All THREE together.
Oh, when the saints go marchin’ in!© Sing hallelujah, Brother Fill!10
BROTHER FILBERT
[And then, and then, and then, and gentlemen and then:©]
When the battle’s been waged, if there ever should be
some gent comin’ around maybe lookin’ to buy,
knock-knock-knockin’ for you at the door: let him in!©
Keep him with you all night and the whole live-long day
till he’s eaten you up, honey, anchors aweigh!
All THREE together
Sing hallelujah, one and all! Long-life to Fill and fill ’er up!
BROTHER FILBERT
[And then, and then, and then, and gentlemen and then:©]
When your man feels afraid, hold his head up erect!
Go and whistle that happy tune!© Tweet, Tweety-birds!
Do it until he spills ’cause there’s no keeping score.
Do it until you scream, do it until he takes you.
(The better translation is “until he rapes you.”)
[This scrip of mine’s sexist, it’s misogynistic:
I hope that the ass on the line isn’t mine.]
All THREE
Oh, when the saints go marchin’ in!© Sing hallelujah, Brother Fill!
BROTHER FILBERT
[And then, and then, and then, and gentlemen and then:©]
Coming now to the end of my special prescription:
Go and fill that thing now and—hey!—I’ll help you out.
[Doctor’s orders, I say: hokey pokey it is!
Turn yourselves all around, turn yourselves inside out.
That’s what it’s all about.© Now go fuck his brains out!
You’ll leave no stone unturned. But you’d best check it out:]
We got no need for geldings, no! Chaucer, I’m not.
Just be careful you don’t bite his fuckin’ balls off!
And you’ll huff and you’ll puff till you bring down the house!
All THREE
Sing hallelujah, one and all! Long-life to Fill and fill ’er up!
DONNA
Here you go, Bro, here you go: here’s $250 for your trouble, friend Fillerup. You’ll take it, please. In stride. [She tenders the payment but shortly finds a way to pocket it back.]
BROTHER FILBERT
Why, thank you, ladies. A thousand times thanks. [Bowing] I’m at your service, and I’ll take whatever you’ve got.
[Aside] Right up the ass. Fix your wagon but good.
Plus, I’ll do you one better: free refills too. All part of the ultimate cure for all you sluts out there. And you nice young ladies too. The fix is in: a hard man is good to find and it’s high time to fiddle about. But, speaking of fiddling: how’s about a little number? What do you say? [A little night music? Who wants to tickle the ivories?] Let’s do it.
[Colette grabs him, perhaps by the codpiece, and turns his butt toward the audience.]
COLETTE
[Sarcastically] Right, what a pleasure. I just love hearing a man do a number on me. And, on that uplifting note:
[She smacks Brother Filbert on the butt.]
[This is what I call all’s well in the end’s well.]
[The time has come, folks, gotta blow!]
We’ll do a song before we go.
We hope that you enjoyed the show!
[They sing.]11
The END