Carlyon Sahib.
by Gilbert Murray.
_PREFATORY NOTE_
_This play was written at Viareggio in 1893, and pa.s.sed an eventful though not unchequered existence for six years before it was produced by Mrs. Patrick Campbell at the Princess of Wales" Theatre, Kennington, on June 19, 1899. The version here published is not exactly that which was acted, though it is much nearer to the acted version than to the original play as it stood before I had the benefit of Mrs. Campbell"s vivid and helpful criticism._
_I may remark here that the Play never had the ghost of a glimmer of a conscious political allusion in it; nor did it occur to me, when I put my Napoleonic hero in the surroundings which seemed to give most scope to his autocratic and unscrupulous genius, that any sane person would suppose that I wished to attack the Indian Civil Service. The plays on my bookshelves teem with villains of the most diverse professions, from kings and clergymen--chiefly, I must confess, Roman Catholics or Dissenters--to lawyers and journalists. I do not think I should chafe at the appearance of a villanous Professor of Greek. And on the whole I cannot help hoping that those of my critics and friends who adopted a high patriotic tone against this play, will upon reflection be inclined to agree that their imperial sensitiveness was a little overstrained._
_GILBERT MURRAY._
CARLYON SAHIB
THE FIRST ACT
SIR DAVID CARLYON"S _country house_; VERA"S _sitting-room. Window right, behind window a curtain on a rod projecting into the room and forming a recess. By window table strewn with books and papers. The books chiefly foreign, with paper backs. On another table a very large birdcage covered with a tablecloth. Doors in the left corner of the back wall, and in the side wall, right._
ELIZABETH _discovered sitting in a large chair in the recess_. VERA _holding an ophthalmoscope_.
ELIZABETH.
Am I sitting right, dear?
VERA.
Yes, that"s it. Just the same as before. [_Drawing the curtain so as to darken the recess._] Now, I must let the light fall full on your eye--just for a minute. Don"t wink. That"s all; now you can go right into the dark again, Elizabeth. [ELIZABETH _comes out rubbing her eyes_.] I"m afraid it hurt; it is so kind of you!
ELIZABETH.
Not at all, dear. And it is all right as soon as I get into the dark again.
VERA.
Should you like to see what the end of your optic nerve is like? There!
[_Showing plate in a book._
ELIZABETH.
Dear me, Vera; is there anything wrong with me?
VERA.
Not a thing! That"s a picture of a typical healthy eye. You are quite uninteresting, you and Father both!
ELIZABETH.
I don"t see how _his_ eyes can be uninteresting.
VERA.
From Dr. Rheinhardt"s point of view, quite. Here are two abnormal ones.
See how different they are from yours.
ELIZABETH.
[_Without interest._] Yes, dear. [_Hesitating._] I was wondering----
VERA.
You see the depression of that line? That man died insane in two years.
If ever one saw that, one would know---- [_Breaks off._] What did you say?
ELIZABETH.
That poor bird: I wondered if I might feed him in here, where it"s warm?
VERA.
[_Suspiciously._] What are you going to feed him with?
ELIZABETH.
[_Apologetically._] Well, you see, Vera, he is really ill. He won"t eat anything at all unless it"s alive.
VERA.
Then you can"t feed him in my room!
ELIZABETH.
Very well, dear. [_Goes and takes the great cage._] Do you know, Vera, I think you are really a little unkind about my eagles.
VERA.
I can"t think why father ever gave you such horrid things!
ELIZABETH.
I dare say I shouldn"t care for them so much if he hadn"t given them to me. But really, Vera, they are such splendid great things, with their fierce eyes----