ADVONTURES of
honsieur Pijol
Telavisiou
Part 3


OLD
Ye0
T h e a d V e n t u r e. S O f
M O n S i e u r
P u j O 1
I n S i X P a r t S
A I I a n g e d f I'
t e 1 e V i S i O n b y
H a u r i C e R O W d n
P a I t 1 1 1
'S p i t t i n 8 i n
t h e b a S k e t'


CAST
MONSIEUR ARISTIDE PUJOL
MISS BEATTY
CLERGYMAN
PARLOURMAID
CHRISTABEL SMITH
MR SMITH
MONSIEUR POIRON
HON HARRY RALSTON
EXTRAS, N.S.
BUTLER
SERVANT
COLLEGE GIRLS
GOVERNESS
RAILWAY FORTERS
PASSENGERS
SETS
INTERIORS
CLASSROOM---GIRL'S COLLEGE
HEADMISTRESS'S STUDY
ENTRANCE HALL LONDON HOUSE
DRAWING ROOM LONDON HOUSE
LIBRARY LONDON HOUSE
DINING ROCM LONDON HOUSE
LOCATIONS
EXTERIORS
GROUNDS---GIRL'S COLLEGE
RAILWAY STATION


P a r t 1 1 1
'S p i t t i n g i n t h e
b a S k e t'
Open on the spacious grounds of a
girl's college in Surrey. Sloping
lawns and sycamores.
We travel
slowly towards the college as the
TITLES come up. Ripples of girlish
laughter come over.
Then a hush.
And again a ripple of laughter.
We reach the college and trace our way
along the windows, peeping in. The
first class shows girls crammed to-
gether in earnest study, under the
guidance of a staid MISTRESS. The
costumes announce England just before
the First World War. The ripples
of laughter are certainly not coming
from them. But they are aware of
the laughter and give each other
glances. We track along to the next
window and find much the same circum-
stance, only here the TEACHER (dumb
show behind the window) is talking,
and using a long pointer to indicate
something on the board. Again the
ripple of laughter and these girls
tooe--this time to the visible annoy-
ance of the TEACHER-- give each other
giggling glances.
Cut for surprise to the classroom
where MONSIEUR PUJOL is creating all
this fun. He is a Frenchman in his
thirties.
This, for a Frenchman of
the south, is a mature age. His eyes
are bright with good will, curiosity,
and a zest for anything with a risk
in it. They have a touch of devilry
too. He could clearly hold no job
down for long. He looks like losing
this one fast. He has a clear olive
complexion, a black moutstache and a


short silky vandyke beard. He is
agile, at a time in history when you
could look puffy before thirty. But
MONSIEUR PUJOL, being first himself
and secondly a Provencal, knows how
to look after the inner and the outer
man, even in England.
He has his girls in fits of laughter.
Even the GOVERNESS, placed in the front
row to supervise class discipline,
is having a whale of a time. He is
teaching them French---but the rawest,
the bawdiest French this college, or
indeed any college in England, has
ever heard.
And he clowns everything
he says in the most acrobatic way.
PUJOL:
En avez-vous des-2-homarde?
Oh, les sales betes, elles ont du poil
aux pattesi Which means, 'Have you
any lobsters? Oh the dirty beasts,
they have hair on their feet!' Yes,
we are all saying this in Paris, my
young friends. We don't know whyl
It doesn 't mean nothing. But still
are we saying itl And do you know
the leetle French song from twenty
years ago?
(Singing) Sur le bi,
sur le banc, sur le bi du bout du
banci (Dancing little steps on the
rostrum)
Cut to the wide empty corridor out-
side where THE HEADMISTRESS is stroll-
ing along absorbed in her organisation-
al thoughts. PUJOL's song drifts
over. She stops.
She frowns. She
listens.
PUJOI(VO, in the distance) Sur le
bi du bout du banc!
Her frown now fixed, shewalks on,
trying to locate the class. The
singing becomes louder. PUJOL's
song is now being sung by the GIRLS.
GIRLS (VO) Sur le bi du bout du
banc!
THE HEADMISTRESS stands outside the
class fascinated by the sheer horror
of it.
She even beats time to the
music in a. cruel, calculating way,
her lips pursed with determination.
Fix Huis
She is going to Provencal songbird!
Cut back to PUJOL's càassroom.
PUJOL:
And you know what the apaches


say to each other when they invite
each other to a glass of absinthe?
(Imitating the meeting of two street
ruffians in Paris by plunging his hat
on his head and fixing a piece of
chalk in his mouth as a cigarette)
Allons étrangler un perroquet mon tieul
TLet's go and strangle a parroti Yes,
'strangle a parrot' my angels! And
do you know what Louis the king did
when his head was cut off at the
guillotine?---11 cracha dans le panier,
'he spat in the basket'T Yes that's
the way we talk in Paris nowadays!
Cut to THE HEADMISTRESS hidden behind
a bush in the grounds.
She is spying
on the PUJOL classroom. The girlish
laughter ripples over. We see the
classroom from her PV, then zoom in to
PUJOL performing again.
He still has
his hat on, with the chalk at his mouth.
Cut to PUJOL performing.
PUJOL: A glass or two later (imitating
the apaches drinking at a bistrot) ils
sont saoûls comme des porcs!. (He
staggers all over the place) Yes,
they're as drunk as a couple of pigs!
Cut back to THE IIEADMISTRESS to register
her cold fascination.
Cut to MONSIEUR FUJOL still staggering,
trying to grasp hold of the rostrum and
failing, then trying to mount it and
stumbling, as the laughter grows. THE
GOVERNESS is splitting her sides.
PUJOL (speaking drunkenly) Ils sont
saoûls comme des porcs!
Cut for surprise to the virginal quiet
of THE HEADMISTRESS'S office. She is
sitting behind her desk looking none too
loving. A CLERGYMAN at her side is
trying to make up for this with absurd
placating little smiles towards MONSIEUR
PUJOL, who is facing them on the other
side of the desk, also seated. He
is watching them with miadly pitying
good will.
CLERGYMAN: You see Mr Pewjoll the ah
pupils may have a command ah of the
colloquial side of your langua age but
ah let me give you an example--
HEADMISTRESS (BURSTING IN) I would
like to know, Mr Pewjoll, what one of


my girls is doing writing in her
French history paper that the king
spat in the basket! Is that the kind
of language you teach? If SO---I
PUJOL (holding up his hand) Miss
Beatty! It can be explained!
can all be explained my deer!
MISS BEATTY: And teachers at this
schoal do not call their headmistress
'my dear'l
CLERGYMAN (pouring oil) You see Mr
Pewjoll I was rather surprised myself
ah when I was marking the papers--
'spitting in the basket'---(in horrible
French) cracha dans le panier---
(PUJOL (Wincing, then to himself:)
Cuel accent! But mon pdre--
MISS BEATTY: 'My father'l
You call
him your father---I
CLERGYMAN (MORE OIL) Ah Miss Beatty
the ah catholics call their ministers
ah father!
PUJOL:
What I was saying was it's
historical fact Monsieur! He did
spit in the basket!
CLERGYMAN (jaw drops into dog collar)
What? He actually ah did?
PUJOL: He was guillotined no?
(with a swift cutting gesture across
his neck) Alors il a craché dans le
panier! (with a superb gesture of
finality) He spat into the basket!
Cut to a huge bunch of roses and pull
back to find the COLLEGE GIRLS lined
up at the main entrance of the College
with sorrowing expressions. One of
them is offering the roses to the
travel-coated MONSIEUR PUJOL. He
chucks the GIRL under the chin with
a sad smile.
PUJOL (addressing the GIRLS) This is
the saddest gift I have ever received.
(Sniffs from THE GIRLS) I have loved
England. Has England loved me in
return? (Muted cries of 'Yes, yes!')
I brought you all the excitement of
Paris but your headmistress tells me
I was here to teach not to excitel
(Throwing out his arms in a baffled
gesture) So, after this brief
flirtation, I return to my country,


hoping that I have planted France in
your hearts!
And especially Parisl
More especially Provence! My Provence,
where all that is best in Paris was
conceived and brought to birth!
Aigues-Mortes is not the loveliet town
in Provence. But I was born thère
(a touch of gaiety which infects THE
GIRLS)! That is something, you
know!
It adds to the local colour!
So, if you should chance to pass the
place, ask for Arisftide Fujol and
you will find a friend. And in my
heart you will find the true Provence!
Provence which brought chivalry into
the world---which taught the world to
sing---and to sing about women---to--I
HEADMISTRESS (VO)
Mr Pewjoll, I
think you might miss your train.
He bows silently and mounts the open
horse-drawn carriage behind him.
PUJOL (standing in the carriage) Good
bye my angels. Adieu mes angest
(The carriage draws away) Sur le bi
sur le bancl' (Conducting from the
carriage) Sur le bi du bout du banc!
From THE GIRLS' PV, MONSIEUR PUJOL
conducting as the carriage disappears
into the distance.
Cut to Waterloo Station under torr-
ential rain, with the girlish sniffs
turning to the hiss of steam engines.
Horse-drawn cabs are standing by.
MONSIEUR PUJOL is there holding his
roses, with a travelling valise at
his feet, wondering whether to chance
the littie money in his pocket on a
cab. He looks out into the rain.
PUJOL (to himself) Sacre mille
cochons! Quel chien de climatT
Luggage-laden porters and passing
passengers jostle him, disarranging
his flowers. This is a beery, beefy,
impersonal London where a Provencal
is out of place.
But a smart FOOTMAN is about to walk
past him when he stops suddenly and
touches his cap.
FOOTMAN: Beg pardon sir. I'm from,
Mr Smith.
PUJOL (turning away sourly) I'm glad


to hear of it, my friend.
FOOTMAN:
You're the French gentleman
from Godalming?
PUJOL:
Decidedly!
FOOTMAN:
Then, sir, Mr Smith has sent
the carriage for youi
PUJOL (with astonishment)
That's very
kind of him!
THE FOOTMAN takes PUJOL'S case and
walks off down the platform with it.
MONSIEUR PUJOL gazes after him with
astonishment.
PUJOL (VO) 'And who the devil is Mr
Smith? (With a Provencal shrug)
Well, the best way to find out is to
go and see him!
He walks after the FOOTMAN humming
'Sur le bi sur le banc!'
Cub to THE FOOTMAN holding open the
door of a cosy brougham for MONSIEUR
PUJOL.
After a moment's hesitation
1UJOL steps in. The door closes after
him. PUJOL's inquisitive face appears
in the window at once, following THE
FOOTMAN WITH HIS EYES. The carriage
draws away.
Cut to PUJOL inside the carriage as
it jogs consolingly along, the rain
beating down thunderously on its roof.
PUJOL (VO) Mr Smith! Tiens!
There were two little Miss Smiths at
the Academy!
Dear little things!
One had chiblains and the other had
a running nose!
well, can you wonder
at it, in this cl imate? So this must
be their papa! Perhaps they wrote
home and told him how kind I was to
them!
Of coursel
(Settling back
into his seat with satisfaction)
Well, Mr Pewjoll, no one can say
that Providence frowns on you for long!
Anyway, even if it isn't their papa
it's a carriage and he's obviously a
fairly well-bred monsieur. Tiens!
(He bends down, feeling something at
his feet) A hot-water can!
How
thoughtful! I feel I'm going to like
Mr Smith! (Singing loudly) Sur le
bi, sur le banc!
Cut to THE FOOTMAN making a sour face


at this foreigner's song from inside
the carriage.
Cut to:the entrance hall of a fine
London house as MONSIEUR PUJOL and THE
FOOTMAN enter. A neat PARLOURMAID
steps forward and takes his hat, great-
coat and bouquet of roses.
PARLOURMAID:
Mr Smith hasn't returned
from the City yet, sir. But Miss
Christabel is in the drawing room.
PUJOL (lighting up at this news) Ah
then please give me back my bouquet.
He takes the flowers back and THE
PARLOURMAID showsçinto the drawing kim
room.
Cut to the drawing room as MONSIEUR
PUJOL enters with his flowers, ready
to overwhelm someone new with Provencal
charm.
CHRISTABEL SMITH, pretty and
23, with dark hair and an upturned
nose, rises from a fender-stool and
comes towards him with a smile.
CHRISTABEL:
Good afternoon, Monsieur
le Baron.
PUJOL (VO, as he bows smoothly)
sieur le Baron'l Eh!
CHRISTABEL:
I was wondering if
Thomas would spot you. Neither father
nor I could give him any description,
you see, since we'd never seen youl
PUJOL comes forward with his flowers.
PUJOL (VO) But why a Baron? Oh well,
the English love titles.
He is closer to CHRISTABEL than most
Englishmen have ever been.
She is
flustered.
PUJOL: Mademoiselle, will you accept
these roses as a token of my respect-
ful homage?
She takes them with a blush.
CHRISTABEL (speaking almost to herself)
An Englishman wouldn't have thought of
that.
Aristide (with a roguish look, raisi ng
a finger at her) Oh yes he would.
But he wouldn't have had---what you
say---the neck to do it.


Sho laughs and gestures him to a seat
by the fire. THE PARLOURMAID brings
in a massive tray of tea and hot
muffins.
PUJOL is clearly delighted as he gazes
from the tray to CHRISTABEL and back
again.
THE PARLOURMAID leaves having
deposited the tray on the knee-height
table before the fire. CHRISTABEL
pours. MONSIEUR PUJOL studies her
with unashamed admiration.
PUJOL: Do you know something,
mademoiselle? You,have the air of
a princess!
CHRISTABEL (almost dropping the pot)
I once met a princess---at a charity
bazaar- --and she was the most matter-
of-fact, business-like person Nou
could find!
PUJOL:
Nonsense! That was only a
real princess! I was talking about
a fairy princess!
CHRISTABEL (putting his tea before him)
Do you know that when Englishmen pay
such compliments they are apt to get
laughed at?
BRIODID But I am Provencal, made-
moiselle (taking a muffin hungrily)!
From a different world, where a
lovely woman is a treasure! But
here, why, an Englishman takes a week
to, think up a compliment, another week
tofind his tongue and when it finally
pops out it is addled like a rotten
eggl Yes, we of Provemce compliment
beauty straight from our hearts
(plunging his hand to his heart violent-
ly)! It is true. It is sincere.
And what comes out of the heart Made-
moiselle is never ridiculous--never
to be laughed at!
CHRISTABEL (in a state of flattered
bewilderment) I've always heard that
a Frenchman makes love to every woman
he meets!
PUJOL:
Naturally!
If they're
prétty of course! What else are
pretty women for? Otherwise they
might as well be ugly?
CHRISTABEL (not expecting this sweet
logic) Ohl


PUJOL: So if I say how beautiful
you are mademoisells, it is only your
due.
CHRISTABEL (looking down) I wonder
what my fiancé would say if he heard
you.
PUJOL: Parbleu! A fiancé?
CHRISTABEL:
Yes. There's his
photograph. He's six foot one, and
terribly jealous (with a laugh)i
PUJOL (disgruntled) The Turk!
(Brightening up at once) But when
thid six feet of muscle and egotism
is away, surely the pretty little
mouse will play!
They ciggle together almost conspir-
atorially.
CHRISTABEL: But you mustn't call
my fiancé a Turk.
He's a very charm-
ing man, and I hope you'll like him
very much.
PUJOL (with a patient sigh) And the
name of this lucky creature?
CHRISTABEL:
Harry Ralston. He's
the Honourable Harry Ralston, heir to
a great brewery firm. He's terribly
rich already! He'sa Member of
Parliament too. He's got a house in
Hampshire and he collects the most
conderful works of art. That's how
he and my father met. Over the works
of art.
(With a wave of her hand)
We're supposed to have quite a fine
collection here too.
PUJOL gazes round the walls in a
perfunctory way, a fact which registers
on her at once.
CHRSTABEL:
I though you were a
colanoisseur!
PUJOL (continuing tp gaze at her
with admiration) Jam, mademoisells,
I am!
CHRISTABEL (rising to hide her blush)
H must go and dress for dinner.
Perhaps you'd like to be shown your
room?
PUJOL (rising at once too)
Have I
been too bold, mademoisells?


CHRISTABEL:
I don't know!
You see,
I've never met a Frenchman before!
PUJOL (with abow) Then undreamt-of
possibilities are before youl
Cut to MONSIEUR PUJOL's bedroom. A
fire is burning in the grate. He
looks round the room at the curtains
and soft couches and satin quilts and
dainty writing tables. His own clothes
are set out for him in preparation for
dinner.
PUJOL (beginning to change) A corner
of paradise!
Just like that---zuk!
From Waterloo station!
(Getting out
of his trousers) How do you do it,
Pujol?
Cut to the drawing room.
CHRISTABEL
and her father, MR SMITH, a vast bald-
headed, beefy-faced Briton with little
pig's eyes and a hearty manner, are
waiting. SMITH is warming his back-
side at the fire.
MONSIEUR PUJOL
comes in, frock-coated but none too
elegant.
SMITH (coming forward with outstretched
hand) My dear chap! Delighted to
have you herel Heard so much about
you, don't you know. My little girl's
been singing your praises.
PUJOL (as they shake hands)
Made-
moiselle is too kind.
SMITH:
Well, you must take us as
you find us, Monsewer. We're just
ordinary folk you know. But I hope
you'll enjoy our company. And I
can guarantee you a first-class bottle
of wine and a decent cigar. I do
believe it's only here in England,
old chap, that you can find wine fit
to drink and cigars worth smoking---
I'm sure you agree. And we can give
you a taste of a real English home.
That's something you haven't got
in France eh? There isn't even a
word for it I believe!
PUJOL: Ma foi no! In France, you
see, the men live in cafés, the children
are put out to nurse and the women--
well, the less said about them the
better!
SMITH (missing the irony)
Just so,


old chap. England's the only place
isn't it? Of course I don't say
that Paris hasn't got its points.
But, you know, the Moulin Rouge and
the Folies Bergères and all that sort
of thing do pall after a time, don't
you agree?
PUJOL: But even Paris has its
serious. side, Monsieur.
There is
alwaysthe tomb of Napoleon.
CHRISTABEL:
Daddy will never take me
to Paris.
SMITH:
You shall go there on your
honeymoon dear.
THE BUTLER announces dinner.
MONSIEUR
PUJOL offers his arm to CHRISTABEL
and struts proudly into the dining
room.
His shoes squeak and a CU of
them shows creased brown boots.
Cut to the dining room where SMITH
is seated at the head of a beautifully
laid table. CHRISTABEL is on his
right and MONSIEUR PUJOL on his left.
They seem in the gayest of moods.
SMITH (downing half a glass of wine)
And tell me, how is our dear old fréend
Jules Dancourt these days?
PUJOL (VO a CU of him thinking this
out) Jules Dancourt!
And who the
devil would Monsieur Dancourt be?
They are watching him.
PUJOL (surfacing) Wondrefully well,
apart from his gout, you know.
SMITH:
Gout? That's my complaint
too. I know what it feels like.
(Downing another half-glass)
PUJOL:
You and the good Jules were
always sympathetic to each other.
He speaks about you with tears in
his eyes!
SMITH (to Christabel)
Men cry in
France my dear. They also kiss
each other!
PUJOL (also to Christabel)
but Mademoiselle what an entrancing
country! Do you know the woods of
the Ile de France, the endless golden


fields!
The scented vineyards of
the south, the sparkling Mediterranean,
sometimes Mademoisells I lose myself
in ecstasy just to think---!
(Watched
by a SMITH so astonished that he has
forgotten his belly) - The village
squares, the cafés! That hot dusty
smell of the olive groves!
Ahl
SMITH:
Really? I thought you were
always shut up in that chateua of
yours.
PUJOL (VO) Tiens! I have a chateaa!
CHRISTABEL:
Do tell us about the
chateua, Baron. Has it got a fosse
and a drawbridge and an exciting
Gothic chapel?
PUJOL:
Which one do you mean,
mademoiselle? For I have two.
SMITH (with a wink at him) She
means the one in Languedoc.
PUJOL: Ah, my place in Languedoc!
Fosse, you say? Drawbridge? Chapel?
(Carried away, his eyes gleaming)
These are nothing compared with the
tourelles, the emblazoned gateways,
the bastions, the donjons, the barbicans!
How many rooms are there?--too many
to count! In the salle des chevaliers
200 men at arms could be seated for a
banquet in the old days!
Francis 1
slept in one of the rooms, in another
Joan of Arc was assassinated. I have
an army of retainers, men and women
who I might say live for mel There
is the wizened old major-domo Marie-
Josfeh Loufoque (springing to his feet
in an imitation of the bent old
retainer) with his long white whiskers
and his blue and silver livery!
(Hopping round the room to the rapt
astonishment of the BUTLER)
monsieur le baron, bien sûr monsieur
le baronl Toute suitel A ton service!'
Then there is Madeline Mioulles, the
cook, Bernadet the groom, La Petite
Fripette the goose-girll And and
you should see her sister, the young
Francine---what flames in her cheeks,
what blushing simplicity whenever I
approach! You would think, at my
Languedoc estate, that there had been
no such thing as the French revolution!
CHRISTABEL:
You have a wonderful
farm, Monsieur?


PUJOL:
There are horses and COWS
and ducks and hens---and a. great pond
where frogs are bred for the table!
CHRISTABEL: (with a shiver)
I should
hate to eat frogs!
SMITH:
They eat snails as well.
PUJOL: I have in fact a snail farm.
You never saw such intersting little
animals. So intelligent, so recept-
ivel If you're nice to them they
come and eat out of your hand!
SMITH (with another wink) And the
pictures on your walls?
PUJOL:
Galleries full of pictures!
Raphael, Michelangelo, Wiertz,
Reynolds--- (searching for more names
but drying up, hand in mid-air)
A truly historical chateau.
CHRISTABEL:
I should love to see it.
PUJOL (almost throwing himself across
the table to take her hands in his)
It is yours, mademoiselle, for your
honeymoon!
Cut to the dining room a little later.
SMITH AND PUJOL ane now alone.
Coffee and liqueurs are before them.
They are both smoking enormous cigars.
PUJOL (downing a brandy)
What
cognac! My cellars contain no
better!
SMITH (another wink) At the
chateau?
(Getting up) Come with
SMITH gestures him conspiratorially
towards the door leading to the
library.
Cut tor the library where they are
standing before an easle at present
covered with a curtain. SMITH
switches on a powerful light above
the easle and pulls back the curtain.
SMITII: Now, sir, isn't it a stunner?
From his Pywe see a landscape of grey
sky, grény water and grey feathery
trees, and a little man in the fore-
ground with a red cap.


PUJOL:
Beautiful!
Magnificent!
SMITH:
Genuine Corot, what?
PUJOL:
Without doubt!
SMITH (poking him in the ribs) I
thought it'd bowl you over!
Old
Gottschalk did it. If you can tell
it from a genuine Corot I'll eat my
hat, I'm damned if I won't! And all
for eight pounds.
Now are you
safisfied?
PUJOL (trying to keep pace)
More
than satisfied.
SMITH:
Now if this was a copy. of
something Corot actually did it'd
be. illegal---very dangerous, don't
you know. But you can't trip old
Gottschalk up! Krjow what he did?
Went and got bits out of various
Corots and sort of stuck 'em all
together!
Stunning isn't it? If
it hadn't been for the principles of
business I'd have given him eight
guineas instead of eight pounds,
stack me if Jwouldn'tl He deserves
it, don't you think so?
PUJOL:
He does indeed.
SMITH : And now you've seen it what
do you think you might ask me for it?
(PUJOL busily trying to follow) I
suggested something between two and
three thousand. Shall we say three?
You're the owner you know. (Digging
him again) It came out of that old
chateau of yours, eh? My God, the
way you lay it onl You nearly con-
vinced mel
PUJOL (VO) Tiens! I don't have a
chateau after allT
1 UJOL gazes at the picture gravely.
PUJOL:
Certainly three thousand.
SMITH:
That young feller thinks
he knows a lot but he knows damn-all!
PUJOL:
SMITH: Not a bloody thing. He'll
pay up, don't you worry about that.
Being a partner in the family firm
he doesn't have to worry where his
dough comes from. It's a brewery,


you know. Ralston, Wiggins and
Wix's. When his dad dies, and it
looks like being any minute now, he'll
be Lord Ranelagh and come into a milllio:
of money. Minus what we get out of
him.
PUJOL (with growing understanding)
Has he seen the picture yet?
SMITH: Oh yes. Thinks it's a
masterpiece. Didn't old Brauneberger
tell you about that Lancret we planted
on the American? My God---that was a
beuatiful deall
Never had it so easy.
And this one looks like being the
same. I told young Harry it might
come to three thou. He jibbed a bit
but stick to your guns. In fact you
might kick off a lot higher.
PUJOL (VO) So this is the Honourable
Harry, the ravishing Christabel's
friend!
SMITH (slapping him on the back with
frightening heartiness) Well, let's
talk business you bloody old rascall
What do you want by way.of commission?
I mean, all the trouble's been mine,
hasn't' it? What about £400?
PUJOL: Five.
SMITH (with relief) Donel
They shake hands. A SERVANT enters.
SMITH (as THE SERVANT beckons him out
rather urgently) Excuse me a moment
old chapt
He leaves the room. MONSIEUR PUJOL
lights another cigar and throws him-
self into a great leather armchair
by the fire. He sits laughing to
himself, gazing into the flames.
PUJOL (to himself) Pujol!
What
a manl
The door suddenly bursts open and in
stridès SMITH, red in the face with
anger, with an elderly foxy-faced
FRENCH GENTLEMAN who has a white
moutstache and the ribbon of the
Legion of Honour in his buttonhole.
SMITH makes straight for MONSIEUR
PUJOL.
SMITH:
Herel Who the devil are you?


MOLS SIEUR PUJOL rises and puts his
hands behind his frock coat, smiling
radiantly.
PUJOL: I, my dear friend, am the
Baron de Je ne Sais Plus!
SMITH: You're a bloody impostor!
PUJOL (blandly) And this gentleman to
whom I have not yet had the ple asure
of being introduced?
FRENCH GENTLEMAN (defiantly) I am
Monsieur Poiron, agent of Messrs
Brauneberger et Compagnie, art dealers
of the Rue Notre Dame desPetits Champs
de Paris!
PUJOL: Ah, I thought you were a
baron tool
SMITH: There's no damned baron about
it. Are you Poiron or is he (look-
ing wildly from one to the other)?
PUJOL: I would not have a name like
Poiron for all the pictures in the
world, Monsieur. My name is Aristide
Pujol, soldier of fortune (with a bow),
at your service!
SMITH: And how the blazes did you get
here?
PUJOL:
Your servant asked me if I
happened to be the French gentleman
from Godalming.
And I said yes.
Because it was indeed the truth. He
said Mr Bmith had sent a carriage for
me. I thought it very hospitable of
Mr Smith---and I jumped into the
carriage---et voilàl
SMITH:
Well you can get out of here
right away (reaching for the bell)!
PUJOL (checking him) Pardon, my dear
sir. It is raining, as you say, cate
and dogs outside. I feel very much
at home in your house. I am here,
sir, and I am here to stay!
SMITH: I'll be damned if you are---I
Will you get out now or will you be
thrown out?
PUJOL (puffing cheerfully at his cigar)
You forget, mon cher ami, that neither
the beaatiful Miss Christabel nor her
affianced the Honourable Harry M.PM


would care to know that the talented
Gottschalk got only eight pounds, not
even eight guineas, for painting this
three-thousand-pound picture.
SMITH (dancing with rage) So it's
blackmail is it?
PUJOL:
Precisely.
And I don't
blush at it.
SMITL: Ypu're a damned blackguard,
sir, that' s what you arel
PUJOL:
Then I seem to be in con-
genial company. I don't think our
friend Poiron here has any xigkt more
right to a better title than he has
to this Legion of,Honour ribbon
(delicately lifting the ribbon on
MONSIEUR POIRON's chest and being
smacked away irratably)!
SMITH: How much will you take to get
out? I have a cheque book handy.
But MONSIEUR PUJOL sits down again.
PUJOL: I'lll take £500 to stay in.
SMITH (apoplectic) To stay in?
PUJOL: Pretisely. For you can't do
without mel Your daughter and your
servants know me as Monsieur le Baron--
by the way, what is my name? And
where exactly is my historical chateau
in Languedoc?
POIRON: At Mireilles.
Near
Mont pelier.
PUJOL: I like to meet an intellignet
man.
SMITH: I'd like to wring your
Provencal neck!
Now listen, if we
do let you in, you'll have to sign and
peceipt the money, do you hear that?
You'li have to implicate yourself up
to the (with a quick gesture) the
neck!
FUJOL:
Antthing you say. We shall
all spit in the basket together or not
at alil
They stare at him in surprise.
Cut to CHRISTABEL's bedroom. She
is humming to herself and putting the


finishing touches to her hair in the
mirror. A door bell sounds from
below and she hurries away.
Cut to the library where the three men
are now in close conference round the
fire, seated with their heads together.
SMITH: Now, have you got it? You
(to MONSIEUR PUJOL), the Baron de
Mireilles, are being forced to sell
your priceless collection for knock-
down prices. I heard of this Corot
thing through our dear common friend
Jules Dancourt of Rheims (he pro-
nounces it Reems).
PUJOL:
Of where?
POIRON (laconically) Rheims.
PUJOL:
Ahl
SMITH (with passing irritation) I
then mentioned it to young Harry and
arranged that you, the Baron, should
bring the picture over and meet him.
Now I'm a: purely disinterested friend
in all this, do you understand?
PUJOL (with irony) But of course.
SMITH (with a murderous glance) I've
simply brought you all together.
PUJOL: And what about the good Monsieur
Poiron here? I seem to have displaced
him from his earlier function! May
I suggest that he becomes the eminent
Parisian expert who chances to be in
London and has come along at your
request? (With delight) It would
not therefore be proper for Monsieur
Poiron to stay here even for the night,
let- alone two or three days, much less
a week, like myself. He must return
to his hotel after the business has
been concluded.
After all, he's no
longer a baron.
POIRON (oubraged)
Maid pardon! How
can I go' out into the wet?
PUJOL (with a smile, to SMITH) He's
being unreasonable, cher ami. He
must play his rôle. He bas just been
telephoned for. He has rushed over.
And he must rush back again when the
business is fisished. (To POIRON)
Surely for £500 it is worth one night
in the cold?


POIRON: Mais--
PUJOL: And then you know we legionnaires
(touching POIRON's ribbon again) are
used to hardship!
POIRON:
£500? Qu'est-ce que vous
chantez 1à? I want more than 65001
SMITH: You're damned-well not going to
get it!
And as for you (turning to
PUJOL) I'll wring your French neck even
yetl
PUJOL (with a smile) Calm yourself,
monsieur, calm yourself!
THE door opens and CHRISTABEL comes in.
She sees the new stranger.
CHRISTABEL (with surprise) Ohl I beg
your pardon!
SMITH (setting his angry face with great
difficulty as they all rise) This,
my darling, is Monsieur Poiron, the
eminent art expert from Paris who has
been good enough to come and give us the
benefit of his opinion on the picture.
MONSIEUR POIRON bows.
PUJOL: Mademoiselle, your appearance
is like a mirage in. the desert!
CHRISTABEL (with a kind smile for him)
I've been wondering what became of you
all. Harry's been here for the last
half hour.
SMITH: Bring him in, dear child, bring
him inl
(Settling back into the role
of the fine old English gentleman, with
a last leer at MONSIEUR PUJOL). My
good friends are dying to meet him.
CHRISTABEL disappears from the room.
A hurried, muttered conversation takes
place.
SMITH: Now are you all set? (To
POIRON) You're getting &500 and not
a penny more. Start him off at four
or even five. And come down slow.
POIRON:
If he meets my price suppose
we divide eet up and say one thousand.
each!
SMITH: Not on your Aunt Nellie! I
think you'd better play the art expert
and otherwise keep your mouth shut.


Or Monsieur Pujol here might help me
to throw you outl
PUJOL:
That's right.
POIRON: I could reveal you bothl
PUJOL: You? No one believes you when
you tell the truth, let alone when you
tell a liel
POIRON (about to burst, to SMITH)
SMITH: Not a penny more than fivel.
PUJOL: Give him four.
POIRON (jumping up) I'll---!
SMITH (grabbing him by the coat tails
and plonking him back into his seat)
Come here, you toadl Just you behave
and then may be I'll keep to my agree-
ment-
FOIRON: 6501
SMITH:
Sssstt!
The door opens and all three compose
themselves into relaxed and well-
wined attitudes.
CHRISTABEL comes
back with the HONOURABLE HARRY RALSTON
in tow.
RALSTON is tall and soldierly,
with short blond curly hair and a fair
moustache.
His clear eyes seem in-
capable of seeing any harm in his fellow
creature.
Even the House of Commons
seems to him full of honest folk.
SMITH leaps up and ahakes RALSTON's
hand with such violent effusiveness
that the young man winces.
SMITI: Now, Harry, I want you to meet
Baron de Miray.
RALSTON perks up at hearing a title
and gives his hand to MONSIEUR PUJOL
with genuine warmth. This is reciproc-
ated.
SMITH: And Monsieur Poiron. He has
kindly consented to come along (with
a quick steely look of command at POIRON)
to give his opinion as one of the lead-
ing art experts in Paris. He happened
to be in London as a matter of fact, and
his hotel is just across the way.
RALSTON shakes Poiron's hand and then


turns back to MONSIEUR PUJOL.
RALSTON: Well, Monsewer le Baron,
you have a regular beauty there
(noddhng towards the picture). I
wonder how you can manage to part with
PUJOL: Ma foil I have so many
glories of the same kind at the Chateau
de Mireilles that---well, you know,,
when one begins to collect, and one's
father and Erandfather before one,
all touched with the same divine mania-!
POIRON (pleying his part with icy
exactitude) You were saying, Monsieur
le Baron, that your respected grandfathe?
bought this picture direct from Corot
himself---
PUJOL (with a casual wave of his hand)
A commission. As a matter of fact,
my grandfather was a patron of Corot
(he leaves POIRON sourly stunned by
his inventive flair).
RALSTON (to CHRISTABEL) Do you like
it dear?
CHRISTABEL: Oh yest I thinditts
lovely! : (To her father)
I feel the
same as Harry!
(To MONSIEUR PUJOL)
But how can you part with it, Monsewer
le Baron? Imagine all those others--
how lonely they're going to feell
They must look so wonderful side by
side. Were you really serious when you
said I could come along to see them one
day?
PUJOL: For me, mademoiselle (with a
bow), your visit would mean more than
all the pictures in all the chateaux of
Francel
MONSIEUR POIRON turns away with disgust.
CHRISTABEL (to RALSTON) Then you must
take me. The Baron has been telling
us such gorgeous things about his
chateau.
PUJOL:
You will come, Monsieur?
RALSTON (with smiling courtesy) I
KHBMEXHXIXMIKY Since I'm going to rob
you of your picture I suppose I must
agrée to imposing on you a second time.
Yes, I'd love to visit you at home I


(walking towards the picture) It's
superb---it really isl
MONSIEUR PUJOL takes CHRISTABEL aside
as the other three gather round the
picture.
PUJOL (in a whisper) But he's charm-
ing, your fiancél He almost deserves
his happiness!
CHRISTABEL (shyly) why 'almost'?
PUJOL: Because, mademoiselle, it
isn't a man but a demi-god who would
deserve you!
On the other side of the room MONSIEUR
FOIRON is giving his opinion as an art
expert.
POIRON: You see, it is painted at the
beginning of Corot's later manner---it
Quite an old man, you see.
Everything comes easily to him. If
you put this up to auction at Christie's
it fteches, I suppose---(screwing up
his mouth) E5000i
RALSTON (with a laugh) That's more thar
I can afford. Mr Smith mentioned
somet thing between three and four thou-
sand.
I don't think I can go above
three.
SMITH:
Well, this is where I sort of
fade out, dear boy. You wanted a
Corot. And I provided you with one.
It's for the Baron to state his price.
What do you say, Monsieur le Baron?
RALSTON (as everyone waits) Well,
Baron? What's your decision?
MONSIEUR PUJOL, fully aware that he
has the stage, strolls forward to the
picture, gazing at it. He comes to
a firm halt, and stands before it with
a solemn look.
PUJOL:
I'll not take three thousand
for it. A Picture like that? Never!
SMITH seems to want to throw himself
on him.
POIRON (cutting) I assure you it would
be a fair price, Monsieur le Baronl
SMITH (with a threatening gleam in his


eye) You mentioned that figure your-
self only a few moments agol
PUJOL: I presume, gentlemen, that
this picture is my own property?
(to SMITH)
Is it not, cher ami?
SMITH:
kho said it wasn't?
PUJOL (to Poiron) Et vous, Monsieur,
vous reconnez. formalement que celui-
Ià est a moi?
POIRON (through clenched teeth) Sans
aucune doute.
PUJOL: Eh bien!
(Throwing his arms
open and gazing round with a sweet ex-.
pression)
I've changed my mind.
I do not sell the picture at all!
SMITH (almost grabbing him) Not sell
it? What the d---? (checks himself)
What do you mean?
PUJOL: I do not sell. Listen, my dear
friends! I have an announcement to
make! I have fallen desperately in
love with mademoisellel
A gasp all round. SMITH's mouth has
fallen open. He is too surprised to
be aggressive. CHRISTABEL makes a
sound half-way between a laugh and a
scream. RALSTON's eyes flash.
RALSTON: My dear sir---!
PUJOL: Pardon (with a glance at
RALSTON the sweetness of which disarms
him) I have no intention of trying to
take mademoiselle from you! Nol My
love is hopeless! I realise thatl
But it wili nourish me to my dying day
(a new demonstration of disgust from
MONSIEUR POIRON, who almost doubles up).
And in return for the joy of this hope-
less passion I do not sell you the
picture---I give it to you as a wedding
presentl
MONSIEUR PUJOL stands trhumphantly with
his arms extended towards the young
couple while SMITH seems to be doing a
silent war-dance. MONSIEUR POIRON is
demonstrating with a long dry look at
SMITH I-told-you-s0.
PUJOL: I have only one wish---your
happiness!
And, after all, my chateau


de Mireilles has over a hundred
others!
MONSIEUR POIRON nods sceptically.
SMITH (his bald head scarlet) But
this is madness!
RALSTON (to MOISIEUR PUJOL) My dear
fellow! This is unheard-of generosity
on your part.
We simply cannot accept
The relief in SMITH deflates him like
a balloon.
SMITH:
Of course not!
PUJOL (advancing dramatically to. the
picture once more) Then I take it
under my arm! (Almost laying hands on
the picture) I put it in a hansom cab
and return with it to Languedoc!
SMITH grabs him by the wrist and starts
almost pulling him out of the room.
SMITH Qbetween his teeth) But Monsewer
le Baron, let's settle this in another
room---I (To CHRISTABEL) Excuse me,
my dear, I shall settle it all in a
moment! Trust mel The Baron and I
have known each other more years than
you have on your young shoulders, eh,
Baron?.
He slams the door to the drawing room
and - the others are suddenly alone.
Cut to the drawing room where SMITH
is seething with rage.
SMITH: Now what areyou up to, you
bungling goat? Eh? Do you want your
neck broken?
PUJOL:
Do you want the marriage of
your daughter to the rich and honour-
able Harry Ralston? Do you? Or shall
I walk back in there and tell them the
truth?
SMITH (beaten) 111
MONSIEUR FUJOL goes to the library door
and opens it again, too soon for SMITH
to grab his coat tails and draw him
back.
Cut to the library as MONSIEUR PUJOL
returns.


PUJOL: The kind Mr Smith has con-
sented. Mr Honourable Harry and
Miss Christabel---here is your Corot!
And now, may I be permitted?
SMITH appears from behind, exhausted,
as MONSIEUR PUJOL strides across to
the bell and pulls it.
SMITH watches
him with something like fascination.
CHRISTABEL (going to her father happily)
Tatherl
SMITH (jelly-eyed) My sweetheart!
A SERVANT appears in answer to the bell
and looks at SMITH questioningly.
PUJOL (to SERVANT) Some champagne
to drink the health of the fiancés!
Lots of champagne!
SERVANT looks with surprise at
SMITH who nods helplessly.
SMITH (half-choked) That's it.
Bring up a magnum.
SERVANT leaves.
SMITH (disentangling himself from his
daughter and going to MONSIEUR PUJOL)
Myi.dear Baron! (Taking MONSIEUR PUJOL
by the arm and walking him away) By
God, you've got some nerve haben't you?
But just think this one out, as you're
so damned clever. What about your
chateau when they're on their honey-
moon? Are you still going to invite
them? Even you can t build a castle
in a month!
PUJOL: Tomorrow morning you will
arrange to send me a telegram from
Aigues-Mortes in Provence telling me
that the historic chateau of Mireilles
has been burned to the ground with all
the pictures in it.
just to
think, the pictures woredls even in-
suredi
SMITH: Good Godl What a thorough crook
you arel
PUJOL: He '11 believe every word.
He believes anything, even (as THE
SERVANT enters the room with champagne)
that you are a good man.
SMITH: I can see I've got a lot to
learn from you. Why don 't you stay


for the wedding in a month's time?
PUJOL: I don't mind if I dol
SMITH chuckles piggishly as they all
gather round for the champagne to be
popped.
SMITH does the uncorking,
taking the magnum roughly from THE
SERVANT. And during the popping and
the pouring and the drinking the
credits come up.