The Brass Bottle: A Farcical Fantastic Play in Four Acts

SCENE II

The scene represents the drawing-room at 47 Cottesmore Gardens, Kensington.

It is a pleasant room, tastefully furnished. On the left a recessed fireplace, in which are ferns; on the mantelpiece are some large blue and white beakers and vases. On the right a bay-window and window-seat. The windows are wide open, showing window-boxes filled with scarlet geraniums and marguerites, and a quiet street with detached houses. At the back, on the right, is a door opening on the hall. To the left of this door are sliding-doors shutting off the Professor's study. In front of these sliding-doors is a long high backed sofa, completely covered in chintz, the flounce of which touches the floor. At the rising of the curtain these doors are closed. Behind them are curtains. Near the fireplace are an armchair and a small table. Against the wall, below the fireplace, is a cabinet. Between the sliding-doors and the door to the hall is another cabinet with door, which, when opened, shows shelves filled with ancient pottery. Above the bay-window is a bureau. Below it are a sofa and a small table.

As the curtain rises Mrs. Futvoye is seen seated in chair by the fireplace, trying to do some embroidery, though her thoughts are evidently elsewhere. From behind the sliding-doors proceed sounds as of some animal kicking and plunging.

Sylvia's voice is then heard crying: "Father, please don't!" [A succession of dull thuds as of battering hoofs.] "Oh, do take care!"

[Lays down her work, rises, goes to the sliding-doors, and knocks.] Anthony! Don't go on like that, for goodness' sake! You must try and control yourself! Just think, if the servants heard you! [Jessie, a neat parlour-maid in morning costume, pink print, cap, and apron, enters from hall; Mrs. Futvoye hurriedly leaves the sofa by the sliding-doors, goes back to her chair, and takes up her work with an elaborate assumption of perfect calm.] What is it, Jessie? I haven't rung.

I know, madam. But there's such a noise in the master's study I was afraid something had happened.

[Severely.] Then it was very foolish of you. What should have happened? If you heard anything, it probably came from next door.

There it is again, madam! And it does seem to come from the study!

Oh, that? That's nothing, nothing! The Professor is merely shifting some of the furniture.

[Evidently devoured by curiosity.] Won't he find it too much for him, madam? Perhaps I might be able to help.

You're not to go in there! You know your master allows nobody to touch his things. I can't have him disturbed.

[More stamping and banging – then a crash of broken glass.

He seems to be disturbing of himself, madam – just had an accident with something. Hadn't I better go in and clear it up?

Certainly not! Leave the room and attend to your work. [The front door bell rings.] Good gracious! the visitors' bell! Jessie, I'm not at home! Nobody is at home! Whoever it is, mind!

[Who has gone to the door leading to the hall and opened it, turns to Mrs. Futvoye.] I forgot to mention it, madam, but after that foreign gentleman called to see the master this morning, I found there's something wrong with the catch of the front door – leastways, I can't get it to shut, do what I will.

[Rises and makes a step forward.] Mr. Pringle! You can go, Jessie.

[Jessie goes out with an air of baffled curiosity.

[Shaking hands with Mrs. Futvoye.] Pray excuse my coming in unannounced – but it's rather urgent.

How do you do, Mr. Pringle? [Indicating the sofa below the window.] Do sit down.

I feel reassured already. I had a dreadful apprehension that I might come too late.

[With a pathetic attempt to maintain appearances.] Half past twelve is surely quite early enough. Not that I am anything but delighted to see you, at any time.

You are very kind. [He sits down.] But – to be quite frank – I called to see the Professor. Could I have a word or two with him at once?

[Who has taken a chair near the sofa.] I'm so sorry – but that's really impossible just now.

Indeed? I trust he is not unwell – after last night?

N – not unwell exactly. But – not quite his usual self.

[More noise from study, and Sylvia's voice heard exclaiming: "Papa! Papa!"

[Looking round.] He seems to be in his study, – and I thought I heard Miss Sylvia's voice.

Yes – yes – he – he's particularly busy this morning.

[Puzzled.] So it appears. But – [rising] – I wouldn't interrupt him for long, and it really is most important.

[Rising in agitation.] I do assure you he can see nobody at present.

But, Mrs. Futvoye, – if you knew what I have discovered – !

[Rising again.] Discovered!

About Ventimore. I want to put the Professor on his guard against receiving any – er – emissary from him.

[Slightly relieved.] Oh, he's not likely to do that– he has much more important matters to think about!

Just so. Then – if I might speak to Miss Sylvia?

[Hastily.] She is very busy too, helping my husband. [Here the noise reaches its finale in a resounding crash and clatter of falling furniture and shivered glass; Mrs. Futvoye proceeds without appearing to have noticed it.] He – he sometimes makes use of her as – as his amanuensis.

[In despair.] Oh, Mother! Mother! You must come to father! He's kicking worse than ever, and I can't manage him any longer!

[To himself, recoiling, after a glance through the sliding-doors, off.] My hat!

[Warningly, as Sylvia carefully closes sliding-doors, pushes the sofa aside, and comes down.] Sylvia! Don't you see Mr. Pringle?

[Turning and starting.] Oh! What have I said?

Nothing, my dear. [Turning to Pringle.] I must ask you to excuse me, Mr. Pringle. My husband is a little irritable this morning. [Going up to sliding-doors.] A sharp attack of – of gout. In both legs, you know! [She slips in behind the long sofa, pushes back doors, draws the curtains behind them.] Anthony, you must not excite yourself like this.

[Approaching the sofa, with sympathy.] I really had no idea your father was – was as bad as all this.

[On her guard.] People do kick, Mr. Pringle, when they have gout – in both legs.

Do they? I should hardly have thought – particularly – [with meaning] – if they've gout in – all four.

[Shrinking back.] "All four!" Then – you know!

Pardon me – but I couldn't help catching a glimpse just now – through these doors.

A glimpse? What did you —suppose you saw?

I had an impression – of course I may be quite wrong! – that any one who didn't know your father might almost mistake him, at first sight, for – I am trying to put it as delicately as I can – for some kind of – er —quadruped.

[He sits on sofa beside her.

You mean a mule! [She rises in tears, and crosses to the mantelpiece.] I think I could have borne it better if he'd only been a nice mule. B – but – [breaking down] – he isn't!

[Rising and going towards her.] You don't say so! [Sympathetically.] That, of course, must make it all the harder for you.

[Tearfully.] His temper is simply fearful! Why, just now, when I said he must try to manage some oats or a carrot for lunch, he – he lashed out and sent his hoofs through the mummy-case!

Dear – dear! Perhaps if you could persuade him to see a vet – [Correcting himself.] I mean a doctor—

[Crossing towards sofa on right.] It would be no use – he never will take medicine! And what are we to do with him? It's too dreadful to think that he may have to be sent to – to a Home of Rest for Horses!

[Following her.] He never was what you might call a "horsey" man – let us hope he won't come to that! Have you any idea how he came to be – er – affected like this?

[Resentfully, through her tears.] There's no affectation about it, Mr. Pringle – oh, you mean "afflicted" – we can't think. He wasn't as bright as usual at breakfast – I think he was rather worried because he couldn't find that seal Horace lent him last night —

But no amount of worry– ! Pardon me, I interrupt you.

Well; then Jessie came in to say that a foreign gentleman had called to see him on important business. Father told her to show him into the study, and went in presently to hear what he came about. We heard them arguing, and father's voice seemed to be getting angry, so mother went in to beg him not to excite himself. She found father alone, and – just as she opened the door – he – he changed into a mule before her eyes.

Really? It – it must have upset her considerably.

It did. But, luckily, mother never loses her head. She locked the study doors at once, and we shut these, and I don't think the servants suspect anything at present. But they're sure to find out before long.

Yes. I'm afraid it's bound to leak out.

But how could this horrible thing have happened?

[Solemnly.] My dear Miss Sylvia, let me remind you that "there are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamed of in – "

[Petulantly.] Oh, don't quote that now, Mr. Pringle! It is so stale!

[With wounded dignity.] It may be stale – but it's Shakespeare! And I can only conclude that – even in the twentieth century – magic is not the lost art I had always imagined it.

[Turning to him with more interest.] Then you believe now that Horace did find a Jinnee in that brass bottle?

[Rising.] No, no. I don't go as far as that.

How far do you go?

Well, I know that Ventimore is associated with an elderly Oriental who possesses extraordinary will-power. This very morning, in Ventimore's own office, they played a highly unprofessional and discreditable trick between them on your own godfather, Mr. Wackerbath.

On godfather! No, no, I'm sure Horace had nothing to do with that!

I was there– and he evidently had a great deal to do with it. I thought at the time it was hypnotism – but it's clear enough now that this confederate of Ventimore's is a powerful and most unscrupulous magician.

[Springing up indignantly, and crossing to fireplace.] I won't hear any more! You're trying to make me doubt Horace again – but you can't! you can't! I know he'd never send a magician to hurt father! [As Horace enters from the hall, looking pale and wild.] Ah! Horace, you needn't tell me! You at least have no share in what has happened!

[Going to her and taking both her hands.] Darling! For Heaven's sake tell me what has happened?

[Triumphantly.] You hear, Mr. Pringle? He doesn't even know! Now will you dare to repeat what you were saying – to his face?

If you insist. I've been saying, Ventimore, that I believe you to have inspired this abominable transformation of the Professor.

It's true, then? He – he really is a mule?

[Disengaging herself, with a sudden doubt.] Horace, tell me —did you send any one to father!

[Sinking into chair by sofa.] Heaven forgive me! I did.

[Recoiling from him with aversion.] To transform him into a mule?

[Rising and going towards her.] No, no! I wanted old Fakrash to convince him that he really had been in the bottle – but not like this! I thought I could trust him to do that! [Bitterly.] But I might have known!

So you still stick to that story about the Jinnee?

Surely even you must believe it now?

I – I admit that it doesn't seem so incredible as it did. But, if true, there's all the less excuse for you. Because you can make this Jinnee, or whatever he is, do anything you tell him. You can't deny that – I've seen you do it, you know!

Ah!

I can manage him right enough when he's there– it's when I haven't got my eye on him that he makes all these mistakes.

But why should he change poor father into a one-eyed mule? It's so utterly unreasonable!

I'm afraid the Professor alarmed him by threatening to send for a constable. However, darling – and this is what I'm here to tell you – it won't last long. I'll take care that your father will soon be restored.

[Rising, overjoyed.] You will? Oh, I must tell them! [Rushing to the sliding-doors and slightly opening them.] Mother, mother! I've news —good news!

[Looking cautiously through the opening.] What is it, Sylvia? [Sees Horace with displeasure.] Mr. Ventimore! You here! [Stamping heard from study. Mrs. Futvoye turns and speaks over her shoulder.] Keep back, Anthony! Keep back! Remember – you're not fit to be seen, as you are!

[Happily.] It doesn't matter, mother. They both know. And Horace is going to make father all right again.

Oh, in that case —

Mrs. Futvoye, I've something to say which I think will cheer the Professor up a bit.

Unless you can say how and when my husband may expect to see an end of all this —

I shall make old Fakrash see to that.

Make old Fakrash see to it?

The Jinnee I let out of that brass bottle. I told you all about him last night. You didn't believe me then.

None of us did. But I'm afraid, Mrs. Futvoye, we've got to believe now.

[To Horace.] Then – are you responsible for this?

Indirectly. Only indirectly. I couldn't prevent Fakrash making an ass of himself.

You might have prevented his making a mule of my husband!

I wasn't consulted! But I will say this for old Fakrash – nobody's readier to repair a blunder when once it's pointed out to him. He'll do anything for me.

Then send for him and insist on his repairing what he's done here.

[Eagerly, down on right.] Yes, yes. Send for him, Horace, send for him!

[Heavily.] I'm afraid it wouldn't be any use.

Nonsense! You could make him come if you chose!

I tell you I can't. I don't even know where he is – or if he hasn't gone off to Arabia again —

Off to Arabia! [Going towards him.] And when —when is he likely to be back?

[Suddenly.] Oh! [He collapses into the chair above the fireplace.] I – I've only just remembered. He told me he was going to settle down there!

[General consternation.

And is my husband to remain a mule for the rest of his life?

[In a choked voice.] Don't ask me, Mrs. Futvoye – don't ask me!

Pringle.

[Coming towards Horace.] I thought, Ventimore, you came to cheer the Professor up?

Horace, if you don't summon that odious Jinnee this instant, I shall hate you! I'm beginning to, as it is!

[Rising and coming towards her.] My darling, I'd do any mortal thing I could – but I'm helpless! [At this instant Fakrash, in Oriental robe and turban, and a long green cloak, suddenly emerges from the cabinet between the sliding-doors and the door to the hall, and stands scowling and evidently trying to repress both rage and fear. Horace sees him first.] No, I'm not! Hooray! we're saved! He's turned up, after all! [The others retreat towards the fireplace in alarm.] Leave him to me. I know how to manage him. [He approaches Fakrash.] So here you are! If you aren't ashamed of yourself, you jolly well ought to be! A pretty mess you've landed us in this time! Just you get us out of it again!

[Waving him aside.] No greeting to thee! I have come upon my own affairs.

You'll attend to mine first. Undo this infamous spell of yours – do you hear?

[Sullenly.] I will grant nothing more at thy request.

I don't think you quite understand. I don't request– I command. On the head and on the eye!

Thou art wasting breath. No longer am I under obligation to thee, O thou perfidious one!

[Anxiously.] Why – what's come to you? [Coaxingly.] I say! Fakrash – old chappie. Don't play the goat now! You can't mean to leave me on the mat like this!

[Glaring at him.] Canst thou not perceive how hateful thou hast become to me?

I do notice a coolness. But why? You were chummy enough not half an hour ago!

[Going from him towards right.] I had not then discovered thy treachery.

You're barking up the wrong tree, as usual, you know. Come – tell me what it's all about?

Not now. I will deal with thee hereafter, misbegotten cur that thou art!

[From below fireplace, to Horace.] You don't seem to be managing him very well so far.

[Coming down to Horace.] You gave us to understand that he would do anything for you.

So he will, generally – but not just now. [Crossing to Mrs. Futvoye and Sylvia, while Fakrash remains apart, with his back to the others.] He's suddenly turned nasty – I've no idea why. But I shall bring him round – in time.

It's my husband who has to be brought round – and there's no time to be lost!

I know – but if I press Fakrash in his present mood, I shall only make matters worse.

Well, if you can't – or won't– get him to do something, one of us must try! Perhaps if Miss Sylvia could bring herself to appeal to his better feelings – ?

[Shrinking back.] People who come out of bottles can't have better feelings! I couldn't —really, I couldn't.

You'd rather not? [Sylvia shudders.] Then I must see what I can do.

How good of you!

[Drawing Pringle back as he is going towards Fakrash.] I wouldn't, Pringle! He's in a vile temper. And, unless you're anxious to become a domestic animal of some sort —

Pray don't run such a risk, dear Mr. Pringle!

I shall be very careful, and I trust that, with ordinary tact – [He makes a step towards Fakrash.] Ahem! [Fakrash turns suddenly round with a feline snarl; all retreat to left; Pringle pulls himself together and tries again.] My – my dear sir, may I ask your attention for a few moments?

[Striding towards him.] Who art thou? – a friend of yonder serpent's?

[Indignantly.] Oh, I say! "Serpent," you know! "Serpent" is a bit —

[Fakrash ignores him.

No, no, I repudiate him. I represent this unfortunate family —they repudiate him too.

[Together.] Yes, yes, indeed —indeed we do!

[To Pringle.] I will hearken unto thee, for indeed thou seemest a person of abundant intelligence and excellent conduct.

You're very kind – I hope I am. Hem! [Going nearer Fakrash.] I am sure, sir, that, if you had realised the serious embarrassment you have caused the members of this household by transforming its head into a one-eyed mule, you would never have allowed your – your sense of humour to carry you so far.

For mine own safety was it accomplished – for the sage threatened to deliver me into custody.

[Starting up and coming towards Fakrash.] He never meant it! And, anyhow, you're safe enough!

[Turning on him fiercely.] Hold thy lying tongue!

Ventimore, I must beg you not to interfere.

Damn it all, Pringle, he's my Jinnee – not yours!

[To Fakrash.] Evidently, sir, there has been some slight misunderstanding on both sides. But I feel confident that, if you will only consent to see this unfortunate gentleman, the matter can very soon be amicably arranged.

I am here for this very purpose. Let this learned man appear before me.

I won't keep you waiting long. [He goes up to the sliding-doors and calls.] Professor! If you will kindly step this way, Mr. Fakrash would be glad to see you.

[Overwhelmed.] Great Heavens above!