The Brass Bottle

by F. Anstey

  CHAPTER XIV

  "SINCE THERE'S NO HELP, COME, LET US KISS AND PART!"

  As soon as the Professor seemed to have regained his faculties, Horaceopened the door and called in Sylvia and her mother, who were, as wasonly to be expected, overcome with joy on seeing the head of the familyreleased from his ignoble condition of a singularly ill-favouredquadruped.

  "There, there," said the Professor, as he submitted to their embracesand incoherent congratulations, "it's nothing to make a fuss about. I'mquite myself again, as you can see. And," he added, with an unreasonableoutburst of ill-temper, "if one of you had only had the common sense tothink of such a simple remedy as sprinkling a little cold water over mewhen I was first taken like that, I should have been spared a great dealof unnecessary inconvenience. But that's always the way with women--losetheir heads the moment anything goes wrong! If I had not kept perfectlycool myself--"

  "It was very, very stupid of us not to think of it, papa," said Sylvia,tactfully ignoring the fact that there was scarcely an undamaged articlein the room; "still, you know, if _we_ had thrown the water it mightn'thave had the same effect."

  "I'm not in a condition to argue now," said her father; "you didn'ttrouble to try it, and there's no more to be said."

  "No more to be said!" exclaimed Fakrash. "O thou monster of ingratitude,hast thou no thanks for him who hath delivered thee from thypredicament?"

  "As I am already indebted to you, sir," said the Professor, "for abouttwenty-four hours of the most poignant and humiliating mental and bodilyanguish a human being can endure, inflicted for no valid reason that Ican discover, except the wanton indulgence of your unholy powers, I canonly say that any gratitude of which I am conscious is of a veryqualified description. As for you, Ventimore," he added, turning toHorace, "I don't know--I can only guess at--the part you have played inthis wretched business; but in any case you will understand, once forall, that all relations between us must cease."

  "Papa," said Sylvia, tremulously, "Horace and I have already agreedthat--that we must separate."

  "At my bidding," explained Fakrash, suavely; "for such an alliance wouldbe totally unworthy of his merits and condition."

  This frankness was rather too much for the Professor, whose temper hadnot been improved by his recent trials.

  "Nobody asked for your opinion, sir!" he snapped. "A person who has onlyrecently been released from a term of long and, from all I have beenable to ascertain, well-deserved imprisonment, is scarcely entitled topose as an authority on social rank. Have the decency not to interfereagain with my domestic affairs."

  "Excellent is the saying," remarked the imperturbable Jinnee, "'Let therat that is between the paws of the leopard observe rigidly all therules of politeness and refrain from words of provocation.' For toreturn thee to the form of a mule once more would be no difficultundertaking."

  "I think I failed to make myself clear," the Professor hastened toobserve--"failed to make myself clear. I--I merely meant to congratulateyou on your fortunate escape from the consequences of what I--I don'tdoubt was an error of justice. I--I am sure that, in the future, youwill employ your--your very remarkable abilities to better purpose, andI would suggest that the greatest service you can do this unfortunateyoung man here is to abstain from any further attempts to promote hisinterests."

  "Hear, hear!" Horace could not help throwing in, though in so discreetan undertone that it was inaudible.

  "Far be this from me," replied Fakrash. "For he has become unto me evenas a favourite son, whom I design to place upon the golden pinnacle offelicity. Therefore, I have chosen for him a wife, who is unto thisdamsel of thine as the full moon to the glow-worm, and as the bird ofParadise to an unfledged sparrow. And the nuptials shall be celebratedbefore many hours."

  "Horace!" cried Sylvia, justly incensed, "why--_why_ didn't you tell methis before?"

  "Because," said the unhappy Horace, "this is the very first I've heardof it. He's always springing some fresh surprise on me," he added, in awhisper--"but they never come to anything much. And he can't marry meagainst my will, you know."

  "No," said Sylvia, biting her lip. "I never supposed he could do that,Horace."

  "I'll settle this at once," he replied. "Now, look here, Mr. Jinnee," headded, "I don't know what new scheme you have got in your head--but ifyou are proposing to marry me to anybody in particular----"

  "Have I not informed thee that I have it in contemplation to obtain forthee the hand of a King's daughter of marvellous beauty andaccomplishments?"

  "You know perfectly well you never mentioned it before," said Horace,while Sylvia gave a little low cry.

  "Repine not, O damsel," counselled the Jinnee, "since it is for hiswelfare. For, though as yet he believeth it not, when he beholds theresplendent beauty of her countenance he will swoon away with delightand forget thy very existence."

  "I shall do nothing of the sort," said Horace, savagely. "Justunderstand that I don't intend to marry any Princess. You may preventme--in fact, you _have_--from marrying this lady, but you can't force meto marry anybody else. I defy you!"

  "When thou hast seen thy bride's perfections thou wilt need nocompulsion," said Fakrash. "And if thou shouldst refuse, know this: thatthou wilt be exposing those who are dear to thee in this household tocalamities of the most unfortunate description."

  The awful vagueness of this threat completely crushed Horace; he couldnot think, he did not even dare to imagine, what consequences he mightbring upon his beloved Sylvia and her helpless parents by persisting inhis refusal.

  "Give me time," he said heavily; "I want to talk this over with you."

  "Pardon me, Ventimore," said the Professor, with acidulous politeness;"but, interesting as the discussion of your matrimonial arrangements isto you and your--a--protector, I should greatly prefer that you choosesome more fitting place for arriving at a decision which is in thecircumstances a foregone conclusion. I am rather tired and upset, and Ishould be obliged if you and this gentleman could bring this most tryinginterview to a close as soon as you conveniently can."

  "You hear, Mr. Fakrash?" said Horace, between his teeth, "it is quitetime we left. If you go at once, I will follow you very shortly."

  "Thou wilt find me awaiting thee," answered the Jinnee, and, to Mrs.Futvoye's and Sylvia's alarm, disappeared through one of the bookcases.

  "Well," said Horace, gloomily, "you see how I'm situated? That obstinateold devil has cornered me. I'm done for!"

  "Don't say that," said the Professor; "you appear to be on the eve of amost brilliant alliance, in which I am sure you have our bestwishes--the best wishes of us all," he added pointedly.

  "Sylvia," said Horace, still lingering, "before I go, tell me that,whatever I may have to do, you will understand that--that it will be foryour sake!"

  "Please don't talk like that," she said. "We may never see one anotheragain. Don't let my last recollection of you be of--of a hypocrite,Horace!"

  "A hypocrite!" he cried. "Sylvia, this is too much! What have I said ordone to make you think me that?"

  "Oh, I am not so simple as you suppose, Horace," she replied. "I see nowwhy all this has happened: why poor dad was tormented; why you insistedon my setting you free. But I would have released you without _that_!Indeed, all this elaborate artifice wasn't in the least necessary!"

  "You believe I was an accomplice in that old fool's plot?" he said. "Youbelieve me such a cur as that?"

  "I don't blame you," she said. "I don't believe you could help yourself.He can make you do whatever he chooses. And then, you are so rich now,it is natural that you should want to marry some one--some one moresuited to you--like this lovely Princess of yours."

  "Of mine!" groaned the exasperated Horace. "When I tell you I've nevereven seen her! As if any Princess in the world would marry me to pleasea Jinnee out of a brass bottle! And if she did, Sylvia, you can'tbelieve that any Princess would make me forget you!"

  "It depends so very much on the Princess," was all Sylvia could bein
duced to say.

  "Well," said Horace, "if that's all the faith you have in me, I supposeit's useless to say any more. Good-bye, Mrs. Futvoye; good-bye,Professor. I wish I could tell you how deeply I regret all the trouble Ihave brought on you by my own folly. All I can say is, that I will bearanything in future rather than expose you or any of you to the smallestrisk."

  "I trust, indeed," said the Professor, stiffly, "that you will use allthe influence at your command to secure me from any repetition of anexperience that might well have unmanned a less equable temperament thanmy own."

  "Good-bye, Horace," said Mrs. Futvoye, more kindly. "I believe you aremore to be pitied than blamed, whatever others may think. And _I_ don'tforget--if Anthony does--that, but for you, he might, instead of sittingthere comfortably in his armchair, be lashing out with his hind legs andkicking everything to pieces at this very moment!"

  "I deny that I lashed out!" said the Professor. "My--a--hind quartersmay have been under imperfect control--but I never lost my reasoningpowers or my good humour for a single instant. I can say thattruthfully."

  If the Professor could say that truthfully amidst the general wreck inwhich he sat, like another Marius, he had little to learn in the gentleart of self-deception; but there was nothing to gain by contradictinghim then.

  "Good-bye, Sylvia," said Horace, and held out his hand.

  "Good-bye," she said, without offering to take it or look at him--and,after a miserable pause, he left the study. But before he had reachedthe front door he heard a swish and swirl of drapery behind him, andfelt her light hand on his arm. "Ah, no!" she said, clinging to him, "Ican't let you go like this. I didn't mean all the things I said justnow. I _do_ believe in you, Horace--at least, I'll try hard to.... And Ishall always, _always_ love you, Horace.... I shan't care--verymuch--even if you do forget me, so long as you are happy.... Only don'tbe _too_ happy. Think of me sometimes!"

  "I shall _not_ be too happy," he said, as he held her close to his heartand kissed her pathetically drawn mouth and flushed cheeks. "And I shallthink of you always."

  "And you won't fall in love with your Princess?" entreated Sylvia, atthe end of her altruism. "Promise!"

  "If I am ever provided with one," he replied, "I shall loathe her--fornot being you. But don't let us lose heart, darling. There must be someway of talking that old idiot out of this nonsense and bringing himround to common sense. I'm not going to give in just yet!"

  These were brave words--but, as they both felt, the situation had littleenough to warrant them, and, after one last long embrace, they parted,and he was no sooner on the steps than he felt himself caught up asbefore and borne through the air with breathless speed, till he was setdown, he could not have well said how, in a chair in his ownsitting-room at Vincent Square.

  "Well," he said, looking at the Jinnee, who was standing opposite with asmile of intolerable complacency, "I suppose you feel satisfied withyourself over this business?"

  "It hath indeed been brought to a favourable conclusion," said Fakrash."Well hath the poet written----"

  "I don't think I can stand any more 'Elegant Extracts' this afternoon,"interrupted Horace. "Let us come to business. You seem," he went on,with a strong effort to keep himself in hand, "to have formed some planfor marrying me to a King's daughter. May I ask you for fullparticulars?"

  "No honour and advancement can be in excess of thy deserts," answeredthe Jinnee.

  "Very kind of you to say so--but you are probably unaware that, associety is constituted at the present time, the objections to such analliance would be quite insuperable."

  "For me," said the Jinnee, "few obstacles are insuperable. But speak thymind freely."

  "I will," said Horace. "To begin with, no European Princess of the BloodRoyal would entertain the idea for a moment. And if she did, she wouldforfeit her rank and cease to be a Princess, and I should probably beimprisoned in a fortress for _lese majeste_ or something."

  "Dismiss thy fears, for I do not propose to unite thee to any Princessthat is born of mortals. The bride I intend for thee is a Jinneeyeh; thepeerless Bedeea-el-Jemal, daughter of my kinsman Shahyal, the Ruler ofthe Blue Jann."

  "Oh, is she, though?" said Horace, blankly. "I'm exceedingly obliged,but, whatever may be the lady's attractions----"

  "Her nose," recited the Jinnee, with enthusiasm, "is like unto the keenedge of a polished sword; her hair resembleth jewels, and her cheeks areruddy as wine. She hath heavy lips, and when she looketh aside sheputteth to shame the wild cows...."

  "My good, excellent friend," said Horace, by no means impressed by thiscatalogue of charms, "one doesn't marry to mortify wild cows."

  "When she walketh with a vacillating gait," continued Fakrash, as thoughhe had not been interrupted, "the willow branch itself turneth greenwith envy."

  "Personally," said Horace, "a waddle doesn't strike me as particularlyfascinating--it's quite a matter of taste. Do you happen to have seenthis enchantress lately?"

  "My eyes have not been refreshed by her manifold beauties since I wasenclosed by Suleyman--whose name be accursed--in the brass bottle ofwhich thou knowest. Why dost thou ask?"

  "Merely because it occurred to me that, after very nearly three thousandyears, your charming kinswoman may--well, to put it as mildly aspossible, not have altogether escaped the usual effects of Time. I mean,she must be getting on, you know!"

  "O, silly-bearded one!" said the Jinnee, in half-scornful rebuke; "artthou, then, ignorant that we of the Jinn are not as mortals, that weshould feel the ravages of age?"

  "Forgive me if I'm personal," said Horace; "but surely your own hairand beard might be described as rather inclining to grey."

  "Not from age," said Fakrash, "This cometh from long confinement."

  "I see," said Horace. "Like the Prisoner of Chillon. Well, assuming thatthe lady in question is still in the bloom of early youth, I see onefatal difficulty to becoming her suitor."

  "Doubtless," said the Jinnee, "thou art referring to Jarjarees, the sonof Rejmoos, the son of Iblees?"

  "No, I wasn't," said Horace; "because, you see, I don't remember havingever heard of him. However, he's _another_ fatal difficulty. That makestwo of them."

  "Surely I have spoken of him to thee as my deadliest foe? It is truethat he is a powerful and vindictive Efreet, who hath long persecutedthe beauteous Bedeea with hateful attentions. Yet it may be possible, bygood fortune, to overthrow him."

  "Then I gather that any suitor for Bedeea's hand would be looked upon asa rival by the amiable Jarjarees?"

  "Far is he from being of an amiable disposition," answered the Jinnee,simply, "and he would be so transported by rage and jealousy that hewould certainly challenge thee to mortal combat."

  "Then that settles it," said Horace. "I don't think any one can fairlycall me a coward, but I do draw the line at fighting an Efreet for thehand of a lady I've never seen. How do I know he'll fight fair?"

  "He would probably appear unto thee first in the form of a lion, and ifhe could not thus prevail against thee, transform himself into aserpent, and then into a buffalo or some other wild beast."

  "And I should have to tackle the entire menagerie?" said Horace. "Why,my dear sir, I should never get beyond the lion!"

  "I would assist thee to assume similar transformations," said theJinnee, "and thus thou mayst be enabled to defeat him. For I burn withdesire to behold mine enemy reduced to cinders."

  "It's much more likely that you would have to sweep _me_ up!" saidHorace, who had a strong conviction that anything in which the Jinneewas concerned would be bungled somehow. "And if you're so anxious todestroy this Jarjarees, why don't you challenge him to meet you in somequiet place in the desert and settle him yourself? It's much more inyour line than it is in mine!"

  He was not without hopes that Fakrash might act on this suggestion, andthat so he would be relieved of him in the simplest and mostsatisfactory way; but any such hopes were as usual doomed todisappointment.

  "It would be of no avail," said
the Jinnee, "for it hath been written ofold that Jarjarees shall not perish save by the hand of a mortal. And Iam persuaded that thou wilt turn out to be that mortal, since thou artboth strong and fearless, and, moreover, it is also predestined thatBedeea shall wed one of the sons of men."

  "Then," said Horace, feeling that this line of defence must beabandoned, "I fall back on objection number one. Even if Jarjarees wereobliging enough to retire in my favour, I should still decline to becomethe--a--consort of a Jinneeyeh whom I've never seen, and don't love."

  "Thou hast heard of her incomparable charms, and verily the ear may lovebefore the eye."

  "It may," admitted Horace, "but neither of _my_ ears is the least inlove at present."

  "These reasons are of no value," said Fakrash, "and if thou hast nonebetter----"

  "Well," said Ventimore, "I think I have. You profess to be anxiousto--to requite the trifling service I rendered you, though hitherto,you'll admit yourself, you haven't made a very brilliant success of it.But, putting the past aside," he continued, with a sudden dryness in histhroat; "putting the past aside, I ask you to consider what possiblebenefit or happiness such a match as this--I'm afraid I'm not sofortunate as to secure your attention?" he broke off, as he observed theJinnee's eyes beginning to film over in the disagreeable mannercharacteristic of certain birds.

  "Proceed," said Fakrash, unskinning his eyes for a second; "I amhearkening unto thee."

  "It seems to me," stammered Horace, inconsequently enough, "that allthat time inside a bottle--well, you can't call it _experience_ exactly;and possibly in the interval you've forgotten all you knew aboutfeminine nature. I think you _must_ have."

  "It is not possible that such knowledge should be forgotten," said theJinnee, resenting this imputation in quite a human way. "Thy wordsappear to me to lack sense. Interpret them, I pray thee."

  "Why," explained Horace, "you don't mean to tell me that this young andlovely relation of yours, a kind of immortal, and--and with the devil'sown pride, would be gratified by your proposal to bestow her hand uponan insignificant and unsuccessful London architect? She'd turn up thatsharp and polished nose of hers at the mere idea of so unequal a match!"

  "An excellent rank is that conferred by wealth," remarked the Jinnee.

  "But I'm _not_ rich, and I've already declined any riches from you,"said Horace. "And, what's more to the point, I'm perfectly andhopelessly obscure. If you had the slightest sense of humour--which Ifear you have not--you would at once perceive the absurdity of proposingto unite a radiant, ethereal, superhuman being to a commonplaceprofessional nonentity in a morning coat and a tall hat. It's really tooridiculous!"

  "What thou hast just said is not altogether without wisdom," saidFakrash, to whom this was evidently a new point of view. "Art thou,indeed, so utterly unknown?"

  "Unknown?" repeated Horace; "I should rather think I was! I'm simply aninconsiderable unit in the population of the vastest city in the world;or, rather, not a unit--a cipher. And, don't you see, a man to be worthyof your exalted kinswoman ought to be a celebrity. There are plenty ofthem about."

  "What meanest thou by a celebrity?" inquired Fakrash, falling into thetrap more readily than Horace had ventured to hope.

  "Oh, well, a distinguished person, whose name is on everybody's lips,who is honoured and praised by all his fellow-citizens. Now, _that_ kindof man no Jinneeyeh could look down upon."

  "I perceive," said Fakrash, thoughtfully. "Yes, I was in danger ofcommitting a rash action. How do men honour such distinguishedindividuals in these days?"

  "They generally overfeed them," said Horace. "In London the highesthonour a hero can be paid is to receive the freedom of the City, whichis only conferred in very exceptional cases, and for some notableservice. But, of course, there are other sorts of celebrities, as youcould see if you glanced through the society papers."

  "I cannot believe that thou, who seemest a gracious and talented youngman, can be indeed so obscure as thou hast represented."

  "My good sir, any of the flowers that blush unseen in the desert air, orthe gems concealed in ocean caves, so excellently described by one ofour poets, could give me points and a beating in the matter ofnotoriety. I'll make you a sporting offer. There are over five millioninhabitants in this London of ours. If you go out into the streets andask the first five hundred you meet whether they know me, I don't mindbetting you--what shall I say? a new hat--that you won't find half adozen who've ever even heard of my existence. Why not go out and see foryourself?"

  To his surprise and gratification the Jinnee took this seriously. "Iwill go forth and make inquiry," he said, "for I desire furtherenlightenment concerning thy statements. But, remember," he added:"should I still require thee to wed the matchless Bedeea-el-Jemal, andthou shouldst disobey me, thou wilt bring disaster, not on thine ownhead, but on those thou art most desirous of protecting."

  "Yes, so you told me before," said Horace, brusquely. "Good evening."But Fakrash was already gone. In spite of all he had gone through andthe unknown difficulties before him, Ventimore was seized with whatUncle Remus calls "a spell of the dry grins" at the thought of theprobable replies that the Jinnee would meet with in the course of hisinquiries. "I'm afraid he won't be particularly impressed by thepoliteness of a London crowd," he thought; "but at least they'llconvince him that I am not exactly a prominent citizen. Then he'll giveup this idiotic match of his--I don't know, though. He's such apig-headed old fool that he may stick to it all the same. I may findmyself encumbered with a Jinneeyeh bride several centuries my seniorbefore I know where I am. No, I forget; there's the jealous Jarjarees tobe polished off first. I seem to remember something about a quick-changecombat with an Efreet in the "Arabian Nights." I may as well look it up,and see what may be in store for me."

  And after dinner he went to his shelves and took down Lane'sthree-volume edition of "The Arabian Nights," which he set himself tostudy with a new interest. It was long since he had looked into thesewondrous tales, old beyond all human calculation, and fresher, even now,than the most modern of successful romances. After all, he was temptedto think, they might possess quite as much historical value as manyworks with graver pretentions to accuracy.

  He found a full account of the combat with the Efreet in "The Story ofthe Second Royal Mendicant" in the first volume, and was unpleasantlysurprised to discover that the Efreet's name was actually given as"Jarjarees, the son of Rejmoos, the son of Iblees"--evidently the sameperson to whom Fakrash had referred as his bitterest foe. He wasdescribed as "of hideous aspect," and had, it seemed, not only carriedoff the daughter of the Lord of the Ebony Island on her wedding night,but, on discovering her in the society of the Royal Mendicant, hadrevenged himself by striking off her hands, her feet, and her head, andtransforming his human rival into an ape. "Between this fellow and oldFakrash," he reflected ruefully, at this point, "I seem likely to have afairly lively time of it!"

  He read on till he reached the memorable encounter between the King'sdaughter and Jarjarees, who presented himself "in a most hideous shape,with hands like winnowing forks, and legs like masts, and eyes likeburning torches"--which was calculated to unnerve the stoutest novice.The Efreet began by transforming himself from a lion to a scorpion, uponwhich the Princess became a serpent; then he changed to an eagle, andshe to a vulture; he to a black cat, and she to a cock; he to a fish,and she to a larger fish still.

  "If Fakrash can shove me through all that without a fatal hitchsomewhere," Ventimore told himself, "I shall be agreeably disappointedin him," But, after reading a few more lines, he cheered up. For theEfreet finished as a flame, and the Princess as a "body of fire." "Andwhen we looked towards him," continued the narrator, "we perceived thathe had become a heap of ashes."

  "Come," said Horace to himself, "that puts Jarjarees out of action, anyway! The odd thing is that Fakrash should never have heard of it."

  But, as he saw on reflection, it was not so very odd, after all, as theincident had probably happened after the Jinnee had been c
onsigned tohis brass bottle, where intelligence of any kind would be most unlikelyto reach him.

  He worked steadily through the whole of the second volume and part ofthe third; but, although he picked up a certain amount of informationupon Oriental habits and modes of thought and speech which might come inuseful later, it was not until he arrived at the 24th Chapter of thethird volume that his interest really revived.

  For the 24th Chapter contained "The Story of Seyf-el-Mulook andBedeea-el-Jemal," and it was only natural that he should be anxious toknow all that there was to know concerning the antecedents of one whomight be his _fiancee_ before long. He read eagerly.

  Bedeea, it appeared, was the lovely daughter of Shahyal, one of theKings of the Believing Jann; her father--not Fakrash himself, as theJinnee had incorrectly represented--had offered her in marriage to noless a personage than King Solomon himself, who, however, had preferredthe Queen of Sheba. Seyf, the son of the King of Egypt, afterwards felldesperately in love with Bedeea, but she and her grandmother bothdeclared that between mankind and the Jann there could be no agreement.

  "And Seyf was a King's son!" commented Horace. "I needn't alarm myself.She wouldn't be likely to have anything to say to _me_. It's just as Itold Fakrash."

  His heart grew lighter still as he came to the end, for he learnt that,after many adventures which need not be mentioned here, the devoted Seyfdid actually succeed in gaining the proud Bedeea as his wife. "EvenFakrash could not propose to marry me to some one who has a husbandalready," he thought. "Still, she _may_ be a widow!"

  To his relief, however, the conclusion ran thus; "Seyf-el-Mulook livedwith Bedeea-el-Jemal a most pleasant and agreeable life ... until theywere visited by the terminator of delights and the separator ofcompanions."

  "If that means anything at all," he reasoned, "it means that Seyf andBedeea are both deceased. Even Jinneeyeh seem to be mortal. Or perhapsshe became so by marrying a mortal; I dare say that Fakrash himselfwouldn't have lasted all this time if he hadn't been bottled, like atinned tomato. But I'm glad I found this out, because Fakrash isevidently unaware of it, and, if he _should_ persist in any more of thisnonsense, I think I see my way now to getting the better of him."

  So, with renewed hope and in vastly improved spirits, he went to bed andwas soon sound asleep.