F. Anstey - The Brass Bottle - A Farcical Fantastic Play in Four Acts

[ Still at door, looking after Sylvia.] A little over six weeks.

And I have known her for as many years!

[ Closing door, and coming towards him. ] Have you, though? I noticed the Professor was uncommonly cordial to you. Look here, are you doing anything this evening?

Er – no. That is, nothing particular. Why?

Because it would be friendly of you if you'd come and dine here. They're coming, you know.

I know. [ After a moment's hesitation. ] Thanks, I don't mind if I do.

Capital! I'm sure if any one can keep the old man in a good humour, you can.

[ Sourly. ] I see. You want me to engage him in conversation and leave you free to carry on your flirtation with Miss Futvoye unobserved?

Not quite that. There's nothing underhand about it. We're engaged, you know.

Engaged! [ After a pause. ] And how long have you been that?

Only since the day before yesterday.

[ Blankly. ] Oh! [ He walks down to window. ] I congratulate you; er – heartily, of course. [ Looking out of window. ] And – and when do you think of being married?

It's no use thinking of that, at present. Not till the Professor takes a rosier view of my prospects, at all events. But if, like a good fellow, you could put in a word for me, it would give me no end of a leg up!

[ Dully, with his face still averted. ] You don't seem to realise what you're asking!

[ Suddenly understanding, with compunction. ] My dear chap! [ He puts both his hands on Pringle's shoulders. ] What a selfish brute I've been not to see! I am sorry!

[ Stiffly. ] As a matter of fact, I'd quite made up my mind to propose to her – as soon as I'd got those country jobs off my mind. And now I find you 've cut in before me!

Well, it's straight of you to tell me. I suppose you'd rather come and dine some other evening? If so —

No. A promise is a promise. I'll come. Mind you, I don't pretend it won't be an effort – but I'll see what I can do for you.

[ Gratefully. ] You are a good chap, Pringle! – one of the best! Though, really, after what you've told me, I hardly like —

Not another word. Anything I can say on your behalf – without too wide a departure from strict accuracy – I'll say with pleasure. [ Going up to door. ] Eight o'clock's the hour, isn't it? All right. [ He goes out. ]

[ To himself. ] I've loosened it. [ He seizes the cap and tries to screw it off. ] It's giving !

[ Sitting up and rubbing the back of his head; faintly. ] Hullo! Is any one there? Who's that come in?

[ In an attitude of supplication. ] Towbah! Yah nebbi Ullah! Anna lah amill Kathahlik ibadan! Wullah-hi!

I daresay you're perfectly right, sir – but I've no idea what you're talking about.

[ Repeating the Arabic sentence. ] Towbah! (&c. &c.) Wullah-hi!

[ About to raise himself, sees the figure for the first time, and falls back astonished; then, recovering himself. ] I suppose you've just taken the rooms on the ground-floor – so you must be able to make yourself understood in English?

[ The room has grown lighter, and he is seen to be in dull-green robes and a high-peaked turban. His long grey beard is divided into three thin strands; his eyes are slightly slanted, and his expression is a curious mixture of fatuous benignity, simplicity, and cunning. ] Assuredly I can speak so as to be understood of all men.

Then it's as well to do it. What was it you said just now?

I said: "Repentance, O Prophet of Allah! I will not return to the like conduct ever!"

Oh, I beg your pardon. [ Sitting up again. ] Thought you were speaking to me . But I say – [ looking up at him ] – how do you come to be here?

Surely by thine own action!

I see. You ran up to see what was the matter. Fact is, my head's still rather buzzy. I fancy I must have hit it somehow when I was trying to open that jar.

Then it was thy hand and none other that removed the stopper?

I – I suppose so. All I know is that something went off with a bang. I can't imagine what could have been inside the beastly thing!

Who else but I myself?

[ Slowly rising to his feet. ] You must have your little joke, eh? [ He reels against the table. ] Or did I misunderstand you? My head's in such a muddle!

I tell thee that I have been confined within that accursed vessel for centuries beyond all calculation.

You can't pull my leg like that, you know! Seriously, just tell me who you are .

Know then that he who now addresseth thee is none other than Fakrash-el-Aamash, a Jinnee of the Green Jinn.

[ Half to himself. ] Singular, "Jinnee" – plural, "Jinn." Where did I hear that? I – I shall remember presently.

I dwelt in the Palace of the Mountain of the Clouds in the Garden of Irem, above the City of Babel.

[ To himself. ] Why, of course ! Sylvia! The Arabian Nights! [ To Fakrash.] I can quite account for you now – but go on.

For a certain offence that I committed, the wrath of Suleymán, the son of Dáood – on whom be peace! – [ he salaams ] – was heavy against me, and he commanded that I should be enclosed within a bottle of brass, and thrown into the Sea of El-Karkar, there to abide the Day of Doom.