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

Don't think I'm believing in you. [ Walking round the front of the bottle, as if to test Fakrash by touching him. ] I've sense enough to know you're not real !

[He withdraws his hand without venturing upon the experiment.

Stroke thy head and recover thy faculties! I am real, even as thou art.

[ He touches Horace's shoulder ; Horace recoils.

I shall come round in time! [ By the table, to Fakrash.] You tell me you've just come out of this bottle?

Dost thou doubt that it is even as I have said?

Well, I should have thought myself you'd take a bigger size in bottles. But of course, I couldn't doubt you if I saw you get into it again.

That would be the easiest of actions! [ He makes a sudden swooping movement, as though to re-enter the bottle, and then thinks better of it. ] But I should indeed be a silly-bearded one to do this thing, since thou mightst be tempted to seal me up once more!

[ Disappointed, and backing against table, half afraid. ] Too knowing an old bird to be caught like that, aren't you? But I don't mind! You'll disappear presently.

True, O young man of perfect qualities and good works! But I will not leave thee before I have rewarded thy kindness. For in the sky it is written upon the pages of the air: "He who doeth kind actions shall experience the like!" Therefore – [ with a lordly gesture ] – demand of me what thou wilt, and thou shalt receive!

Oh, I shall be awake so soon it's not worth while troubling you.

Dismiss bashfulness from thee. [ Advancing towards him. ] For by thy hand hath my deliverance been accomplished, and if I were to serve thee for a thousand years, regarding nothing else, even thus could I not requite thee!

[ Retreating in some alarm to window. ] Look here. I don't want anything , and – and the best thing you can do is to vanish.

[ At back of table. ] Not till thou hast told me thy name and the trade that thou followest.

Oh, you'll go then ? [Fakrash assents. ] Well, I'll humour you. My name is Horace Ventimore, and I'm an architect. I get my living by building houses, you know. Or rather, I should , if I could only get hold of a client – which I can't.

[ Coming down nearer bottle. ] Grant thy servant a period of delay, and it may be that I can procure thee a client.

Good old Arabian Nights again! You'd better not make the delay long – my head will be clear very soon.

Greater rewards by far will I bestow upon thee, most meritorious of men! But now – [ going up to right ] – I must leave thee for a season.

I knew I was coming round – you'll be gone directly.

Aye, for I must seek out Suleymán – [ salaaming ] – on whom be peace! – and obtain pardon from him.

[He waves his arm, and the door at back flies open.

[ Eagerly. ] Yes – I would ! You go and do that ! Make haste! [ The door closes, leaving Fakrash visible through it in an unearthly light. ] Good-bye – and good luck!

[ Through door. ] To thee also! And be assured that I will not be unmindful of thy welfare!

[ The door becomes solid as Fakrash vanishes.

[ Rubbing his eyes. ] What a queer dream! [ He goes up to the door, opens it, then returns and sits by table. ] So vivid! [ He sees the brass bottle on the floor. ] Open! [ Looking inside it. ] Empty! H'm, better get it out of the way.

[ He takes the bottle in one hand and the cap in the other, and carries them into the bedroom on right. The moment he has gone there is a rush of wind, and then a heavy thud on the balcony outside, and Mr. Wackerbath, a stout, prosperous-looking, elderly gentleman, in tall hat, frock-coat, white waistcoat, &c., reels through the open window into the room, and sinks into the armchair on left of tablet where he sits puffing and blowing.

[ Feebly. ] Where am I? How did I – ? [ He takes off his hat. ] Ah, of course! I remember now. [ He rises as Horace enters from bedroom. ] Mr. – ah – Ventimore, I think? Mr. Horace Ventimore?

[ Slightly surprised. ] Yes, that's my name. [ Offering chair on right of table. ] Won't you sit down?

Thank you – I will. [ He sits down. ] I – I ought to apologise for dropping in on you in this – ah – unceremonious way – but I acted, I may say – ah – on a sudden impulse.

I'm afraid I haven't much time to spare – but if it's anything of importance —

[ Panting. ] You must give me a little time – till I – ah – get my wind again.

Certainly. I know the stairs here are rather steep.

Are they? I don't remember noticing them. However! My name, Mr. Ventimore, is Wackerbath – Samuel Wackerbath, of Wackerbath and Greatrex, a firm of auctioneers and estate agents whose name may – ah – possibly be not unfamiliar to you.

[ Who has obviously never heard it before. ] Oh, of course – of course.

I may tell you that for the last few years I have rented an old place – Moatham Abbey they call it – in Surrey, which is not quite as up-to-date as I could wish in the matter of modern conveniences.

That's not unusual with ancient abbeys, is it?

[ Solemnly. ] Precisely. Well, to come to the point, I've lately acquired some land in the neighbourhood of Surrey and Hampshire, with a view to building a country residence. [Horace becomes more interested, and seats himself at table on Mr. Wackerbath's right. ] You see, there's an excellent site – on a hill with a south aspect, just above the village of Lipsfield, and overlooking the valley and river —

[ Making a note. ] Well, Mr. Wackerbath – ?

Well, as I was saying only a minute or two ago to a friend as we were crossing Westminster Bridge on our way to Waterloo – [ He pauses, with an endeavour to recollect. ] Where was I?

Waterloo.

Ah, yes. I remarked to him: "All I require is a thoroughly capable architect." [Horace grows alert and excited. ] And instantly your name flashed across my mind. So I – ah – hurried off at once, and – here I am !

[ With a sudden misgiving. ] May I ask – you – you weren't recommended to me by – by – [ he looks round at the door through which Fakrash has vanished ] – any one?

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