Section I, Next Section
Author's Preface
So who else would write a preface? Certainly no one in his write mind. No, it would take at least two to write this wrong. So farce so good, eh, but I begin this tale with such tremblings and flutterings, (oh my poor nerves!), for in moments of rare lucidity I see loosely that this task is daunting indeed. But with each attempt to imitate, my Dutch courage rises occasionally (passez la Zinfandel, s'il vous plait -- oops, that sounds more like French, but I'm such a zinner); and if my imitation falls flatter than my previous attempts at writing, well, you can be certain that this is not the first time I flatter myself.
Duty requires (and someone's got to do the duty work) that I 'umbly apologize in advance for proffering a plot as threadbare as the one which is about to be inflicted on you, the hapless readers (you hapful readers are directed to more robust fare written by more accomplished young Dwiggies.) Yes, threadbare, I say! For indeed the emperor has no clothes; but this finery tale is not for the clothes-minded, and I premise to flesh out the plot as best I can. Now that I think of it, and it gives me no great comfort, why should I, the poor author, be forced to retell a tale told by countless idiots, full of sound and fury, and signifying what, especially when no one is paying re-tale!? No, that's going too farthing. Have you readers no mercy? Have you no Southern comfort? How about some twenty-year-old Scotch to kilt for? Is that justice, your honor? (I apologize again for going off on so many tangents, but in so doing I hope to geometrically increase the reader's interest -- whether I shall succeed in that regard must be determinant in the aftermath). I thus shut and rest my case, open it once again, and pass the bottles among the audience as a shameless bribe. Cheers!
But getting back to the central lemon of this little farce: should I present the full monty (so to peek), throw caution to the winds and exhibit bare naked lazy wordplay? Or show I acquire a tendency toward artsy restraint and leave something to the reader's imagination? Nah --- I've never been able to write anything half-farced in my life. But I do Solomonly swear to imbue the level of discourse with a certain something of Regency air, a manner of talking, or covering of screens (whatever that is), thus keeping with the spirit of the Thames. On the other hand, by employing some restraint, by pulling in the reins a bit, and by trotting gently down the bridal path, I could harbor some small hope of avoiding the wrath of Kath (and Ann) who, in such a full state, would feel sorely tempted to yank this Bit of Ebony (BoE) from the premises, slim as the premises of this tale may be.
Before I begin I would be re-miss (please, no thoughts of cross dressing here) if I did not thank all my chatty friends for their support. Bedankt Lise, EllenM,, Spriiiiing!!, Jimmmmy!!, Kathlyn, Ann, Tineke, Laura, Alice, Rachel Python, and Emmy and Tony and Grammy and Oscar? "You like me, you really like me... "
Author (gags): I sally too far a fields. Well, gentile reader (Jewish readers can pass over that remark), you are in for a treat -- a world premier. I now present DWG's first story trailer: (drum roll)
Announcer (with bag on head to prevent hyperventilation): Ladies and gent.
Author: Gent? Well, I guess there aren't too many guys that hang around in a classy place like dis.
Announcer: Coming soon to a screen near you -- and if you cannot locate the screen, you must stop reading this at once -- the story that you have all been pining for.
Audience: Pining?? What is this? Another parroting of one of those loony Full Monty Python sketches? Can we a fiord this?
Announcer: No, just grin and bare with me. You will gasp at the audacity of Lady Catherine de Bourgh.
Lady Catherine (condescending to talk with her nephew): But Darcy, how dare you turn your back on your obligations to your family and marry that little tart-tongued Elizabeth Bennet? I am quite affronted!
Darcy: But I wuv my widdle Wizzy.
Lady Catherine: Darcy, I have not been accustomed to language such as this. I can only hope this baby talk does not pollute the Shades of Dwiggie and give Cate and EllenM similar ideas.
(cut to next scene)
Announcer: You will thrill as Lady Cat struggles to hold kith and kin (and kithing kins) together.
Lady Catherine (speaking to herself): So, Darcy, trying to thwart destiny, are you? Well, we'll see about that. You're going to marry my little Anne, you ingrate. Do you think I want to be stuck at Rosings with that perma-mute for the rest of my life? I'll get the best private investigator I can find to upset your disgusting plan?!
(cut to next scene)
Announcer: You will be vastly confused, err, amused, as Lady Cat seeks to procure the services of that lovable Marxist trio: Groucho, Chico and Harpo.
Chico: You hear a dat, boss? De announcer joosta mention our name. It looksa like we finally gotta some work.
Groucho: Work? Well, not if I have anything to say about it!
Harpo: (honk)
Announcer: The first chapter of this serial (Prelude Aunt Fugue) will be appearing soon. Be sure to warn all your friends.
Audience: (gasp)
Chapter 1 - Prelude Aunt Fugue
(Music in strong as Melvyn Tan takes a seat at the fortepiano, which is like a pianoforte only much louder. P&P theme begins as the camera floats over a muslin fabric upon which is embroidered a remarkable face consisting of unruly black hair parted down the middle, thick black busy eyebrows (one arched higher), wire rim glasses, prominent nose and mouth askew (you could say crooked, but who ask you) and a lit cigar held firmly by flashing teeth. That about clenches it -- except for the smoke which required much overtime by the wispy members of the embroidery guild. As the music plays on, a most hairy hand (believed to belong to Robin Williams, but he won't own it) draws a thick black mustache using grease paint. The tinkling of the ivories is heard (I'll wager you did not expect to hear a bit of ivory here)
Dum, dittily dum, dittily dum dum dum dum dum dum
Dum, dittily dum, dittily dum dum dum dum dum dum
Dum, dittily dittily dittilty dum ...
(you may hum along if you feel the urge -- go with the farce, Luke...)
(lush strings enter as the lush string players take a bow...)
La la la la la, la la la laaaaaaaa
(louder)
LA LA LA LAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA LA, LA LA LA LAAAAAA
(tinkling music mercifully fades as fortepiano player goes out for a tinkle.)
(Sound of secretary's running footsteps as she bursts into Groucho's office with some news)
Miss Fullyung (breathlessly): Oh Mr. Flyby. There is a man outside who insists on speaking with you.
Groucho: Is that so? Well tell the landlord that I've been expecting him and that I'm not in. (walks briskly toward favorite hiding place) Hey, who put these shelves in the closet when my back was turned? Unhappy thought indeed...
Miss Fullyung: No, Mr. Flyby. It's not the landlord. It's a man who saw your advert in the Times and the Courier -- he's here for the job.
Groucho: Oh, now that's a horse of a different color, if only I could remember the color of the old gray mare. Fine, fine. Send in the fine specimen.
Chico (giving secretary a squeeze as she squeezes by): Hiya, boss, you're right -- I'm the special man.. I comma here for the job. Dats some nice look secretary you got.
Groucho: Ah, I see you've met Miss Penny Fullyung. Yes, perhaps she is full young to be out in this company, but we need someone around here to cover our screens and she meshes beautifully in this fine mesh. Her sister used to work here too, well, her half-sister actually. Perhaps you've made her acquaintance: Miss Ha'penny Fullyung?
Chico: No, I no gotta quaint aunts; joosta coupla funny uncles.
Groucho: So you have come here looking for work, eh? Ok, tell me everything you know about detective work, and don't forget to leave out the details.
Chico: Oh, I no come here for work. I joosta look for job dat pays real good.
Groucho: What a coincidence! Me too. Let me know when you find one.
Chico: Well, I never gotta work cause I'm pretty smart and efficient. Real efficient. Hungry too. Say, you got any fishent chips?
Groucho (aside): I'll just pretend I'm hard of herring and throw that one back. (getting huffy) Why my dear sir, we have gotten ahead of ourselves, and I get the feeling we should quite while we're ahead. This is the Regency period and we have not yet been properly introduced. Now the author is going to force us to endure the inevitable long awkward pause, which has been raised to an art form in all these period pieces. Did you see Sense and Sensibility? That which wasn't too bad a flick, I'll Grant Hugh, but Emma Thompson has grown too long in the tooth to be playing a virgin, if you you ask me.
Chico: Yeah, her longatood may be bad, but I like her positive latitude.
(Long awkward pause....)
(Still waiting.... both men look at shoes)
Dum, dittily dum, dittily dum dum dum dum dum dum
Groucho: Hey, there is never any music during these long awkward pauses!
(Still waiting.....looking at ceiling, but at least things are looking up)
(Finally! Groucho and Chico sigh and shake hands)
Groucho: Now that we got that out of the way, my name is Horace Flyby, founder of this enterprise. Well, actually I was just a little Colt Flyby when my father founded this lost cause with two of his Dutch uncles. The ship of their estate soon floundered, which always sounded kind of fishy to me, but later I founded it again and became the entrepreneur you see before you. A true entrepreneur -- I stepped into this mess, which may explain the rather peculiar odor around here lately. But tell me, what do they call you, my good man.
Chico: Heh heh, dey never call me dat. My momma used to call me Knightly… Ravioli Knightly.
Groucho (under his breath): I wonder what she called you during the day. (speaking up) Ravioli, eh? I may be going out on a limb here and risk having my limbs broken, but aren't you Italian?
Chico: Italian. Heh heh, dats a good one, boss. No I'm a English.
Groucho: Is that so? Then why do you insist on talking with such a thick Italian accent. Hey, you're not trying to get EllenM mad at the author again, are you?
Chico: No, boss. I not wish that on my best enemy. She get mad at you and she make you go to the mattresses.
Groucho: Say, isn't that a line from The Godfather. Are you sure you're not Italian?
Chico: Well, it's like dis. My mamma was half English and half Dutch, but every Toosday night she half a little Italian...
Groucho: Stop, don't go there, Ravioli. There'll be none of that suggestive stuff here. Nothing risqué, nothing gained, that's my motto.
Chico: Heh heh, it no motto anyhow. I joosta make small joke. No, I used to talk real good English, but den I join Elks Club.
Groucho: You joined the Elks Club? What was the matter? Were they coming apart?
Chico: No, we have a big convention down at Bath where we sit in da water and liquidate our assets. Maybe I drink too much elkahol, but when I wake up, I talk like dis. I don't know how it happen.
Groucho: Yeah, it's a big moosetery to me too. You say your surname is Knightly?
Chico: Yep, dats my sirname. Everywhere I go dey call me sir Knightly.
Groucho: Hmmm. Well, you are a royal pain then. (under his breath) Surly to bed, surly to rise...
Chico: You betcha. My great-great-great-grandpa, he a really great man. King Richard give him dat name. You want I should fill you in?
Groucho: We may all live to regret this, but you want to tell me, and I have no objection to hearing it.
Chico: Ats good. Well my ancest work in garden of King Richard, but he was a rake, and he fall asleep on it, den he fall down and crusha the King's favorite tree -- I tink it was yewish.
Groucho: Yew don't say. That must have got the king's goat.
Chico: No, king not sheepish -- he joosta like lions, tigers, weasels, pumas -- boy do they stink. But it was Noah joke. Da king was hoppin mad and drag my ancest to a kangaroo court -- and you know what dat looks like. Fierce creatures everywhere. The king make him stand before the throne and was going to pass sentence, but he pass sumting else by mistake. It was a toot sweet, only it not too sweet, if you catch my drift.
Groucho: Indeed I do, not that I wanted too. That must have cleared the room, if not the air. The royal audience must have been a-gassed. Did the King wave his rights?
Chico: Dat's for sure, and his lefts too. It got real quiet -- nobody say nuttin. Even my ancest was mortified. Yeah, dat was his name, Morty Bored, now I dismember.
Groucho: So how was the stalemate broken, if you don't mind my asking.
Chico: Well, Mort look around for a dog -- at home dey always blame the dog, but no dog, only beasts. So my ancest point and yell, "Look, King Richard, the lion farted". So everybody laugh, and the king laugh and dat's how the king got his name.
Groucho: That's sounds pretty offal. I think we just turned off most of our readers.
Chico: Yeah, but not in Boston. Laura and Jimmy are used to dat in Bean Town. But the king so happy he decide not to hang Mort, so he make him a knight instead. The king say, "I double you: Sir Flatyew Lancelot". Dat's history for you.
Groucho: Not for me, thanks, and that bears repeating.
Chico: You can say dat again, boss. History always repeats.
Groucho: So your ancestor became a knight? He got to wear armor and ride a horse? Rather cavalier of him, I must say....
Chico: No, he gotta no armor, but he got mail.
Groucho: Chain mail? Well, that must have been a load on his chest, not to mention the difficulty of coordinating it with the rest of his outfit.
Chico: Dats for sure. He got a brother too: Sir Dancelot. He always hang around knightclub but den he get Satoorday Night Fever and die inna awful sweat. Discos to show not all dance so good for you.
Groucho: That's all very interesting, Ravioli, but with your illustrious background it appears you are overqualified for this job.
Chico: Don't worry bout dat, boss -- I got no qualifications.
Groucho: But there has be some higher calling for you, I hope. There must some easier way to save your hide. Say, you could become a skin doctor.
Chico: Dats right boss, and I could make house calls -- be a real taxi-dermist.
Groucho: Taxi? Wouldn't that be expensive? Why not go by car?
Chico: No, I no like cars. All steering wheels are on the wrong side in dis country. That drives me crazy.
Groucho: I wouldn't berate cars around here, if I were you. What are you? Some kind of carburetor?
Chico: Ooooh. Dat one hurt pretty bad, boss, and they not even invent cars yet.
Groucho: Well when they do, I'm sure that England will become a one carnation, and all will be contented.
Chico: I tink you right, boss -- I like dis job better. How much do you tink I make.
Groucho: What? You want to talk about money? How vulgar!
Chico: Yeah, boss, but dis is Regency. Dat's all everybody talk about -- everyone know how much everyone make. So how mucha you pay each year.
Groucho: What an interesting question! Why don't you work here for a year and we'll both find out.
Chico: I no wait dat long; I need money now. But I pull my weight so you can pay me in pounds, joosta long as I get my money.
Groucho: Yes -- money -- you want your money. Well that's fine with me -- you can keep your money.
Chico: Ats right. I want to get paid.
Groucho: Oh -- you want MY money? Is that fair? No, money will never make you happy -- and Happy will never make you money, just ask Rockefeller. That might be a wise crack, but I doubt it.
Chico: Yeah, I doubt it too. But you gimme some loot now so I can buy food?
Groucho: How about if I pay you royally -- but that would go your head and you would lose it, which, now that I think of it, is not that bad an idea. Decapital! Decapital! At least then you could quit while your a head.
Chico: Wait a minoot. Then I have to pay decapital gains. I no like it.
Groucho: In that case, Ravioli, I'll make you a promise. If you stick with me and work hard, we'll forget about money. After all, you don't want to be a wage slave, do you, Ravioli? Answer me that!
Chico: No, boss. I no wanna be a slave.
Groucho: Of course not. Well, what makes wage slaves? Wages, that's what! I want you to be free.
Chico: I no wanna work for free. You pay me pounds of money in advance.
Groucho: Shall we say 40 pounds.
Chico: Not so fast, boss. I weigh 150 pounds.
Groucho: In that case I'll pay you in stones. But you know what, Ravioli? I like you, even though my reason, my will and my character all weigh in against it. Let's make it 200 pounds. Lend me 200 pounds now and there will be no interest for a year. And after a year, I promise there will be no interest in repaying you.
Chico: Heh heh. Two hundred pounds. Dats some raise boss. Ok, I take it.
Groucho: Fine, Ravioli, fine (pats him on the back). And since you want the money in advance, why don't you just keep it and we'll call the whole thing square, and we'll go out for a square meal.
Chico: Now we partners, eh, boss?
Groucho: Yes, indeed we are, Ravioli. That's a very good idea. We'll just add your name to mine and those of my illustrious uncles. From now we'll call the firm: Fraselick, Grupyass & Flyby Knightly.
(sound of very loud thunk)
Chico: Say boss. You hear dat? What da heck happen?
Groucho: Oh, that's just Lise falling from her chair. She must have gone into shock when she read the terrible names of my uncles.
Chico: You tink she hurt bad?
Groucho: No need to worry; I'm sure the pain will be of short duration. Lise always sits at the computer in her sleeping bag in case she falls asleep. And she is a very strong athlete, so if she does have a charlie horse she'll just probably take it to water polo and swim it off.
Chico: Yeah, I hear dat water is good for mussels.
Groucho: Well, Knightly, this calls for a drink, or should I say, this calls for a drink nightly. (Calling out merrily to the next room) Oh, Miss Fullyung. Drinks all around. Make mine a tequila mockingbird.
(Secretary runs screaming into the room and onto Groucho's desk, chased by Harpo. Why Harpo is chasing the desk is left as an exercise for the reader. Harpo makes his wishes knows by the liberal use of horn attached to his belt.)
Harpo: (honk honk)
Groucho: Oh yes, I almost forgot. Ravioli, I would like you to meet my brother Oprah, who always insists on giving Miss Fullyung a good aerobic workout around her desk. He's our silent partner.
Harpo: (honk honk honk)
Groucho: You can come down from the desk now, Miss Fullyung, and onto my lap. I don't mind that we're a little later than usual. (grins modestly) After all, he who laps last, laps best.
Chico (looking at Harpo): Oprah, eh? Backwards to the future. Heh heh.
Harpo: (honk)
Chico: Say, boss, we sure talk a long time. Where is dat lady-in-waiting? Ain't it time to auntie up?
Groucho: Careful with that card talk, Ravioli, or you'll poker your eye out. Didn't you read the title? Lady Catherine arrives in the next chapter, and when she does I'm sure she will scold you into a state of harmony and plenty. This chapter is only the prelude to the aunt fugue; but at least we've got the lewd part covered.
(Music comes in strong)
Dum, dittily dum, dittily dum dum dum dum dum dum
Chapter 2 - A Lady Cat Fancier
(music in strong)
Miss Fullyung: Oh Mr. Flyby. There is someone here to see you. She claims to be a lady.
Groucho: A lady eh? And she came here to see me? Send her away, Miss Fullyung. I refuse to meet anyone possessing such questionable taste.
Miss Fullyung: But I think she's wants to talk with you about a job.
Chico: Yeah, boss. I see a rich lady when I come in. She look like she mean business all right.
Groucho: Oh, someone's here for a job! And to think I've been wasting all my time with you, Ravioli, when I could have been entertaining an all expenses-paid client? And on her account, I can be very entertaining. (dances the calypso) Ha-cha-cha! Ole!
Lady Catherine (pushing the secretary aside): Out of my way, peasant. I have not been accustomed to waiting and I must have my share in the conversation.
Miss Fullyung (flustered): Harrumph! So, uh, here she is, Mr. Flyby. Lady Catherine de Bourgh.
(secretary leaves room, chased by Harpo)
Harpo (ginning wickedly): (honk honk)
Groucho (slouching with feet on desk): Well, well. Lady Catherine de Bourgh, eh? I would rise to the occasion but I prefer not to stand on ceremony. I wish I could say how thrilled I am to meet you -- an idle wish to be sure, but that's what unemployment does to a man.
Lady Catherine: My dear sir, are you aware of whom you are addressing? (frowns) I am Lady Catherine de Bourgh of Rosings Park.
Groucho (gaining his feet at last): And I am Horace Flyby, at your service, and believe me, the pleasure is all yours. (wiggles eye brows)
Lady Catherine (flabbergasted): Why, why.... you astound me, sir! I have never experienced such insolence and don't know quite what to make of it! I find myself at wit's end!
Groucho: I'm sure that's a mighty short trip from the beginning of wit, but at least you know wits end is wits. (pauses to bow with excessive ceremony) Have we met before, m'lady? Stop. Don't tell me. I never forget a face, but in cases like yours I always make an exception. (grins sweetly) And how, pray tell, goes all with the Tom Cat?
Lady Catherine: My husband, Sir Louis de Bourgh, if that is to whom you refer, has been dead now for these past ten years....
Groucho: Oh, he's probably just using that as some excuse.
Lady Catherine: Mr. Flyby, I have been warned about your insouciant ways, and I must say that your rude manners belie the sterling report I have been given about your detective abilities.
Groucho: Sterling report? What silver-tongued soothsayer said such insooth-ciance?
Lady Catherine: I heard it yesterday from Reverend Mr. William Collins, whom I so generously condescend to patronize. I have given him a most generous living in the parsonage across the lane from my grand estate.
Groucho: Separated from you by only an abbey lane, eh? I wouldn't call that much of a living.... But Willy Collins! How is the sappy old rapscallion? We used to cut such capers and classes when I was young and he was foolish at Oxford. I may have been voted class clown, but he was unanimously declared the sappiest of men.
Lady Catherine: Mr. Flyby, enough of this stupid ranting. I have come here on a very serious and delicate matter. I trust that you are a man of discretion?
Groucho: Madam, I am the soul of discretion. As a matter of fact, from the moment I laid eyes on you, I have been discretely felt... (Stops to wipe brow and pace across the floor for another Long Awkward Pause) No. In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how decadently I admire and love you.
Lady Catherine: (mouth agape in stunned silence)
Groucho: Be my pet, Catty, run away with me to Paris and let me show you the way of all Follies, for it is a truth Metro-Goldwyn that Paris is the place for Louvres. Give up your footloose ways; it's time for you to settle down -- and you can't settle much lower down than me. You must stop hopping from man to man -- don't you know that no man is an island? So quit your island hopping in no-man's land.
Lady Catherine: Mr. Flyby! You take my breath away!
Groucho: Well, considering the garlic you had for lunch, that's sounds like a refreshing idea. (Grabs dried flowers from vase on desk, goes down on bended knee and gives them to Lady Catherine). Here, my dear, this is desiccated to the one I love. Can't you see that I'm pining for you? That's how board I am! Take me now or I'll run to France all by myself, jump in the river and go in Seine. Don't you see we are made for each other -- and what a fitting life we would lead? It would be full of fits. So let's get hitched and walk down the bridle path. I'm oxen you on bended knee, Mammy, and a friend on knee is a friend indeedee. Marry me you fool! Don't you know that a fool and her money are soon parted? Well, you do your part and I'll do my part, and then we will throw a big party (that would be me) out the door, and you'll be none the richer for it.
Lady Catherine: Really Mr. Flyby. Such presumption is not to be endured. I can see clearly what you are here after....
Groucho: Let's not talk of the hereafter, not that it's any kind of fresh heaven when you're around. What do you take me for anyway: some kind of gold digger? Well, I'm not some kind of gold digger -- hack, I'm not any kind of gold digger. I'm not cut out for that line of work so I'm cutting it out. I'm not a Slav to riches; so you go Uruguay and I'll gold mine. I prefer a shallow existence. Why dig yourself a hole when the surface is so chock full of minerals for the taking? -- and I do so admire your lovely diamond pin, now that we broach the subject. Run away with me m'lady and I'll give you everything. I'll even give away your kingdom for half a crown. We'll split everything fifty-fifty down the middle, except for the throne. A man has to draw a line somewhere and I refuse to sit on half a throne. I rest my pride on such matters, and I most certainly am bi-assed.
Chico: Heh, heh. Dat's a pretty good one boss. I know you work a joke about de pride and prejudice title into dis story somehow.
Lady Catherine (indignantly): Mr. Flyby! You are quite mistaken. I have not here in search of an amorous entanglement. I am come on behalf of my daughter Anne....
Groucho (interrupting): Oh my dear lady, you are so full of single entendre. But your daughter, eh? Well, yet a horse of a different collar. What does she look like? Where have you hidden her, madam? Tell me at once -- true love waits for no Truman...
Lady Catherine: Mr. Flyby, I find your extreme rudeness nearly unbearable. If the situation were not so desperate, I would leave immediately. You must allow me to continue. (pauses to catch her breath) Rumor has it that my nephew, Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley, is about to propose to that common ingrate, Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn! This is not to be born long!
Groucho: You think she has the heart of a gold digger?
Lady Catherine: Precisely! She is insensible to her social obligation and would like nothing better to rise in society on my nephew's grand fortune. Everyone knows that my nephew and my daughter Anne where intended for each other from an early age. His mother and I used to say such things repeatedly as they napped together in the crib.
Groucho: So, it's not enough that your nephew is an ingrate, he is a kidnapper too? That is a heavy crime indeed, and the punishment is most severe. Capital, capital! The scoundrel...
Lady Catherine: Silence! Silence! I am quite put out. (Lady Catherine fixes him with a withering glare). These silly interruptions are extremely vexing!
Groucho: Vexation! Silence! That's the trouble with these period pieces. There's way too much vex and silence! But I guess you can't help it if you are over-vexed.
Lady Catherine: Let us get serious, Mr. Flyby. I have recently returned from Miss Elizabeth Bennet and she pointedly refused to honor my request not to enter any engagement with my nephew. Afterwards I went straightway to Darcy and he refused to give me satisfaction as well.
Chico: But are you sure dat he wanna marry her?
Lady Catherine: There can be little doubt. When I left Darcy he was moaning like a lovesick puppy: "Dearest, loveliest Elizabeth....
(Sound in the background of teeth grinding loudly)
Chico: Uh-oh. Hear dat boss? Dat must be Karen. She go crazy whenever she hear someone say "dearest, loveliest".
Lady Catherine: Oh? You are acquainted with Karen? As Lady Metcalfe told me the other day. "She is a such a treasure..."
Groucho: Yes, Karen of Rosings Bourgh. That is the answer, but what is the question? I may be put in Jeopardy for saying this, but what's in a name? Would a Rosenberg by another name be just as Rosenkavalier? You can ignore that last remark -- I was just waxing operatic, not that anyone could ever confuse you with the Merry Widow!
Lady Catherine: Be that as it may, I wish to engage your services to prevent the marriage between Mr. Darcy and Miss Elizabeth Bennet from taking place. If you succeed thwarting their plans I will reward you generously; and if you can effect the marriage between my nephew and my daughter, I shall reward you even more handsomely.
Groucho: Well, now your talking my lingo. How much quid are we talking about here?
Lady Catherine: Upon a satisfactory result, I am prepared to offer you 5,000 pounds.
Chico: Listen to dat, boss. Dats a lotta quid pro quo.
Groucho: Well that certainly makes the quid quota for this pro! Okay, Lady Catherine. Your worries are over. We'll take the job and we always guarantee our results. If at any time we are unhappy with our results, we will gladly return the unused portion of your money.
Lady Catherine: Very well. The wedding will take place on Saturday, when Miss Jane Bennet, sister to Elizabeth, is to marry Mr. Bingley. You have only three days and you must work quickly if success is to be achieved. I am certain that you can find Miss Bennet at Longbourn; she is an attractive girl of moderate height, dark hair and gratuitously heaving breasts. You cannot mistake her.
Groucho: GHB, eh? I might have to take a personal interest in this case. Then consider the task done! I am so confident of a successful conclusion that you can pay little ole handsome me right now! (smiles sheepishly)
Lady Catherine: Nonsense! I shall expect a full report of your success by Friday and then we shall settle matters. Good day, Mr. Flyby. (Turns and walks briskly out of the room).
Chico: Atsa good news boss -- we getta da money for sure. I gotta good plan dat solve alla problems fast.
(music in strong)
Chapter 3 - Rainy Days and Duck Soup Always Get Me Down
(Swell music swells as the Bennets assemble for breakfast at Longbourn.)
Mr. Bennet: Well, Jane and Lizzy. Only three more days before you relinquish the title of Miss Bennet to your sister Mary.
Jane (smiling vacantly): Oh yes! At last I shall be united with my dear sweet Charles and Lizzy with her dear sweet William. The day cannot arrive soon enough for me.
Lizzy: Nor too soon for me. I'll be damned if my twit of a sister Lydia ever tries to make me walk behind her again.
Mrs. Bennet (sharply): Lizzy! You know better than to use such vulgar language in this house. How dare you call Lydia a twit. You know she is my favorite...
Mr. Bennet (smirking): And that is not at all surprising, my dear, as you and your favorite seem to have divided between you the full wit of a one person.
Mrs. Bennet (bawling): There you go again, taking such delight in vexing me. Why do I get the feeling that you may have just insulted me again? If only I were half again as clever! Then perhaps I might understand what in the blazes you are always sniggering at.
Mary: Mamma, you may wish to know that I have just read in one of Fordyce's sermons that it is not in a woman's nature to be clever.
Lizzy: And it most fitting, Mary, that you should be the one to discover it!
Jane (befuddled): Oh dear! Why must we always argue so? This is supposed to be a story about good manners. Why can't we all get along?
Mr. Bennet: You know the answer to that, my dear. What better way to make sport for our neighbors and for the readers?
Mrs. Bennet: Oh look, Jane. The sky threatens rain. You must take Nellie and ride over to Netherfield to visit your Mr. Bingley.
Jane (shocked): Mamma!! I've done that already! Would you have me catch fever again, and so soon before the wedding?
Mrs. Bennet: No, of course not. Perhaps you are right, my dear. I only thought that you would want another sleep-over. (giggles)
Jane: (gasps ands spits juice all over the table)
Mr. Bennet: Now that's the most intelligent thing to come out of your mouth all morning, Jane.
Lizzy (smartly): Excuse me, Jane, but you must know it to be of little use to go to Netherfield. Have you forgotten that Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley promised to collect us within the hour to proceed to Pemberley.
Jane (sweetly): Oh, yes. Now I recall. How silly of me! Why was I born with such vapors for brains? If I only I possessed half your brilliance, dear sister...
Mrs. Bennet: Come, come, Jane and Lizzy. You must hurry and pack your things....
(Jane and Lizzy run from the table and bound up the stairs, with Lizzy bouncing in the lead....)
(Several hours later in the early afternoon, the three defectives, err detectives, approach Longbourn on foot. [What? On foot? Yes, as you see...])
Groucho: Okay, Ravioli. What's that plan you were talking about?
Chico: Yeah, boss. I was just a tinking.... (pauses)
Groucho: Well go ahead, Ravioli. There's a first time for everything, not that I give a tinker's damn.
Chico: It's a like this. Lady Cat no want Darcy to marry Lizzy -- so we take Lizzy away. They no can find a bride, so no wedding. That sure work good, eh boss?
Groucho: That would seem to do the trick all right Now all we have to do is find which of the five daughters is Lizzy.
Chico: Not five -- only four girls left at home. I hear dat youngest girl, Lydia, already married to Wickedham.
Groucho: Lydia? Did you say her name is Lydia? (breaks into song....) (la la la la la la)
Lydia, oh Lydia, say, have you met Lydia?
Lydia the tattooed lady
She has eyes that men adore so
And a torso even more so
Lydia, oh Lydia, that encyclopedia
Lydia, the queen of tattoo
On her back is the Battle of Waterloo
Beside it the Wreck of the Hesperus, too
And proudly above waves the red, white and blue
You can learn a lot from Lydia
(la la la la la la)
When her robe is unfurled, she will show you the world
If you step up and tell her where
For a dime you can see Kankakee or Paree
Or Washington crossing the Delaware
(la la la la la la)
(la la la la la la)
Lydia, oh Lydia, say, have you met Lydia?
Lydia the tattooed lady
When her muscles start relaxin'
Up the hill comes Andrew Jackson
Lydia, oh Lydia, that encyclopedia
Lydia, the queen of tattoo
For two bits she will do a mazurka in jazz
With a view of Niagara that nobody has
And on a clear day, you can see Alcatraz
You can learn a lot from Lydia
(la la la la la la)
(la la la la la la)
Come along and see Buffalo Bill with his lasso
Just a little classic by Mendel Picasso
Here's Captain Spaulding exploring the Amazon
Here's Godiva but with her pajamas on
(la la la la la la)
(la la la la la la)
Lydia, oh Lydia, that encyclopedia
Lydia, the queen of them all
She once swept an admiral clean off his feet
The ships on her hips made her heart skip a beat
And now the old boy's in command of the fleet
For he went and married Lydia
I said Lydia
He said Lydia
I said Lydia
He said Lydia
Ole!
Chico: Hey, hey! Dat's a pretty good song boss. You just make it up?
Groucho: Nah -- I used to sing that when I was at the circus. Harburg and Arlen, a couple of my bunkmates, taught me that one night.
Chico: Say, you sleep next to guys that work in a flea circus, before you flee the circus?
Groucho: ...And after we fleeced the crowds. Come to think of it, Ravioli -- yes they did work with fleas! You always seem to get the jump on me -- how did you know that?
Chico: Dat's easy, boss. They always say that poly ticks make a strange bedfellows!
Groucho: And they aren't any bedder than you, Ravioli. But getting back to heart of the mattress... (Looks over the garden hedge at Longbourn and sees Mary with nose suitably buried in book and Mrs. Bennet bending over the flowers). Say, there are two of the girls in the garden now. Ok, Ravioli, you pick up the flower girl and Oprah, you crawl after the bookworm.
Harpo (looking seriously displeased): (honk) (honk) (honk)
Groucho: I agree, the other one's prettier, but that's the way the bookworm turns.
Chico: Hey boss, what you tink I should say?
Groucho: Oh, just tell her anything. Tell her that you are a tailor and you want to help her with her trousseau.
Chico: Trousseau? You mean Robinson Trousseau? She marry Robinson Trousseau on Saturday? Ain't she better off if she marry the man Friday?
Groucho: Remind me never to get stranded on an desert island with you, Ravioli. I'm sure you'll come up with something.
Chico: You bet, boss, don't worry. Which gal is Lizzy?
Groucho: Hmmm. That's not easy. Lady Cat did say that she had gratuitously heaving breasts, but that's hard to figure from here given the confined and unvarying high-waisted dresses they have on.
Mrs. Bennet (calling out loud as she rushes forward huffily): Confined? Unvarying? I heard that! Young man I'll have you know we dine with four and twenty families!!
Groucho: Ok, ok. Ravioli, This hot tomato is all yours. I'll ketchup with you after I see what's going on inside the house..
(Groucho departs for the house and Harpo leaves in Mary's direction.)
Chico: Hey, lady. It sure is a nice a day in the neighborhood.... Very nice! (Looks her up and down and whistles in admiration) Say, you gotta nice look fanny!
Mrs. Bennet (smiles as she adjusts her dress nervously): Oh my dear sir, you come here quite unexpectedly. I must confess that I don't recall seeing you before. Tell me, how did you know my name?
Chico: Oh everybody in the country know me and I know every body. I'm a real famous painter.
Mrs. Bennet: A painter? Really? I've never met a painter before, but you certainly don't look like a painter!
Chico: Hey, I'm a real good painter -- joosta like Michelangelo, a cousin of mine. He take four years joosta paint the ceiling of Sistine Chapel, but I much better. I paint the whole room in one day -- two coats!
Mrs. Bennet: Well that certainly is impressive!
Chico: Yeah, I paint a lotta rooms and gardens. Yeah, I sell my picsh by de yard!
Mrs. Bennet: How lovely! And you have come here to paint my garden? That is quite a compliment indeed.
Chico: Nah, no garden today. You looka so pretty, I wanna paint you.
Mrs. Bennet: Me? Oooooooo! No one has ever wanted to paint my portrait before. I think I shall go distracted.
Chico: No, I no like modern distracted paintings. I paint you really artsy, so you no have to wear any clothes. I tink I call the painting: "Lady Godiva on her Horse", only there ain't no horse.
Mrs. Bennet (utterly and completely astonished): What? No clothes? That would be scandalous! Why I never....
Chico: You no have to worry -- I make it look real classy. You gotta no costume but I give you some nice costume jewelry - a rhinostone necklace to go with your nose and some bracelets to go with your bear arms -- you should shave, don't you know you gotta right to bare arms. And I give you a nice big jar of Nutella to hold down in front of your middle, so this story no affront any young studs and students who read this. But you no have to hold it if you no like -- hey, some time you feel like a Nutella, some time you don't. And you no have to worry about all the older ladies with dirty minds -- they all at the drool pond, so they no read this anyway.
Mrs. Bennet: But won't my .... my.... top be exposed?
Chico: Oh sure, you bet; that's so everybody can see it's a real work of art. But you no have to feel bad, all girls in Europe go around on the beach like dat.
Mrs. Bennet: Oh, a little sea bathing would set me up forever. But... but.... if my family sees the painting I'll be conscience stricken...
Chico: You no have to think about that -- don't conscience strickens before they hatch. Heh heh. I promise that nobody in family see the picsh -- I only sell it to the army guys. They like to pin up de picsh, and they pay good money for it too -- fifty pounds, easy, and I let you keep the necklace and bracelets!
Mrs. Bennet (ecstatic): Fifty pounds!! What pin-up money! What jewels! And to think of all the young men in their regimentals admiring my painting. Ooooooo! (beats hands nervously). Young man, I am of the mind to accept your offer.
Chico: Dat's a real good. You no feel sorry even if I do. You come with me to the carriage and we go to my studio in town.
(Meanwhile, Harpo approaches Mary reading on a bench in the shade.)
Harpo: (squeezes the rubber horn on his walking stick): (honk)
Mary (shocked): Oh! (clutches book against her bosom) You startled me, sir.
Harpo (smiling impishly and raising hat): (honk)
Mary: What a strange person you are! Can you not speak?
Harpo (shakes head no while taking seat next to Mary): (honk honk)
Mary: Ah! Then I shall have to take the initiative of the conversation.
Harpo (shakes head yes): (honk)
Mary (smiling): Oh, now I see. One honk is yes and two is no!
Harpo (places his right leg over Mary's left): (honk)
Mary (brushes Harpo's leg away): Really, sir! You astonish me! Attempting to take such advantage is quite immoral. Permit me to quote a passage which I have just read from this wonderful book of Fordyce's Sermons. "It therefore behooves a young man at all times to quench the fires of passion which are stoked from the devil's flames below; and it is right and charitable for the fairer sex to assist him in the suppression of his hormonal rages through sharp rebukes, cross looks, and indifferent affectations such as straightening one's mode of attire."
Harpo: (honk honk) (grabs Mary and plants a long affectionate kiss on her lips)
Mary (stunned and gasping for breath): Sweet mother of pearl! I have secretly read about kisses and other such matters, but.... but (breathing heavily) I had no idea that carnality could be so exhilarating! Why .... there are so many more things on earth than my philosophy has ever dreamt of!
(Mary flashes a naughty grin, grabs Harpo, puts her leg over his and returns the long kiss. Eventually he begins to struggle for air)
Harpo: (honk honk honk honk... HONK HONK HONK!!)
(They look at each other, eyes all a twinkle. Harpo takes her by the hand and leads her behind the trees)
Groucho (singing softly as he knocks on the Longbourn door): Doo wah ditty ditty dum ditty doo..
Hill: Good afternoon, sir.
Groucho: It is hardly that, madam, I assure you. Can't you see that it is about to rain?
Hill (perplexed): Well, er, I .....
Groucho: Enough chit chat already. I have come to see Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
Hill: One moment, if you please. Will you come in? (Leads Groucho to Mr. Bennet's study and knocks). A gentleman to see you, ....
Groucho: Well, that's going a bit far, madam. Have I ever called you any names? (turning to Mr. Bennet) Why, Lizzy! You don't anything at all like I imagined!
Mr. Bennet (looking critically over his glasses at his guest): You, sir, have the pleasure of addressing Mr. Bennet, her father. And who is it that stands before me cursed with such wretched eyesight?
Groucho: Horace Flyby, at your service. I am here on errand for Elizabeth. It concerns the insipid, er, incipient nuptial.
Mr. Bennet: Does it indeed? And how are you connected to that event?
Groucho: My dear sir, I come on errand from the good offices of the vicar. Well, the offices are not all that good, truth be told, they could stand some remodeling. I am the vice-vicar -- or is it vicar-vice?
Mr. Bennet: How strange it is that you, a member of the clergy, should be so ill-dressed for the occasion! What assurances do I have that you are worthy of your claim.
Groucho: I'm glad you asked that. You see before you one who has condescended from a line of vicars -- you could say that vice runs rampant in my family. My great great grandfather Reese Flyby, may he rest in pieces, was a famous clergyman.
Mr. Bennet: Famous? How so? I cannot say that I have had the privilege of hearing about him.
Groucho: I'll have you know that my illustrious ancestor was a refugee from the long army of the law. He sought succor at a monastery, and the poor suckers took him in. But he soon found the atmosphere there quite depressing with everyone walking around in burlap bags and not allowed to talk. He spent most of his time in a slow fast and that made him hungry for change, so he invented fast food. Yes, sir, he invented that staple of haute British cuisine (and I'm not talking about your kippers and bangers here), no he invented fish and chips! With the help of a fellow inmate he started a successful restaurant, "The Christian Brothers", and so improved the lot of a lot of folks.
Mr. Bennet: Very interesting indeed. I suppose it was an act of cod that your ancestor cooked fish?
Groucho (huffy): You are mistaken, sir. He was not the fish friar -- he was the chip monk!
Mr. Bennet: (groans) There goes my ulcer again. (pours two glasses of port and offers one to his guest)
Groucho: My uncle Jake was a vicar too, but he worked a medicine show on the side -- a real side show. He looked at a lot of chests, but he mostly found lots of cold shoulders. So to fight the common cold he invented a cold compound: Vicar's Vapo Rub which he liked to apply liberally (if not democratically) to the gratuitously heaving masses. The good townsfolk however were affronted and taken aback. Some thought he was rubbing their women folk the wrong way and so, one good turn deserving another, they did him to a turn, a well done turn as it turned out, and burned him at the steak, even though he distinctly requested very rare.
Mr. Bennet (laughs): Mr. Flyby. I must admit that you certainly appear to be a jolly fellow, perhaps even a vicar, in spite of your many clerical errors. But I regret to inform you that you have traveled here amiss, for Miss Bennet has left for Pemberley in Derbyshire only a few hours ago.
Groucho (shakes head in disappointment): That is an unfortunate miss indeed, but I shall follow hot on her trail - (wiggles eyebrows) I've got a Polish horse that's hot to Trotsky.
(They shake hands and Groucho departs quickly for the coach where Chico and Harpo wait with the gals).
Groucho: Ok, ladies. We have reached our destination. On behalf of the driver and crew, I would like to thank you both for choosing to ride with Merryton Express. We appreciate your carriage trade. Please watch your step as you debark this miscarriage of justice.
Mary (cries as mum tears her away from Harpo's embrace): Noooooooooo!!
Mrs. Bennet: Oh shut up, Mary! No one wants to hear your cries. Go inside and play one of your concertos!
Chico: Hey, boss. What's a matter? I was going to paint this lady. You no like art? If I no take her likeness now, I may never get a chance.''
Groucho: Ravioli, I would by no means suspend any pleasure of yours, but I have made a ghastly discovery: these ladies are impostors (oh the sham of it all), and its quacks like these that always get me down! (calls out to the driver) To Pemberley, Dawkins! Hurry!
(music in strong...)
Continued In Next Section