All language subtitles for b.s03e03.720p.bluray.x264-stories_track3_[eng]

(THEME MUSIC PLAYING)

Ooh, la, la! (LAUGHING)

-Ah, good morning, Mrs Miggins.
-Bonjour, monsieur!

What?

Bonjour, monsieur! It's French.

So is eating frogs, cruelty to geese,
and urinating in the street.

But that's no reason
to inflict it on the rest of us.

But French is all the fashion!

My coffee shop is full of Frenchies.

And it's all because
of that wonderful Scarlet Pimpernel!

The Scarlet Pimpernel
is not wonderful, Mrs Miggins.

There is no reason whatsoever
to admire someone

for filling London with a load
of garlic-chewing French toffs

crying "Ooh-la-la" and looking
for sympathy all the time

just because their fathers
had their heads cut off!

I'll have a cup of coffee
and some shepherd's pie, please.

Oh! We don't serve pies any more.

My French clientele
consider pies uncouth.

Well, I hardly think that a nation
that eats snails

and would go to bed with
the kitchen sink if it put on a tutu

is in any position to preach couthness!

So what is on the menu?

Well, today's hot choice,

is Chicken Pimpernel in a Scarlet sauce.

Scarlet Chicken in a Pimpernel sauce,

or huge suspicious-looking sausages

in a Scarlet Pimpernel sauce.

What exactly is Scarlet Pimpernel sauce?

You take a large, ripe frog,
squeeze it...

Yes, yes, all right. I'm off to the pub.

-Ah, Bonjour, monsieur!
-Sod off.

(CAT MEOWING)

(CAT YOWLING)

Oh, sir, poor little Mildred the cat!

What's he ever done to you?

It is the way of the world, Baldrick.

The abused always kick downwards.

I'm annoyed
and so I kick the cat, the cat...

-(SQUEAKING)
-...pounces on the mouse,

-and finally the mouse...
-Argh!

...bites you on the behind.

-What do I do?
-Nothing.

You are last in God's great chain.

Unless of course, there's an earwig
around that you'd like to victimise.

Baldrick, what's happened
to your nose?

Nice, innit?

No, it isn't. It's revolting.

Oh, I'll take it off then.

Baldrick, why are you
wearing a false boil?

What are we to expect next?

A beauty wart? A cosmetic verruca?

-It's a Scarlet Pimple, sir.
-Really?

Yeah, they're all the rage down our way.

Everyone wants to express
their admiration

for the great Pimple
and his brilliant disguises.

(SINGING) # 7hey seek him here
They seek him there #

# Those Frenchies seek him everywhere #

# Is he in heaven or is he in hell #

And what's that revolting garlic smell?

Baldrick, what has this fellow done?

Apart from pop over to France,

to grab a few French nobs
from the ineffectual clutches

of some malnourished, whingeing lefties,

taking the opportunity,
while there, no doubt,

to pick up some really good cheap wine

and some of their
marvellous open fruit flans!

Doesn't anyone know? We hate the French.
We fight wars against them.

Did all those men die in vain
on the field of Agincourt?

Was the man who burnt Joan of Arc
simply wasting good matches?

(BELL RINGING)

Ah, His Royal Highness,
the Pinhead of Wales summons me.

You know, I feel almost well-disposed
towards him this morning.

Utter chump though he may be,
at least he's not French.

Untoast! Encore un toast! I say.

-Le Pimpernel Scarlet!
-BOTH: Le Pimpernel Scarlet!

Ah! Le Adder No/r/ Come you in!

This is the fellow to ask, you chaps.

My butler. Terribly clever.
Brighter than a brain pie.

(LAUGHING HAUGHTILY)

Ah, Blackadder, we're trying to guess
who the Scarlet Pimpernel is,

so we can send him an enormous
postal order to express our admiration.

Any ideas?

Well, I'm sure if you address
the envelope to

"The Biggest Show-off in London",
it would reach him eventually.

Tish and pish!

Gadzooks! Malarkey!

How dare you say such a thing?

Damn you, sir,
if you're not the worst kind of swine!

Damn that swine!

I'm sorry, sir.
I was merely pointing out

that sneaking aristocrats out from under
the noses of French revolutionaries

is as about as difficult
as putting on a hat.

Sink me, sir, this is treason!

The Scarlet Pimpernel is a hero.

And the revolution is orchestrated
by a ruthless band

of highly organised killers!

-Damn them.
-Damn those organised killers!

George, if I remember rightly,

we were just discussing
the French Embassy Ball

in honour of the exiled aristocracy.

We certainly were.

Where I intend to wear
the most magnificent pair of trousers

ever to issue forth from the delicate
hands of Messers Snibcock and Turkey,

couturiers to the very wealthy
and the extremely fat.

If the Pimpernel
does finally reveal himself,

I don't want to get caught out
wearing boring trousers.

Damn those boring trousers!

Well, what say we bet
your cocksure domestic 1,000 guineas

that he can't go to France,
rescue an aristocrat

and present him at the ball.

Ha! That's turned you white, hasn't it?

That's frightened you, you lily-livered,

caramel-kidneyed, custard-coloured cad.

-Not so buoyant now, are you, eh? Eh?
-Eh?

On the contrary, sir.
I'll just go and pack.

Oh.

Perhaps Lord Smedley
and Lord Topper will accompany me.

I'm sure it'll be a fairly easy trip.

The odd death defying leap,
and a modest amount of dental torture.

Want to come?

-Oh, no! Damn!
-Oh, no! Damn!

Any day now,
I've got an appointment with my doctor.

I've got a bit of a sniffle coming on,
I can feel it in my bones.

Damn bones, damn bones, damn...

What about next week?

Oh, come on, you chaps,
get your diaries out, come on.

Alright.

-Damn.
-Damn.

-I've left it behind!
-Behind!

And, besides, I've just remembered,
my father's just died.

I've got to be at his funeral
in 10 minutes. Damn sorry!

Goodbye, your Highness!

Oh, damn!

I'm the best man.

Damn that dead father!
Damn him! Goodbye.

See you at the ball.

Oh, what a shame they were so busy.

It would have been lovely
to have had them with us.

-Us?
-Yes.

-You're coming, sir?
-Oh, certainly.

Ah.

And nothing I can say

about the mind-bending horrors
of the revolution could put you off?

Absolutely not!

Now, come on, Blackadder,
let's get packing.

I want to look my best
for those fabulous French birds.

Sir, the type of women
currently favoured in France

are toothless crones
who just cackle insanely.

Oh, ignore that,
they're just playing hard to get.

By removing all their teeth,
going mad and ageing 40 years?

That's right, the little teasers!

Well, come on, um...
I think a blend of silks and satins.

I fear not, sir.

If we are to stand any chance
of survival in France,

we shall have to dress
as the smelliest low-life imaginable.

Oh, yes, what sort of thing?

Well, sir, let me show you
our Paris Collection.

Baldrick is wearing
a sheep's bladder jacket,

with matching dung-ball accessories.

Hair by Crazy Meg of Bedlam Hair.

Notice how the overpowering aroma
of rotting pilchards

has been woven cunningly
into the ensemble.

Baldrick, when did you last change
your trousers?

-I've never changed my trousers.
-Thank you.

You see the ancient Greeks,
sir, wrote in legend

of a terrible container in which
all the evils of the world were trapped.

How prophetic they were.
All they got wrong was the name.

They called it "Pandora's Box",

when, of course, they meant
"Baldrick's Trousers".

It certainly can get a bit whiffy,
there's no doubt about that.

We are told that
when the box was opened,

the whole world turned to darkness
because of Pandora's fatal curiosity.

I charge you now, Baldrick,
for the good of all mankind,

never allow curiosity to lead you
to open your trousers.

Nothing of interest lies therein.

However, Your Highness,
it is trousers exactly like these

that you will have to wear
if we are to pass safely into France.

(CLEARS THROAT) Yes, well, you know,

on second thought, I think I might
give this whole thing a miss.

You know, my tummy's playing up a bit.

Ah, wish I could come,
but just not poss with this tum.

I understand perfectly, sir.

Also, the chances of me scoring
if I look and smell like him are zero.

That's true, sir.

We shall return presently
to bid you farewell.

Mr B, I've been having second thoughts
about this trip to France.

Oh, why?

Well, as far as I can see,

looking and smelling like this

there's not much chance
of me scoring, either.

-Well, Blackadder, this is it.
-Yes, sir.

If I don't make it back,
please write to my mother

and tell her
that I've been alive all the time,

it's just that I couldn't be bothered
to get in touch with the old bat.

Well, of course, old man.
It's the very least I could do.

We must leave at once.

The shadows lengthen

and we have a long and arduous journey
ahead of us.

Farewell, dear master
and, dare I say, friend.

Farewell, brave liberator,
and dare I say it, butler.

Right, stick the kettle on, Balders.

What, aren't we going to France?

Of course we're not going to France.

It's incredibly dangerous there.

Well, how are you going to win your bet?

As always, Baldrick, by the use
of the large thing between my ears.

Oh, your nose.

No, Baldrick, my brain.

All we do is lie low here for a week,

then go to Mrs Miggins', pick up
any old French aristocrat,

drag him through a puddle,
take him to the ball

and claim our 1,000 guineas.

Well, what if the Prince finds us here?

He can't find his own fly-buttons.
Let alone the kitchen door.

What a pair of trousers!

I shall be the belle
of the Embassy Ball!

Now, how do you put them on? Blackadder!

Oh, no, damn! He's gone to France.

Well, I'll do it myself.
Shouldn't be too difficult. Erm...

Er...

Well, Baldrick,
what a very pleasant week.

We must do this more often.

Yes, I shall certainly choose

revolutionary France
for my holiday again next year.

Now, time to go to work.

Off to Mrs Miggins'
to pick up any old French toff.

(BANGING)

What do you think that is?

Well, if I was feeling malicious,

I'd say it's the Prince still trying
to put his trousers on after a week.

Oh, damn!

Ah, Mrs Miggins.

I'd like a massive plate
of pigs’ trotters,

frogs’ legs, and snails’ ears, please,

all drenched in your lovely
Scarlet Pimpernel sauce.

Not so hostile
to the Frenchies now, Mr B.

Certainly not, Mrs M.
I'd sooner be hostile to my own servant.

In fact, I came here specifically
to meet lovely Frenchies.

Well, vive to that
and an eclair for both of us!

Vive, indeed.
Now, what I'm looking for, Mrs M,

is a particular kind of Frenchie,

namely one who
is transparently of noble blood,

but also short on cash.

Oh, I've got just the fellow for you,

over there by the window,

the Comte de Frou-Frou.

He's pretty down on his luck,

and he's made that horse's willy
last all morning.

We have struck garlic!

-Now you can have some lunch, Baldrick.
-Thank you.

Le Comte de Frou-Frou, I believe.

Eh?

-Do you speak English?
-A little.

Yes, when you say "a little"
what exactly do you mean?

I mean, can we talk,
or are we going to spend

the rest of the afternoon asking
each other the way to the beach

in very loud voices?

Ah, no. I can order coffee,
deal with waiters,

make sexy chit-chat with girls,
that type of thing.

Oh, good.

Just don't ask me
to take a physiology class

or direct a light opera.

No, I won't.

Now, listen, Frou-Frou,
would you like to earn some money?

No, I wouldn't.

I would like other people to earn it
and then give it to me.

Just like in France
in the good old days.

Yes, but this is a chance to return
to the good old days.

Oh, how I would love that!

I hate this life! The food is filthy!

This huge sausage is very suspicious.

If I didn't know better,
I'd say it was a horse's...

Yes, yes, all right. Now, listen.

The plan is this.

I have a bet on with someone
that I can get a Frenchman out of Paris.

I want you to be that Frenchman.

All you have to do
is come to the embassy with me,

say that I rescued you,

and then walk away with 50 guineas

and all the vol-au-vents
you can stuff in your pockets.

-What do you say?
-It will be a pleasure.

If there's one thing we aristocrats
enjoy it's a fabulous party.

Oh, the music!
Oh, the laughter!

If only I'd brought my mongoose costume.

Yes, well, obviously
it hasn't really got going yet.

I think that is a bit of
an understatement, Frou-Frou.

I've been at autopsies
with more party atmosphere.

Don't worry! In a moment we will hear
the sound of music and happy laughter.

(LAUGHING MENACINGLY)

(BOTH SPEAKING FRENCH)

Ah, good evening, my man.

-Do you speak English?
-A little.

Good, well just take me
to the Ambassador then, will you?

Pardon?

I have rescued an aristocrat

from the clutches
of the evil revolutionaries.

Please take me to the Ambassador.

No, I won't.

I am an evil revolutionary

and I have murdered the Ambassador

and turned him into pate.

-Ah.
-And you, aristo-pig, are trapped.

Pig? Ha!

You will regret your insolence,
revolutionary dog.

Dog? Ha!

You will regret your arrogance,
royalist snake.

Snake? Ha!

I'm sorry to interrupt
this very interesting discussion,

but, really, it is none of my business,

so I think I'll be on my way.
Come on, Baldrick.

Ah, ah, ah. Not so fast, English!

In rescuing this bo/te de stinky weed,

you have attempted to pervert
revolutionary justice.

Do you know what they do
to people who do that?

They're given a little present
and allowed to go free?

No.

They're smacked and told not
to be naughty, but basically let off.

-No.
-I think I know.

-What?
-They're put in prison for the night

and brutally guillotined in the morning.

Well done, Baldrick.

Your little gnome is correct, mons/eur.

Gentlemen!
Welcome to the last day of your life!

How dare you, you filthy weasel.

Weasel? Ha!

You're one to talk, aristo-warthog.

-Warthog? Ha!
-Ha! |

Excuse me, Frou-Frou.
Look, mate, me old mate...

We're both working class.

We both hate these rich bastards.
I mean, come on.

Come on, me old mucker.

Just let me go,
you've got nothing against me.

On the contrary.

I hate you English
with your boring trousers

and your shiny toilet paper

and your ridiculous preconception
that Frenchmen are great lovers.

I'm French and I'm hung
like a baby carrot

and a couple of petits pois.

Farewell, old mucker,
and death to the aristos!

-Death to the aristos!
-Shut up, mousebrain!

Monsieur, why do you
waste your words on this scum?

Have no fear!

-The Scarlet Pimpernel will save us.
-Ha! Some hope.

The Pimpernel is the most
overrated human being

since Judas Iscariot won the A.D. 31
Best Disciple Competition.

Well, if he should fail us, here,

I have these suicide pills.

One for me, one for you,

and one for the dwarf.

-Say thank you, Baldrick.
-Thank you, Mr Frou.

(KEYS JINGLING)

-Ah, the Pimpernel!
-Hooray!

Ah, the Ambassador, hooray.

Hmm, I've got nothing to do.

So I think I will torture...

You, aristo-mongrel!

Mongrel? Ha!
I look forward to it, proletarian skunk!

Skunk? Ha!

We'll see about that,
aristocratic happypotamus!

Happypotamus? Ha!
We'll soon see who's the happypotamus.

I'm glad to say,

I don't think you'll be needing
those pills, Mr B.

Am I jumping the gun, Baldrick,

or are the words
"I have a cunning plan"

marching with ill-deserved confidence

in the direction of this conversation?

They certainly are!

Forgive me if I don't jump up
and down with glee,

your record in this department
is not exactly 100%.

-So, what's the plan?
-We do nothing.

Yep, that's another world-beater.

Wait, I haven't finished.

We do nothing until our heads
have actually been cut off.

And then we spring into action?

Exactly!

You know how when
you cut a chicken's head off,

-it runs round and round the farmyard?
-Yeah.

Well, we wait until
our heads have been cut off,

then we run round
and round the farmyard,

out the farm gate and escape.

What do you think?

My opinions are rather difficult
to express in words.

So, perhaps I can put it this way...

It doesn't really matter,

cos the Scarlet Pimpernel
will save us, anyway.

No, he won't, Baldrick.

Either I think up an idea,
or tomorrow we die,

which, Baldrick, I have to tell you,
I have no intention of doing,

because I want to be young and wild,

and then I want
to be middle-aged and rich,

and then I want to be old
and annoy people

by pretending that I'm deaf.

Just be quiet and let me think.

-BALDRICK: I can't sleep, Mr Blackadder.
-I said, shut up!

I'm so excited to think
that the Scarlet Pimpernel

will be here at any moment.

I wish you'd forget
this ridiculous fantasy, Baldrick.

Even if he did turn up,
the guards would be woken

by the scraping noise

as he tried to squeeze his massive,
swollen head through the door.

I couldn't sleep when I was little.

You still are little, Baldrick.

Yeah, well, when I was even Littler.

See, we used to live
in this haunted hovel.

Every night, my family were troubled

by a visitation from
this disgusting ghoul.

It was terrible.

First there was this unholy smell,

then this tiny, clammy, hairy creature

would materialise in the bed
between them.

Fortunately, I could never
see it myself.

Yes, tell me, Baldrick,
when you left home,

did this repulsive entity
mysteriously disappear?

That very day.

I think then
that the mystery is solved.

Now, shut up.

Either I think of an idea,
or tomorrow we meet our maker.

In my case, God.
In your case, God knows,

but I'd be surprised
if he's won any design awards.

Wait a minute,

-I've thought of a plan!
-BALDRICK: Hooray!

BLACKADDER: Also, I thought
of a way to get you to sleep.

-BALDRICK: What? Ow!
-(THUDDING)

Morning, scum.
Did we sleep well?

Like a tot, thank you.

But, by jiminy,
you must be feeling thirsty

after your long night's brutality.

Drink?

Oh, non, merci, not while I'm on duty.

Ah, perhaps later.

For you, /ons/eur, there is no later.

Because gentlemen,
I am proud to introduce

France's most vicious woman,

unexpectedly arrived
from Paris this morning.

Would you please welcome
Madame Guillotine herself!

(CACKLING)

(SHRILL VOICE)
Are these the English pigs?

Yes, that's us.

Leave them with me,
Monsieur Ambassadeur.

I intend to torture them
in a manner so unbearably gruesome,

even you will not be able to stand it!

I don't think
I will have a problem, madame.

No, you will be sick.

What if I stay for the first few minutes

and I'll leave if I'm feeling queasy.

No, you will be sick immediately.

What if I am sick quietly, in a bag?

I mean, what is in your mind?

(MUMBLING)

(RETCHING)

So! Scum!

Prepare to be in pain!

Yes, certainly.

But first, perhaps,
a toast to your beauty.

Oh, thank you. Okay.

Cheers.

So I expect you were
expecting to be rescued, huh?

Huh, some bloody hope.

(NORMAL VOICE) On the contrary!
I'm just sorry I'm so late.

What?

Yes, Gentlemen,
I have come to take you to freedom!

-Hooray!
-My God, Smedley!

But I thought you
were an absolute fathead.

No, just a damn fine actor!

Thank God I got here before you took
any of those awful suicide pills!

Yes, I suppose, if someone had taken one

and wished that he hadn't,
he'd be able to do something about it.

No, no, they're very
odd things, you see.

The symptoms are most peculiar.

First of all, the victims become
very, very depressed.

Oh, God!

This whole revolution is so depressing,

I mean, sometimes
I wonder why I bother.

I mean, I'm so lonely,
and nobody loves me.

And after the depression comes death?

No, after the depression
comes the loss of temper,

you stuck-up bastard!

-What are you staring at?
-Oh.

And after the temper comes death?

No! After the temper comes the, er...

-Comes the, er...
-Forgetfulness?

-Er, yes, that's it. Er, comes the...
-Forgetfulness.

Yes, yes.
Right in the middle of a thingy,

you completely forget what it was you...
Oh, nice pair of shoes!

And after the forgetfulness, you die?

Oh, no! I forgot one!

After the forgetfulness
comes a moment of exquisite happiness!

Jumping up and down,
and waving your arms in the air,

and knowing that in a minute
we're all going to be free! Free! Free!

-And then death?
-No, you jump in the corner first.

-Hooray! It's the Scarlet Pimpernel!
-Yes, Baldrick.

-And you killed him!
-Yes, Baldrick.

What's the bloody point
of being the Scarlet Pimpernel

if you're going to fall for
the old poisoned cup routine?

Scarlet Pimpernel, my foot.
Scarlet Git, more like it.

Wait! Here's our chance to escape!

But what about Mr Frou?

Forget Frou-Frou.

I wouldn't pick my nose
to save his life.

Ah, Frou-Frou, my old friend
and comrade, what are you doing here?

I escaped! What happened here?

Oh, er, nothing, nothing.

Er, I thought for a moment
the Scarlet Pimpernel had saved you.

(LAUGHING)

Ah, chaps, good to see you.

Just trying on the new trousers.

I return, sir, aS promised,

plus one toff French aristocrat
fresh from the Bastille.

Ah, pleased to meet you, mons/eur.
Do sit down.

Enchante.

Damn sorry about the revolution
and all that caper.

Most awfully bad luck.

So tell me, Blackadder,
how the devil did you get him out?

Sir, it's an extraordinary tale
of courage and heroism

which I blush from telling myself,

-but seeing as there's no one else...
-I could try.

We left England in good weather,

but that was as far as our luck held.

In the middle of Dover harbour,

we were struck by a tidal wave.

And I was forced to swim to Boulogne

with the unconscious Baldrick
tucked into my trousers.

Then, we were taken to Paris,

where I was summarily tried
and condemned to death,

and then hung by the larger
of my testicles

from the walls of the Bastille.

It was then that
I decided I had had enough.

Bravo!

I rescued the Count,

killed the guards, jumped the moat,

ran to Versailles,

where I climbed
into Mr Robespierre's bedroom,

leaving him a small tray
of milk chocolates

and an insulting note.

The rest was easy.

That is an incredible story,

worthy of the Scarlet Pimpernel himself.

Well, I wouldn't know.

I, on the other hand, would.

Because, you see, Sir...

(ENGLISH ACCENT)
I am the Scarlet Pimpernel.

-Uh-oh.
-BALDRICK: Hooray!

-Good Lord! Topper!
-Yes, Your Highness.

But egads and by jingo with dumplings,

steak and kidneys,
and a good solid helping of sprouts,

I can't believe it!

You're the fellow
who has single-handedly

saved all those damn Frenchies
from the chop?

Not quite single-handedly, sir.

I operated with the help
of my friend, Smedley,

but he seems to have disappeared
for the moment,

slightly mysteriously.

-Shut up, Baldrick.
-Yes, Mr Blackadder.

So Blackadder rescued
the Scarlet Pimpernel.

-No, sir, he did not.
-Eh?

Prepare yourself for a story
of dishonour and deceit

that will make your stomach turn.

This is interesting,
isn't it, Blackadder?

Not only that,

but I trust it will lead
to the imprisonment of a man

who is a liar, a bounder and a cad.

Oh, bravo,

because we hate liars,
bounders and cads, don't we, Blackadder?

Generally speaking, yes, sir.

But perhaps before
Lord Topper starts to talk,

he might like a glass of wine.

-He's looking a little shaken.
-Shaken, but not stirred.

It all began last week.

I was sitting in Mrs Miggins'
coffee shop when...

Oh, God!

All this treachery is so depressing.

I mean, the whole thing
Just makes you incredibly angry!

And it just makes you want to...

Nice waistcoat, Your Majesty.

I'm sorry, I've completely forgotten
what I was talking about.

A story of dishonour and deceit...

Oh, that's a great story!
That's great!

Oh, that's a wonderful story!

Let me just jump into the corner first.

Roast my raisins! He's popped it!

I say, Blackadder, do you think
he really was the Scarlet Pimpernel?

Well, judging from the ridiculous
ostentatiousness of his death,

I would say that he was.

Well, then, that's a damn shame,

because I wanted to give him
this enormous postal order.

Please, sir, let me finish.

I would say that he wasn't.

You see, the Scarlet Pimpernel
would never, ever reveal his identity.

That's his great secret.

So what you're actually looking for

is someone who has,
say, just been to France

and rescued an aristocrat,

but when asked,
"Are you the Scarlet Pimpernel?"

He replies, "Absolutely not."

But, wait a minute!
Blackadder, you've just been to France,

and you've rescued a French aristocrat.

Oh, Blackadder,
are you the Scarlet Pimpernel?

Absolutely not, sir.

Hooray!