Produced by Chuck Greif
PLAYS OF TO-DAY AND TO-MORROW
TURANDOT PRINCESS OF CHINA
A CHINOISERIE IN THREE ACTS
BY
KARL VOLLMOELLER
AUTHORIZED ENGLISH VERSION,
BY
JETHRO BITHELL
LONDON: T. FISHER UNWIN
ADELPHI TERRACE
First Edition, January, 1913
(All rights reserved.)
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ
TURANDOT--Princess of China
ALTOUM--Emperor of China, her father
ADELMA--Princess of Tartary, favourite slave of Turandot
ZELIMA--Another slave of Turandot
SKIRINA--Zelima's mother
BARAK--(Under the name of Hassan), Skirina's husband;
formerly Major-domo of
CALAF--Prince of Astrakhan
ISHMAEL--Major-domo of the beheaded Prince of Samarkand
PANTALONE--Prime Minister of the Emperor Altoum
TARTAGLIA--Lord High Chancellor of China
BRIGELLA Captain of the Imperial pages
TRUFFALDINO Chief Eunuch of Turandot's harem
PRINCE OF SAMARKAND... (Silent)
Eight Doctors. Female Slaves and Eunuchs of the harem.
A Headsman. Soldiers of the Palace Guard.
SCENE: Pekin.--All the acting characters wear Chinese costume,
except Adelma and Calaf, who are in Tartar dress.
Cast of the play as produced at the St. James's
Theatre, London, on January 18, 1913, under the
management of Sir George Alexander.
Turandot--EVELYN D'Alroy
Altoum--J. H. BARNES
Adelma--HILDA MOORE
Zelima--MAIRE O'NEILL
Skirina--MARGARET YARDE
Barak--ALFRED HARRIS
Calaf--GODFREY TEARLE
Ishmael JAMES BERRY
Pantalone--EDWARD SASS
Tartaglia--E. VIVIAN REYNOLDS
Brigella--FRED LEWIS
Truffadino--NORMAN FORBES
Prince of Samarkand--AUSTIN FEHRMAN
The action takes place outside the gates of Pekin, and
inside the Emperor's Palace.
TO
MY FRIEND THAT GREAT ARTIST
FERRUCCIO BUSONI
NOTE
The very affecting history of the cruel Princess
Turandot and the handsome Prince Calaf may be
read in those Persian tales which are known by the
name of _The Thousand and One Nights._
Twice already has the story gone over the boards:
in 1762 in Venice as "Turandotte," one of the _fiabe_ of
Count Carlo Gozzi; in 1804 in Weimar, as Friedrich
Schiller's "Turandot." Both versions lived their
passing hour, and died to the stage.
The present dramatisation of the ancient fable--a
modest attempt to cast good metal anew--closely
follows the Italian of the sardonic nobleman whose
bones have been mouldering by the blue lagoons for
over a hundred years.
KARL VOLLMOELLER.
THE FIRST ACT
SCENE I
_One of the city gates of Pekin. Over the gate,
planted on iron poles, a row of severed heads
with shaven crowns and Turkish tufts._
TIME: _Shortly after sunrise._ _When the curtain
rises the gate is closed._ _From within the
roll of drums and military commands._
BRIGELLA.
(_Behind the scenes._) Halt! Present arms!
TRUFFALDINO.
(_Behind the scenes._) Halt! Slope swords!
Open the gate! At ease! Quick march!
(_The gate is thrown open._ TRUFFALDINO,
_leading the eunuchs_; _then, between_ PANTALONE
_and_ TARTAGLIA, _the_ PRINCE OF
SAMARKAND; _behind them, at the head
of his pages,_ BRIGELLA. _The whole
procession halts in front of the gate,
they all draw up in one line, and gaze
upwards at the bloody heads._)
PANTALONE.
(_Stepping in front of the footlights._)
My name is Pantalone, and I am a native of Venice. At
the moment I am the Prime Minister of the
Chinese Empire. Eh, what d'ye say? What
I'_m_ doing here in Pekin? H'm. (_Puts his hand
in front of his mouth._) Venice got too hot for
me. An ind-indelicate affair. My wife of
course, you guess my meaning. (_To the_ PRINCE.)
This, your Royal Highness, is the place you
have heard so much of. Have a good look at
it, _please_. Make yourself _quite_ at home. Yes,
quite right, up there, _please_! (_To_ TARTAGLIA.)
I say, my dear Lord Chancellor. Be so good as
to show his Royal Highness the elevated position
he will occupy in the near future. You have the
information, I presume.
(TARTAGLIA _turns towards the_ PRINCE,
PANTALONE _pulls his sleeve_.)
Don't forget, my dear Lord Chancellor.
TARTAGLIA.
(_Stepping in front of the footlights._) My name
is Tat-Tra-Tartaglia (_stammers_). From Naples.
My mother always maintained that she was the
daughter of a Spanish grandee, but I fear she
was a fisherman's daughter from Po-Po-Pozzuoli.
My father, on the other hand (_stops short and
looks round_)----
(PANTALONE _makes signs to him_.)
PANTALONE.
Better not.
TARTAGLIA.
Better not! That old scarecrow there makes
out that nobody ever knew who my father was.
He is a... li-li-liar. Excuse me, one moment,
ladies and gentlemen. (_To the_ PRINCE.) That
head up there on the right, which I beg your
Royal Highness graciously to observe, is the head
of the valiant Prince of Hyrcania. A valiant
prince, a sweet prince. But silly, silly. There's
quite a nice open space next to him for you, a
fine, sunny situation with a pleasant prospect.
How would that do, eh? Company to your liking?
All of 'em in the Almanach de Gotha.
PANTALONE.
(_To_ BRIGELLA.) Send the executioner up with
the pole. We'll let this charming young Prince
select his own point of vantage.
BRIGELLA.
(_To the headsman._) What are you hanging
about here for, you hangman, you? Up on the
wall with you, by Hikey Mo! Up on the wall or
I'll wallop you.
PANTALONE.
Halt! 'Sh! Don't forget!
BRIGELLA.
(_Stepping in front of the footlights._) I'm
Brigella, begging your pardon. One of the old
honest family of the Brigellas. As you can hear
by the way I talk, I was born in Ferrara. There
are lying rogues, drat 'em, as say as how you can
tell any one that comes from Ferrara by his
knavish face. Concerning my own person, though
I says it as shouldn't, I've a heart of gold. Not
half. Talking about gold now, you'll be wondering,
sure enough, what brought _me_ from Ferrara
to Pekin. Well, now, it was a purse of gold,
God bless ye! It was a little matter of two
hundred florins that belonged to my employer,
the celebrated Dr. Gratiano...
PANTALONE.
(_Pulls his sleeve._) Better not!
BRIGELLA.
And now with this heart of gold of mine blest
if I ain't got to conduct this broth of a boy,
bless his honest face! to the block, by command
of my mistress, the high and mighty Turandot
...the cru'l Turandot. (_Sobs._)
TRUFFALDINO
(_Pushing_ BRIGELLA _aside._) That's enough.
Get out of that. A regular rogue. Standing
there and talking about florins.... H'm!
Regular rogue.
(PANTALONE _pulls his sleeve_.)
Ah! quite so. I am Truffaldino, by your leave.
Truffaldino from the Giudeccao Quite so.
(_Turning towards_ BRIGELLA.) Regular rogue.
It is monstrous that the dirtiest rascals should
always get on best. I have not myself always
had the best of luck in these parts... Would you
believe it, my voice used to be a very fine, deep
baritone. But now... (_Sings falsetto_):
I am not young; I am not old;
I live, yet have no life!
Ask him who hath suffered woes untold
From some volcanic strife
Of passionate years, if he remember,
Tombed in the grave of life's December,
Its vanished golden June.
What do you say about my voice? Lady-like?
Well, yes, you see I've spent so much of my
time in the society of ladies that I'm afraid my
voice has assimilated the quality of theirs. (_Sighs
deeply._) Oh, yes. Not that there is any lack of
good nourishment. Oh, no. Nor of liquid
refreshment. Oh, no. Nor of refined and entertaining
company. Oh, no. Nor could any one
suggest that I am not in high favour. Oh, no.
I have been appointed Chief... Inspector...
Oh, no, no, Chief... Manager... Oh, no, no,
no... Chief Administrator... Quite so!
Chief Administrator of the Harem of her Imperial
Highness the Princess Turandot. A position of
distinction, a--
(PANTALONE _pulls his sleeve, and drags him away_.)
PANTALONE.
Confound you, sir!... (_To the hangman, who
has appeared on the wall._) Another inch or so
to the right. Halt! a fine place that.
TARTAGLIA.
Too far to the right, my dear colleague. Much
too far to the right. There's a fine place quite
near there between the young Maharajah of Timbuctoo
and the Crown Prince of Beluchistan. (_To
the headsman._) Just a shade farther--to the
left, that's it, you've got it--straight up, straight
up. Halt!
PANTALONE.
That will never do, my dear Lord Chancellor.
That will never do. Really, we _can't_ have three
moustaches together. Back to the right--to the
right. The Prince of Hyrcania is clean-shaven.
His Royal Highness, the dear fellow, will have
quite a martial appearance next to him. That's
it, right in the middle. A little bit more to
the front. Right you are. Halt! (_To the
Prince._) I do hope your Royal Highness is
delighted with the situation we have been at such
pains to select for you. Commanding position,
don't you think? Eh? Very well, then, that's
all right. Drive it in fast. Down with you.
Quick--march! And now, your Royal Highness,
my dear old fellow, may we request the honour of
your company back to town? We shall proceed,
according to instructions, past the harem of our
illustrious Princess to the place of execution.
But you won't need to make-a, long stay _there_,
you'll be back here again very shortly. Let me
take this opportunity of introducing to you one
of our most capable, one of our busiest officials,
with whom you will soon come into closer contact.
A very charming man--(_whispers to him_). You'll
find him sharp though, he has a cutting manner.
...But don't look so cut up, your Royal Highness;
keep your pecker up. Come now, love
hasn't treated you so badly after all; it brings
most men to the altar and then to the halter--
you'll keep your head out of that noose anyhow.
And your flame, your idolized, lovely Turandot,
will perhaps do you the honour of appearing on
the grated balcony. I tell you this in case you
should by any chance desire to cast her one of
your languishing glances, your Royal Highness,
my dear old chappie. You silly fool you...
Forward, march!... Forward, I tell you,
march, and be damned to you! Right about
turn, forward march!
(_Music. Exeunt all, in the same order as
they came, towards the interior of the
city. Enter CALAF, from the left, on
a pony. He dismounts, and looks round
about him in a dazed and dreamy
manner._)
SCENE II
CALAF.
(_Stepping in front of the footlights._) I am
Prince Calaf, 'sh! Nobody must know my name.
Calaf--I don't mind telling _you_. My father is
Timur, once the mighty King of Astrakhan--the
cruel Sultan of Taschkent drove us out of our own
country. O miserable fate! O heavenly gods!
I wandered for months and months with my
parents in the desert. Our foe, the Sultan, sent
riders after us. At the Court of Kaikobad, King
of the Carcasenes, I served as a gardener. His
daughter, the Princess Adelma, fell in love with
me. I had to flee again, and came to Berlas.
There I kept my poor parents by carrying burdens,
and by begging. Then a happy chance gave
me these fine clothes, a horse, and this purse of
gold. I set out in quest of adventure. And
here I am now in Pekin.
(_Noise behind the scenes. Enter BARAK from
the city._)
SCENE III
CALAF, _then_ BARAK.
BARAK.
Whence come you, stranger?
CALAF.
Who asks?
BARAK.
Dare I believe, my eyes?
CALAF.
Do I see right?
BARAK.
It is he!
CALAF.
None else!
BARAK.
My Prince!
CALAF.
My tutor, friend!
BARAK.
Prince Calaf!
CALAF.
Barak!
BARAK.
Yet alive!
CALAF.
You here?
BARAK.
And you, Prince?
CALAF.
Quiet. Betray me not. But whisper low,
How comes it that in Pekin you are found?
BARAK.
When your ill-fated army fought and lost
Before the gates of Astrakhan, and fled
Close followed by the Sultan of Taschkent,
Who, barbarous, o'er the battlefield careered,
I in my helpless rage and wounded sore
Sought refuge in the city. There I heard
Timur, your noble father, like yourself,
Had fallen in the battle. Weeping then,
I hastened to the Palace, with intent
To save Elmase, your mother, from the foe.
I could not find her. And already raged
The Sultan o'er the unresisting town.
I turned my back on hope, and fled away.
And after months of wandering I came hither,
And took a false name, calling myself Hassan
The Persian, and as such I came to know
A widow in distress. By virtue of
My few remaining jewels which I sold
For her, and by the good advice I gave,
I rescued her from utter penury.
She was not thankless, I disliked her not,
And in the end I married her. And she
Even to this very day thinks that I am
A Persian, and she calls me Hassan, not
Barak. And so I live with her, and I
Am poor indeed after my former state,
But richer than a prince now that I find
You who are dearer to me than a son,
Now that I find my Prince Calaf alive.
(_Kneels._)
CALAF.
'Sh! Speak no name! On that disastrous day
I hied me with my father to the Palace.
We snatched what precious things we could, and fled,
We and my mother, out of Astrakhan,
All three in beggars' garb.
BARAK (_weeps_).
Prince, say no more!
My heart is breaking. Timur, my noble King,
The Queen herself in such sad lowliness.
But are they yet alive?
CALAF.
They are alive,
Barak. They both are living. And after that,
Wandering still farther, in the end we came
Unto the city of the Carcasenes.
BARAK (_rises_).
O say no more! I have heard enough of grief...
And yet I see you as a knight attired.
Tell me how fortune favoured you at last.
CALAF.
Tell you how fortune--_favoured_ me? You jest!
But I will tell you how I fared. The Khan
Of Berlas hath a favourite sparrow-hawk,
That with his jesses to the forest flew.
By some good chance I caught this hawk, and brought him
Home to the Khan, who questioned of my name.
I hid my birth, and painted myself poor,
A porter of burdens, and my parents ill.
Straightway he sends them to the hospital... (_Weeps._)
Barak, thy King, thy Queen, in a hospital!
BARAK.
Merciful God!
CALAF.
To me he gives this purse here;
A horse he gives me, too, and this attire.
I throw myself into my parents' arms,
And weeping say: "I will no longer bear
To see you so. Now I will fare in quest
Of the jade Fortune, and either I will lose
My life, or you shall hear from me anon."
They clung around my, neck, would come with me.
(God grant they have not followed at my heels
In their blind love!) Now to Pekin I come
Where in the Emperor's army I will 'list;
And if I rise!--The day of vengeance dawns!--
Why is the city full to overflowing?
Stay! I will seek thee out again, Barak;
But now I burn to see what festival
Swells such a crowd.
BARAK.
O go not, my dear Prince.
And spare your eyes the pitiable sight
Of most ignoble butchery.
CALAF.
Butchery?
BARAK.
It cannot be but you have heard the fame
Of Turandot, the Emperor's only daughter,
Who, beautiful as she is cruel, fills
Pekin with death and mourning without end?
CALAF.
Something I heard of this kind at the Court
Of Kaikobad. Indeed, they told me there
That Kaikobad's own son mysteriously
In Pekin found his death. And this was why
King Kaikobad waged war against Altoum.
But these are tales told for an idle hour.
Well, what comes next?
BARAK.
What next? Why, Turandot,
The mighty Emperor's daughter, unexcelled
In the mind's keenness, and of beauty such
That never master's pencil limned her (spite
Of the innumerable pictures of her
Which travel round the world), is so conceited,
And hates all men with such a ruthless hate,
The greatest princes woo her hand in vain.
CALAF.
That ancient fable. And what follows next?
BARAK.
This fable is a fable that is true.
Her father often sought to have her wed--
For she is sole heir to his mighty throne--
But she said "no" to every prince that came,
And his soft heart would not constrain her "yea."
Not seldom her refusal led to war,
And, though his arms were yet victorious,
He felt the approach of age, and so one day
He spake to her, deliberately resolved:
"Make up thy mind to take a husband now,
Or else show me a means to spare my land
The throes of war. Age bows my shoulders down,
And I have made too many kings my foes
By breaking faith with them for love of thee.
So once again I charge thee, promptly wed,
Or show the means I seek, then live and die
Even as it pleases thee." The proud maid then
Used every artifice to thwart his will,
Was sick with fury, yea, was nigh to death!
And when the Emperor would not bate a jot,
Hark what this wild she-devil then devised....
CALAF.
I know the tale! She craves an edict: this--
That any prince be free to sue for her.
With this condition: She will set the suitor
Three riddles, and before the whole Divan.
If he can solve them, he shall be her consort,
And heir of China. If he cannot solve them,
Altoum by most solemn oath is bound
To rid the reckless suitor of the head
Which could not solve the riddles of his daughter.
Goes not the fable so? Well, you go on with it;
It bores me.
BARAK.
Fable! Would to Heaven it were!
The Emperor would not hear of it at first;
But she with threats and feints and flattering
Forces the old man's gentle heart to yield,
Convincing him by saying: "No one ever
Will risk his head on it; and if he should,
In any case the Emperor would be blameless,
Since it were question of an edict sworn,
And noised abroad." And what she willed was done.
A fable, is it? Is it a fable, all
That this inhuman law has brought to pass?
CALAF.
Well, if you say it is so, I will credit
The edict. But I never will believe
That any fool has known, and risked his head.
BARAK.
You won't believe it? Pray you, look up here!
(_Points to the heads on the wall._)
All those are heads of hopeful princes, who
Have tried their luck and could not solve the riddles,
And hence... are where they are.
CALAF (_horror-struck_).
Most horrible!
But, tell me, who could ever be so mad,
So crazy, as to risk his head to win
A monster of a maiden such as this?
BARAK.
Prince, he who sees her picture is so lost,
That to possess the living picture he
Would blindly walk into the arms of death.
CALAF.
A fool might.
BARAK.
Yes, and a wise man, too.
Hark to the people pouring out to see
The wise and handsome Prince of Samarkand
Beheaded now. The Emperor himself weeps,
But the she-devil puffs herself with pride.
(_In the distance a beating of muffled drums._)
This muffled rolling is the headsman's sign.
It was to see it not I left the town.
CALAF.
These are strange things you tell me, Barak
How
Could Nature ever fashion such a thing,
And call it woman, as this Turandot,
So harnessed against love, so pitiless?
BARAK.
My own wife's daughter serves her in the harem,
And tells such things about her--things, my
Prince!--
Worse than a tigress is this Turandot;
And worst of all her vices is her pride.
CALAF.
To Hell with such a monster! If _I_ were
Her father,, I would burn her at the stake....
BARAK (_looking towards the city gate._)
See, there comes Ishmael, the friend and guide
Of the young Prince they slaughtered even now.
My poor friend!
SCENE IV
ISHMAEL. _The foregoing._
ISHMAEL (_Enters weeping from the city_).
Oh, my friend! Now he is dead.
My Prince is dead! Accursed headsman's axe,
Why hast thou severed not this neck of mine?
(_Breaks out into despairing weeping._)
BARAK.
But why didst thou not hinder him in time,
My friend?
ISHMAEL.
Dost thou on all my misery
Heap reprimands, Hassan! I have done my duty
To the uttermost. I might, indeed, have summoned
His father hither, if there _had_ been time;
But there was _not_.
BARAK.
Be calm, my friend, be calm.
ISHMAEL.
Calm? I be calm? Like arrows stinging sharp
The last words that he spoke stick in my breast:
"Weep not," he said, "for I am glad to die,
Since I may not possess her. Bear my greeting
Unto my father. May he pardon me
That when I fared I took no leave of him.
Tell him it was for fear lest his denial
Should force my disobedience. And show him
This picture.
(_Draws a picture from the folds of his robe._)
When he sees such loveliness,
He will forgive, and weep my fate with thee."
Thus speaking, my dear Prince a hundred times
Kissed the accursed picture, and then bowed
His neck to the stroke. Blood spurts on high.
The trunk
Quivers, and falls. High in the headsman's hands
The head I love. Blind, dazed with pain I flee....
(_Hurls the picture to the ground and tramples on it._)
Thou devilish, accursed witchery!
I tread thee in the dust, thou spawn of Hell!
And O that I could trample with these feet
The witch herself! Haha! I was to take thee
Unto his father, unto Samarkand?
I fancy
That Samarkand will never see me more.
(_Exit in desperation._)
SCENE V
BARAK, CALAF.
BARAK.
Well? Did you hear?
CALAF.
You see me all amazed.
One thing I understand not: how such power
Should issue from a picture.
(_Bends down to lift up the picture._)
BARAK (_screams_).
Prince, bethink you I
What are you doing?
CALAF.
I will lift it up,
To gaze upon this perilous loveliness....
(_Makes a dash for the picture._ BARAK _holds
him back with force._)
BARAK.
You might as well look on the Gorgon's head!
I will not let you.
CALAF.
Have you lost your wits?
Let go of me! If _you_ are weak, _I_ am not!
(_Pushes him aside, and lifts the picture up._)
I tell you: woman's loveliness hath never
Fettered even for a second's space my eyes,
Much less my heart: I mean the loveliness
Of _living_ women. And now a daub or so,
Cast on a canvas by some colour-grinder,
Will stagger me, you think! Am I a child?
(_Sighs._)
Mine is no case of love...
(_Is about to look at the picture, when BARAK
quickly lays his hand upon it and prevents him._)
BARAK.
Prince, close your eyes,
For Heaven's sake!
CALAF.
Offend me not. Let go!
(_Looks at the picture, makes a gesture of
surprise, and is seen to be in a state
of ecstasy that grows with gazing._)
BARAK (_in anguish_).
Disaster, take thy course!
CALAF.
O Barak, what
Do I behold? How can it be that this
Sweet face, these gentle eyes, this soft, white breast,
Should harbour such a heart as thou hast said,
A heart cold as the snows of yesteryear?
BARAK.
Unhappy man!
CALAF.
O worshipped rosy cheeks!
O magic-breathing lips! O angel eyes!...
BARAK.
Unhappy man!
CALAF.
What son of earth shall be
So brimmed with bliss, so blessed of the gods,
That he shall hold thee, breathing, animate
Perfection, in the hollow of his arms?
BARAK.
Unhappy man!
CALAF (_looks up for a moment, resolved_).
This is the turn of fate!
The loveliest lady of the whole round earth,
Yea, and the richest empire time hath known,
I by a game of riddles now shall win--
Or else, thou turbid life of mine, farewell!
BARAK.
Unhappy man!
CALAF (_gazing at the picture again_).
Thou sweetest promise! Thou
Pledge of my hope! Lo! a new sacrifice
Is coming to thy riddles and to thee.
Vouchsafe one smile, sweet lady, lady mine!--
O Barak, tell me, tell me, shall I once,
Before they murder me, behold her face?
(_A new roll of drums from the centre of the
city, sounding nearer than the first._
CALAF _hearkens, though his eyes are
still riveted on the picture._ _The executioner
appears on the city wall, a fearful
sight, his bare arms bespattered with
blood._ _He plants the head of the_
PRINCE Of SAMARKAND _on the vacant
pole and then disappears_.)
BARAK.
Stop looking on her face and look on that!
That head up yonder, smoking yet with blood,
Is the last lunatic's. And the same headsman
Who set it there to-morrow will be yours.
(_Bursts into tears._)
CALAF (_turning towards the Prince's head_).
Unhappy man! What unknown power decrees
That I must be thy mate? Up, Barak, up!
Thou hast already once mourned me for dead,
And why not once again? I will venture it.
Tell no one who I am. Perchance the heavens
Are tired of heaping troubles on my back.
If fortune crown me in this game of riddles,
Barak, I shall be grateful! Now, farewell!
BARAK.
O Heaven! My son.... My child....
(_Notices his wife coming out of her house._)
Come hither, quick!
Skirina, help thou also! See, this youth,
Whom I love well, is running from me now
To woo the Princess and her riddles....
SCENE VI
SKIRINA. _The foregoing._
SKIRINA.
Hold!
What drives thee on, fair youth, to meet thy death?
CALAF.
My fate, good woman, and this loveliness....
(_Shows the picture._)
SKIRINA.
Who gave him the she-devil's image? (_Weeps._)
BARAK (_weeps likewise_).
Chance.
CALAF (_frees himself_).
Hassan, farewell! Farewell, thou worthy dame I
My charger and this purse I give to you.
(_Draws his purse and hands it to_ SKIRINA.)
My poverty has nothing else to show
Its gratitude. I pray you, if you will,
Give something of it to the Heavenly Powers
That they protect me. And something to the poor,
That they may pray for me. And so farewell!
(_Exit in the direction of the city._)
BARAK.
Prince, do not go! My son.... My dear, dear son....
SKIRINA.
Confucius be merciful to us!
SCENE VII
_The great hall of the imperial Divan: two high
doors on each side, on the right to_ TURANDOT'S
_harem, on the left to the_ EMPEROR'S
_chambers_.
TRUFFALDINO, EUNUCHS.
TRUFFALDINO.
Halt! First scrubbing company, at ease,
march. Stack muskets. Attention! Present
besoms. Sweep. Sweep like the devil. Roll
up, spread, smooth.
(_Eunuchs roll up the carpets._)
There's nothing I like better than watching other
people work. Quite so. This here is the Great
Throne. His Majesty the Emperor of China sits
on that.
(_Two eunuchs carry the throne past._)
We call it the Great Throne because it's a big
'un. And this is the Little Throne. Quite so,
the Little Throne.
(_Two eunuchs carry_ TURANDOT 's _throne to
its place_.)
The Princess's, don't you know. We call this
the Little Throne because it's a small 'un. Quite
so. And _these_ are the eight cushions of the
learned doctors.
(_Eight slaves carry cushions past._)
The sublime Divan will assemble immediately, and
then they'll all sit on 'em--the Emperor on
the Great Throne, the Princess on the Little
Throne, and the Doctors on the eight cushions.
(BRIGELLA _enters from the right_.)
BRIGELLA.
I've always got the blues in Pekin. Not half!
Here's the Emperor just gone and issued a fresh
Court ceremonial again, and I can't get it into
my noddle. I keep on practising. I can't do
anything without practising. Oh, all right, you're
a laughing at me. What are you laughing about?
TRUFFALDINO.
Business is good, that's what I'm laughing for.
My business and my adored Princess's. Trade's
flourishing, praised be the Lord! Huge turnover,
commissions promptly executed. Greatest
stock of sheep's heads in the world. The Divan
will assemble immediately. There's another prince
arrived, with his head itching.... _Ut veniant
omnes_--let them all come.
BRIGELLA.
No, it's getting a bit too hot, all our young
sparks going off like match-heads. Strike me
dead, a man _can_ talk without his head--he can
talk with his belly if he's a ventriloquist--but
he can't keep his mouth shut when he's lost his
head. What _are_ you a-laughin' at? It's no joke,
not half! It's not three hours since the last was
polished off, and you can find it in your heart to
laugh!
TRUFFALDINO.
I have good reason to laugh. Every time my
sweet adored Princess has netted one of these
sheepish little princes with her riddles she's in
such an excellent temper she's sure to present me
with a charming token of her Imperial favour.
But you have no taste for such charms.
BRIGELLA.
I've more than you, anyhow! I can't come
out with such high-flying language about your
Princess. The hysterical water-wagtail. What
right has she to turn her nose up at marriage?
Considering she knows nothing about it. Perhaps
she might like it. You never can tell.
TRUFFALDINO.
Marriage! Oh, fie!
BRIGELLA.
Look here, I can't stand hearing a carved turkey
like you cackling rot about marriage. Think of
your own mamma. If she hadn't got married,
where would you be?
TRUFFALDINO.
That's a lie. My mamma never got married at
all, and I'm here just the same. You see me, don't
you?
BRIGELLA.
True; I ought to have seen at the first glance
that you were a bastard.
TRUFFALDINO.
I am not a bastard. I am a child of love. All
geniuses are children of love.
BRIGELLA.
But all children of love are not geniuses. You,
for instance.
TRUFFALDINO.
I? I have risen in the world. I am Chief--
Chief--Chief--Administrator of the Harem. You
understand. (Music is heard.) Anyhow, you
go to the devil now and pay your customary
assiduous attention to your pages. His Sublime
Majesty the Emperor approaches....
SCENE VIII
(_To the strains of music enter from the left
the Imperial Guards, thereupon the
eight doctors, behind them_ PANTALONE,
TARTAGLIA, _finally_ ALTOUM, _at whose
entrance all prostrate themselves, touching
the floor with their brows_. ALTOUM
_seats himself on his throne_. PANTALONE
_and_ TARTAGLIA _stand near him_.
_The doctors sink on to their cushions.
The music ceases._)
ALTOUM.
How long, ye faithful, shall this torture last?
Scarcely have we with seeming reverence
Mourned the poor Prince of Samarkand, mine eyes
Have scarcely dried their tears, but a new victim,
New sorrow comes. O cruel daughter, born
To be a curse to me! But what avails
To curse the day when by the highest God
I swore that edict! For I cannot break
My oath; I cannot touch my daughter's heart;
I cannot frighten those who come to woo.
Which man of you can tell me what to do?
PANTALONE.
My dearest Majesty, some other Counsellor
must advise you in this case. In my home in
Venice, Heaven knows, I never heard of such
laws. In my home there are never any edicts
of that sort. In my home princes don't fall in
love with a medallion, and then, out of sheer
love for the original, go hawking their heads about.
In my home in Venice there never was a girl
who refused a man when he offered, like this
Princess Turandot here. Heaven knows, in my
home such things don't happen even in dreams!
Before I had the ill-luck to have to run away
from Venice, and before I had the unmerited good
fortune to be appointed your Majesty's Prime
Minister, I had never heard anything about China,
except that you had to be careful not to smash
it; and Heaven knows it kind of knocks me
on the head that in this part of the world there
should be such obsolete customs and such obsolete
oaths and such obsolete males and females as
there are here in your country, Heaven knows.
And if I were to tell the story in my home in
Venice, they would say: "Shut up, you bounder!
Tell that to the marines!" They'd laugh in
my face, I tell you, Heaven knows!
(_Goes to his place._)
ALTOUM.
(_To_ TARTAGLIA.) Have you already seen the
new arrival?
TARTAGLIA.
I have, your Majesty. We have given him
the suite reserved for foreign princes. He has
a remarkably good presence, a nice face, charming
manners, and a good accent. I never saw a nicer
prince in all my life. I am positively in love
with him, and my heart goes pit-a-pat when I
think that he is at this moment on his way to
have his head chopped off, just like a silly sheep;
such a handsome prince, such a charming prince,
such a boy of a prince....
ALTOUM.
O sorrow!
(_To_ PANTALONE.) Are the sacrifices made
By which we send up prayers to Providence
To teach this most unhappy man to solve
Our cruel daughter's riddles? Though I scarce
Can hope....
PANTALONE.
As far as the sacrifices are concerned, Heaven
knows, your Majesty may be quite easy on that
point. There has been no economy with regard
to the sacrifices, your Majesty. I have ordered
sacrifices to be made to High Heaven of one
hundred dogs, sacrifice of one hundred horses to
the Sun, and of one hundred cats to the Moon.
(_Aside._) I, for my own part, Heaven knows,
expect nothing from this Imperial butchery except
sausages and meat-pies.
TARTAGLIA.
(_Aside._) It would have been far better to
slaughter that cat of a Princess. Then everything
would be in order. That would be the best
way to end all this spitting and scratching.
ALTOUM.
Let the new-comer be conducted hither!
(_Exit one of the_ DOCTORS.)
I will endeavour to dissuade him. You,
My reverend doctors, help in this, and you,
My faithful ministers and counsellors,
If, haply, grief should paralyse my tongue.
PANTALONE.
We've done our best in that direction often
enough already, your Majesty, and we're getting
about sick of it, Heaven knows. We shall talk
at him till our throats are sore, and then he'll
go and get his windpipe cut like a turkey.
TARTAGLIA.
Listen here, Pantalone. If my observations can
be relied on, this young Prince has gifts of the
very highest order, and a degree of ingenuity
which is positively penetrating. I do not quite
give up all hope.
PANTALONE.
Rot, my dear fellow, rot! You think he's going,
to guess that snake's riddles. Rot! Stuff and
nonsense! Humbug! Get out! He's done for.
SCENE IX
CALAF. _The foregoing._
(_Enter_ CALAF, _escorted by the_ DOCTOR. _He
kneels, and rests his hand on his forehead._)
ALTOUM.
Arise, thou young and madly daring man!
(CALAF _rises, makes an obeisance, and stands
with noble bearing between the two
thrones, facing the spectators._ ALTOUM
_scans him carefully_. _Aside._)
How handsome the youth is! Compassion moves
My breast.
(_Aloud._) Unhappy man, what is thy name?
What King calls himself father unto thee?
CALAF (_at first somewhat confused, then with a
noble bow_).
Sire, let me beg a boon: that for the nonce
My name be covered up with dark.
ALTOUM.
How now!
You woo the Emperor's daughter, and withhold
Your name?
CALAF (_with pride_).
I am of royal blood. If Heaven
Decree my death, there will be time left then
To make my name and country known to you.
(_With another bow._)
Vouchsafe me silence for the present, Sire.
ALTOUM (_aside_).
What noble speech and port!
(_Aloud._) But if perchance
You solve the riddles, and then prove to be
Of mean extraction, how shall the edict...
CALAF (_interrupting him quickly_).
Sire,
The edict serves not save for sons of Kings.
If I by help of Heaven should solve the riddles,
And then were found to be of base extraction,
Let my head pay for it. My body give
To dogs and carrion crows upon the fields.
There is one man in Pekin knows my name,
And he will bear me witness.
(_With an obeisance to the_ EMPEROR.)
Therefore I
Entreat you in your mercy once again,
Still let my name be covered up with dark.
ALTOUM.
So be it then! It is your pleasing speech
And noble bearing make me grant the boon.
Oh that you now would grant the Emperor
The boon he begs for from his very throne,
Beseeching you: Go back, my son, go back!
Desist from this adventure, and go back!
PANTALONE.
We can't get him any farther, your Majesty.
ALTOUM.
The nations are already nursing wrath
Against me for the reckless oath I swore.
Do not thou also force me to shed tears
Over thy corpse. Oh, force me not to hate
This daughter of my loins more than I do
Already; force me not to hate myself
Who brought her into the world, more than I do.
Proud, vain, and pitiless, and cruel, source
Is she of torment to me till I die.
CALAF.
Sire, but I cannot think that you have cause
To fill your heart with torment and unrest.
If in your daughter there is cruelty,
It is not from her father that it came.
If guilt you have, it can be only this:
That you have given the world such peerless beauty
As draws all men to her. I thank you, Sire,
For your great goodness! I have but one thought,
To win your Turandot or live no more.
All that I ask is death or Turandot.
PANTALONE.
H'm, my dearest Royal Highness, I presume
you vouchsafed to behold the severed heads on
the city wall. Eh? Heaven knows what pleasure
there can be in having oneself stuck like a pig,
so that afterwards the whole town is full of
tears and blowing of noses, Heaven knows. I
can tell you beforehand, the Princess will nail
you three riddles together that it would take
Old Moore himself seven years to take to pieces,
Heaven knows. We two sit here, year in, year
out, and the learned doctors, too, sit here in
judgment, judging who guesses well and who
guesses ill, and we've had a bit of practice and
we can "read print, Heaven knows--and yet we
can't make head or tail of our most wise Princess's
riddles. These are not riddles like those in
Saturday's _Daily Telegraph_, such as:
"Puts his head between his feet,
And rolls him in a ball complete,"
or:
"Four already, I'll be bound,
This is one when it is found."
No, these are confounded new-fangled puzzles
with man-traps in 'em and patent springs. And
if she didn't write the solutions beforehand on
slips of paper and pop 'em into sealed envelopes
and hand 'em in to the doctors, why even they
wouldn't know whether they were standing on their
head or their feet, Heaven knows. You go back
home, my dearest Royal Highness. It really
would be a pity, such a fine young fellow as you
are. Do as I advise you, Heaven knows. If
you don't I wouldn't give as much for your head
as I would for a turnip radish. No use, no use.
(PANTALONE _to his place._)
CALAF.
You talk and lose your breath, old gentleman,
What I demand is death or Turandot.
TARTAGLIA.
Turandot.... Turandot.... What a
damned stupid ass the dear fellow is! You just
listen to me, my dear boy! This is not a
question of drawing lots with blades of straw
for a cup of coffee or an iced chocolate. Get
that into your head; do be quick and get that
into your head, please. It is a question here of
keeping or losing your head. That is the only
argument I will bring forward to reduce you to
reason. This one argument _should_ suffice. Your
head is in danger, do you understand? Your
head. His belovèd Majesty in his own most
gracious person begs and implores you not, to
lose your head. His Imperial Majesty has in
his own most gracious person sacrificed one hundred
horses to the Sun, one hundred dogs to High
Heaven, and one hundred cats to the Moon, to
induce them to restore your lost wits--and you,
you sweet little sugar-plum you, you actually
refuse. Why, even if there were no other fish
in the sea except Princess Turandot, your intentions
would still amount to capital folly. You
must give me credit, my dearest Prince, for talking
so frankly, because I wish you well. Have you,
may I ask, at any time carefully considered what
it means to be shortened by a head? I can hardly
believe you have.
CALAF.
You talk too much and lose your breath, dear sir.
Death is what I demand or Turandot.
ALTOUM.
Death have then, and with death my own despair.
(_To the_ DOCTORS.)
Go, one of you, and bid the Princess come.
And tell her a fresh sacrifice awaits.
(_Exit_ DOCTOR _behind_ EMPEROR, _front of stage_.)
CALAF (_aside_).
Ye heavenly powers, help me, and lend me strength
And self-possession, lest the sight of her
Confuse me: for my mind already sways,
My heart pants, and my lips are quivering.
(_To the assembly._)
Illustrious Divan, most reverend Doctors,
My answers' judges, judges soon to me
Over my life and death, oh, pardon now
My rash adventure, be not pitiless
To one disquieted and blind with love,
Who, heedless of the place and of the hour,
Forces the closed arms of his sullen fate.
SCENE X
(_From the right the sounds of a march with
kettledrums and tambourines._ _First
appears_ TRUFFALDINO, _shouldering his
broadsword, at the head of his eunuchs_.
_After them a troop of female slaves
beating tambourines._ _Then, thickly
veiled, the two favourite slaves of the_
PRINCESS--_the one_, ADELMA, _in rich
Tartar costume; the other_, ZELIMA, _in
more simple Chinese dress_. _The latter
carries a little dish, which contains
sealed leaves with the solutions of
the riddles._ TRUFFALDINO _and the
eunuchs march past the_ EMPEROR'S
_throne, cast themselves face downwards
on the earth, and rise again_. _The
female slaves kneel, and lift their hands
to their foreheads._ _Last appears_ TURANDOT
_in gorgeous Chinese costume,
veiled, and with a haughty attitude of
challenge_. _The eight doctors and the
two ministers cast themselves down
before her, touching the floor with their
brows._ ALTOUM _rises_. TURANDOT
_raises her hand to her forehead and
greets her father with a solemn bow,
then ascends her throne and sits down_.
ZELIMA _stands at her right_, ADELMA _at
her left_. CALAF, _who had bowed when
the_ PRINCESS _entered, now stands erect,
sunk in admiration of her beauty_.
TRUFFALDINO, _after performing various
ceremonies in his comic way, takes the
dish with the sealed leaves out of_
ZELIMA'S _hand; he distributes these
among the doctors, and then, with
various ceremonies and obeisances, withdraws
to his place_. _Music plays until_
TRUFFALDINO _leaves the Divan_. _Then
deep silence ensues._)
SCENE XI
ALTOUM, TURANDOT, CALAF, ZELIMA, ADELMA,
PANTALONE, TARTAGLIA, DOCTORS, GUARDS.
TURANDOT (_haughtily_).
What man is this again, who fondly hopes
To penetrate the darkness of my riddles
In spite of warnings manifold and grim?
What man comes speeding after dead men's heels,
And asks to lose his head?
ALTOUM.
Here stands the man.
(_Points to_ CALAF.)
Look at him well. Does he, at last, not seem
Worthy to make you end this cursèd game?
Take him for consort, and so give me peace!
TURANDOT (_after scanning_ CALAF _for a moment,
whispers to_ ZELIMA).
Pity I never felt! I pity him!
ZELIMA (_whispers_).
Then, quick, three easy riddles. Bid pride go!
TURANDOT (_flaring up, whispers_).
What sayest thou, rash girl?
ADELMA (_aside_).
God! dare I trust
My eyes? It is the very, man--the same
Who served my sire as gardener. Then he is
A prince--a prince, indeed. My heart guessed true.
TURANDOT.
Thou errant Prince, desist from this adventure.
See, I am nowise cruel, as men say.
It is but my deep loathing for all males
That forces me to stand as now at guard
To keep from me a sex that I abhor.
Why should I not be free to fight my foe?
What brings you here to harden me again?
If prayers can move you, I myself will beg:
Desist! Put not my sharp mind to the test.
It is my only pride, the only weapon
Heaven gave me. And I know that I should die
If any man were victor of my mind.
Claim not my riddles then. There still is time.
Else naught awaits you save a shameful death.
CALAF.
Voice of a goddess, body of an angel,
Rare mind, unparalleled intelligence,
Are gathered in one woman's being here.
Who calls the man a fool that risks his life
For treasures such as these? Princess, your own
High understanding cannot fail but see
That as your gifts in greater glory shine,
As your refusal is more violent,
So many more the hearts you set on fire.
Had I a thousand lives, I would with joy,
For your sake, Princess, die a thousand deaths.
ZELIMA.
Be kind! Three easy riddles. He deserves them.
ADELMA (_aside_).
Would he were mine! He is a prince. That I
Had known it then, ere I became a slave!
Now I do love him with a threefold strength.
Oh, why is love for ever weak in courage?
(_Aside to_ TURANDOT.)
Princess, take care! Your honour is at stake!
TURANDOT (_aside_).
So it was fated one should come at last
And teach me pity! Heart, be firm and cold!
(_To_ CALAF, _vehemently_.)
Up, thou rash champion, gird thee for the fight!
ALTOUM (_to_ CALAF).
Are you still obstinate!
CALAF.
I said just now,
Death give me, or else give me Turandot.
ALTOUM.
Proceed, then, with the public recitation
Of that bad edict. Hark, and tremble, you!
(_Music, ceremony._ PANTALONE _takes the
Book of the Law from the folds of his
raiment, kisses it, holds it first to his
breast and then to his forehead, and
hands it to_ TARTAGLIA, _who has just
cast himself on the floor, whereupon_
TARTAGLIA _recites with a loud voice_.)
TARTAGLIA.
There is no prince of royal lineage
But shall be free to woo. But first to him
Three riddles of the Princess shall be set
Before eight doctors in the full Divan.
Let him solve these, and TURANDOT is his;
But if he solve them not, he shall straightway
Be yielded up into the headsman's hands,
Who promptly shall, by severing his head,
Do him to death. Immediate execution
Of this our solemn edict we affirm
And swear by oath, by great Confucius,
We, Khan Altoum, Emperor of China.
(_The recital ended_, TARTAGLIA _kisses the
Book of the Law, holds it to his breast,
then to his forehead, and hands it to_
PANTALONE, _who has cast himself
down with his face to the earth, and so
receives it_. _He rises, and extends the
book to_ ALTOUM, _who lays one hand
upon it to swear the oath_.)
ALTOUM (_sighing_).
Oh, bloody edict! To observe thee now
I do affirm, and by Confucius swear.
(PANTALONE _replaces the book in the folds
of his garment_. _The whole Divan waits
in profound silence_. TURANDOT _rises_.)
TURANDOT (_in a didactic tone_).
Come, stranger, name that tender pair of doves,
As white as innocence, as frail as roses,
Hiding from all men's eyes save his who loves
To see how by the other each reposes,
Even as a sister by her sister's aide.
But he that loves and finds them where they hide
Roams restless till he holds them to his breast.
They bring him from the Islands of the Blest
Heroic fire to make him do and dare,
And tidings from the Land of Heart's Desire.
Name, cunning stranger, name this tender pair.
(_Sits down again._)
CALAF.
(_Gazes upwards for a moment in meditation,
then makes a bow to_ TURANDOT _and
lifts his hand to his brow_.)
Two doves, thou sayest, doves so tender-hearted
That they are always paired and never parted;
Scarce grown enough to bear their weight aloft,
And yet already plump, and firm, and soft;
Two smooth, white doves to which my yearning wings,
To which by night my secret dreaming sings.
These two white doves which hold me free from scaith,
These doves my fortune--they are: HOPE and FAITH.
PANTALONE.
He's hit the mark, my dear Lord Chancellor!
TARTAGLIA.
Hit the bull's-eye.
THE EIGHT DOCTORS.
(_Open the first of the sealed papers._ _All
together._)
Optime. Hope and Faith! Hope and Faith!
Hope and Faith!
ALTOUM (_joyfully_).
Heaven help thee farther, my belovèd son!
ZELIMA (_aside_).
Ye gods, protect him!
ADELMA (_aside_).
Blind him, O ye gods!
O give him not to her, or I shall die!
TURANDOT (_aside, indignantly_).
Can it be possible that _he_ should win?
(_To_ CALAF, _aloud_.)
Listen, poor fool! And solve this riddle now:
(_She stands up, and continues in her didactic tone._)
Come, stranger, name those slender pillars twain
Which bear a bristling fortress on their summit,
A fort which still is in my sire's domain,
Although thy heart burns high to overcome it;
Pillars in strength and beauty smooth and rounded,
On which thy Hope and Faith are firmly founded:
These pillars holding Heaven upon their height--
Tell me the names, now, of these pillars white.
CALAF.
(_After some meditation, and with the same
bow as before._)
These two white pillars soaring to the skies,
That bear a kingdom and all Paradise;
That bear the magic land my dreams divine,
Which are as slender as a forest pine;
Of every prince the very noblest aim;
Thine empire's fairest ornament and fame,
To which my hope clings like a climbing flower--
I call these pillars twain: KNOWLEDGE and POWER.
PANTALONE.
(_Joyfully_.) Hits the bull right in the eye,
my dear Lord Chancellor!
TARTAGLIA.
Centre. Centre.
THE EIGHT DOCTORS.
(_In chorus, after unsealing the second leaf._)
Optime. Knowledge and Power! Knowledge
and Power! Knowledge and Power!
ALTOUM (_excitedly_).
O joy! O joy!--Gods, help him to the end!
ZELIMA (_aside_).
Would this had been the last!
ADELMA (_excitedly, aside_).
Alas! I lose him!
(_Aside to_ TURANDOT.)
This moment turns your fair renown to shame:
He is your better.
TURANDOT (_in a low voice_).
Silence! Ere he win
Let the world go to pieces.
(_Aloud to_ CALAF.)
Rash fool! know
My hatred step by step grows with thy hope
Of victory. Leave the Divan! Go! Flee
From my last riddle, and so save thy head!
CALAF.
Your hate weighs heavy, my adored Princess.
So much the lighter weighs this head of mine,
Since before you it finds so little grace.
ALTOUM.
Desist, my son. And thou, my child, desist
From further riddles. Reach thy hand to him,
For he deserves to be thy husband.
TURANDOT (_fiercely_).
He!
My husband! Of my free will? Never!
Never!
Let the law have its course.
CALAF (_to_ ALTOUM).
Free be her will.
Naught I demand but death, or Turandot.
TURANDOT.
So be it, then; take death. Hold still and mark!
(_Rises._)
Now tell me: knowest thou the magic flower
By whose bright rays the soul's dark deeps are lit;
Which, hiding in its quiet, sacred bower,
Waits for the Fairy Prince to gather it;
But which, if he find not its shy recess,
Withers and dies in forlorn loneliness?
Within the bosom of its petals furled
Lies with Life's sense the Riddle of the World;
And he that first its chalice openeth
Glows with the wine of Life, the scorn of
Death.
(_She unveils herself._)
Now look me in the face, now hold thy ground,
Die like a dog, or name the flower I mean.
CALAF (_in ecstasy_).
O beauty bright!
ALTOUM (_excitedly_).
Alas! he is wandering!
Compose thyself, my son. Keep clear! Keep clear!
ZELIMA (_aside_).
I am dizzy with excitement.
ADELMA (_aside_).
He is mine!
PANTALONE.
(_Beside himself._) Cheer up, sonny! cheer up!
Wish I could give him a dig in the ribs, Heaven
knows! My shanks are quivering with fear he
shouldn't be able to get his wits together again.
Oh for a cooling draught of old Three Star!
TARTAGLIA.
If it weren't contrary to etiquette, I'd like to
run into the kitchen and fetch the vinegar bottle.
TURANDOT.
Death thou didst ask for, death thou hast received.
CALAF.
For one poor moment I was dazzled by
Your beauty--but I was not overcome.
(_To the public._)
This magic flower by which the soul is lit,
Which makes the heart tremble with dreaming it;
This magic rose of all men's fiery dreams,
Which under soft moss hides its gentle beams;
Which is with beauty sweet and goodness shy,
And bears the hope that holds the heavens on high;
This magic flower of purest ray divine,
This flower is: LOVE--dearest, your love and mine.
PANTALONE.
Praised be the Lord! Praised be the Lord!
Here! I can't stand this any longer....
(_Runs up to_ CALAF _and embraces him_.)
TARTAGLIA.
Victory, your Majesty! Hail! Victory!
THE EIGHT DOCTORS.
(_Open the third leaf._) Love! Love! Love!
(_Vociferous hurrahs of the crowd outside and
noisy music._ TURANDOT _falls all of
a heap on her throne_, ZELIMA _and_
ADELMA _busy themselves with her_.
ALTOUM _lifts the PRINCE off his feet
and kisses him_, PANTALONE _and_ TARTAGLIA
_helping_. _The doctors retire in
a row to the background._)
ALTOUM.
And now enough of tyranny and whims--
Do you hear me, Turandot! And you, dear son,
Come to my heart.
(_He embraces_ CALAF.)
TURANDOT.
(_Has recovered herself, and rushes in a rage
at the embracing pair._)
Stay! Do not let this man
Believe he is my husband. I demand
Another meeting and three riddles more.
The time I was allowed was far too short.
Stay!----
ALTOUM (_interrupting her_).
False and cruel child! The game is played.
Thou shalt not so begin a second time.
The edict has run out, and is surrendered
Into the keeping of my ministers.
PANTALONE.
I beg a thousand pardons. But we can't do
with any more of these riddles, Heaven knows!
We can't do with any more head-chopping,
Heaven knows, as if they were nothing but
lettuces. The young man there has guessed
right. The edict must be executed in its entirety.
The bridecake has got to go into the oven. (_To_
TARTAGLIA.) What do you say, my Lord
Chancellor?
TARTAGLIA.
Must be executed--in its entirety. There is no
call for any further explanations, interpretations,
dissertations, appeals, and commentaries. What
do our learned doctors say?
THE EIGHT DOCTORS.
(_All together._) Must be executed! Must be
executed--in its entirety. Decision final--irrevocable!
ALTOUM.
Straight to the altar, then. This stranger prince
Will now reveal his birth and name, the priests----
TURANDOT (_in despair_).
Grant me a respite, father!
ALTOUM.
Not one minute.
TURANDOT.
(_Casting herself on her knees before him._)
If you would have me living, father, father!
Grant me another day, another contest.
I cannot bear the shame of it. I will rather
Die than be subject to that coxcomb there,
Die rather than be wife to that proud boy.
The very word "wife," the mere thought of it,
Of being his possession, strikes me dead.
ALTOUM (_descending from his throne_).
Savage and obstinate and ruthless child!
Not one word more. Come, gentlemen, let us go!
CALAF (_to_ TURANDOT).
Arise, fair, cruel mistress of my heart!
(_To_ ALTOUM.)
I beg you, sire, grant her the respite! How
Could I be happy if she hated me?
And what avails my love, breeding but hate?
If I have not the power to touch her heart,
Let her be free. I do not claim my right.
(_To_ TURANDOT.)
If you could see into my heart that bleeds,
Torn as it is, you would be merciful.
You are determined I shall die. So be it.
(_To_ ALTOUM.)
Grant her another match. My life is cheap.
ALTOUM.
No more of that! On to the Temple, on I
The games are over now.... Imprudent youth!
TURANDOT (_determinedly_).
So be it, to the Temple, I say, too!
But on the altar steps your daughter dies.
CALAF.
Dies? Lord and master, and my Princess you...
I pray you both to grant me one desire:
I will myself set my unbending Queen
One riddle now. And this is my riddle: Who
Is that King's son and of what stock is he,
Who was a beggar, porter, menial,
Yet in good fortune more unfortunate?
Woman without a heart, guess here to-morrow
In the Divan his and his father's name.
If you can _not_, take pity on my pain,
Appease your heart, refuse your hand no more!
But if your cunning tell those two names true,
Your pride may drink its fill out of my blood.
TURANDOT.
Stranger, I take the bargain. It shall hold.
ZELIMA (_aside_).
Alas, new fears!
ADELMA (_aside_).
New hope is beckoning!
ALTOUM.
I do _not_ take the bargain. The law alone
Holds good, and shall be carried out.
CALAF (_kneels before him_).
Sublime
Ruler of nations, star of all the world,
Let your great heart be softened, and vouchsafe
To grant what here your daughter begs with me.
Deny her not the satisfaction I
Do not withhold. Let her bestir her brains;
And if her brains can serve her, let her give
The answer to my riddle here to-morrow.
TURANDOT (_aside_).
Rage stifles me, and he is mocking still.
ALTOUM.
Blind fool, you know not what you ask. But have
Your wish! Another contest there shall be!
If she can name the names, we will not force
Marriage on her; but you--for I forbid
New carnage--free and scatheless go your way!
(_In a low voice to_ CALAF.)
Now follow me! Blind fool, what have you done?
(_Music strikes up with a march._ ALTOUM
_turns, followed by the guards, the
doctors_, PANTALONE, _and_ TARTAGLIA, _to
left exit_. _Exeunt_ TURANDOT, ZELIMA,
TRUFFALDINO, _the eunuchs, and female
slaves, with their tambourines, through
the door to the right_.)
END OF THE FIRST ACT.
THE SECOND ACT
SCENE I
Chamber in the harem.
TURANDOT, ZELIMA. _Afterwards_ ADELMA.
TURANDOT.
I cannot bear to think of it, Zelima;
I cannot bear the thought of my disgrace.
ZELIMA.
I cannot think you mean it, mistress mine.
A young prince, noble, handsome, so enamoured,
And you so full of hatred and disgust?
TURANDOT.
Torture me not. That is the very reason...
I am ashamed to say that it is so....
But there are other feelings strange to me....
I seem to shiver both with heat and frost....
No, no, I hate him, I am sure, Zelima--
Hate him for making me a laughing-stock
Before the whole Divan--nay, the whole world!
How they will laugh at me! Help me, Zelima!
Come to my help! How did his riddle run:
"Who is that Prince and of what stock is he,
Who was a beggar, porter, menial,
Yet in good fortune more unfortunate?"
So much is clear that he himself is meant.
But how in all the world am I to guess
His and his father's names? Here no one knows him.
The Emperor himself has granted him
For the time being still to be unknown.
Only to save time did I take the odds.
What shall I do now? I am helpless, helpless!
ZELIMA.
How would it do to ask a fortune-teller?
TURANDOT.
A fortune-teller?
ZELIMA.
No, that would not do.
But think, how genuine his pain, his sighs!
And how he cast himself at your father's feet
To plead for you!
TURANDOT.
Enough of this--enough!
I said, indeed... my heart... believe it not.
It is not true. I hate him. For I know
They all are treacherous: pretending love
Until they have the maiden in their toils;
But when they have their will, they laugh at us,
Dallying with now this woman and now that;
Nor is there any slave too base for them,
Nor any harlot at too low a price.
Zelima, speak no more of him. If he
To-morrow is victorious again,
Oh, I shall hate him worse than death.
ZELIMA.
Dear mistress,
So long as you are young and beautiful,
Rebellion beseems you. But when age
Comes creeping on, and wooers stay away,
What will be yours beside too late regret?...
What would you lose now save a little pride,
The phantom of your fame?...
ADELMA.
(_Has slowly come nearer, and now interrupts her._)
They that are base
In birth may, it is true, so basely think
As thou, Zelima. How couldst thou conceive
The feelings of our noble mistress, when
After so many years with triumph crowned,
A stranger roving here from who knows where
Puts her to shame in public? How shouldst thou
Know anything of pride and pain and shame?
Thou didst not see the looks of mockery,
The slanted smile round every mouth. I saw it,
Saw it and shook with rage and shame for her.
I love her. And shall I stand and see her now,
Against the promptings of her heart and will,
Delivered up into a stranger's hands?
TURANDOT (_vehemently_).
Stop! Do not make me mad beyond control!
ZELIMA.
Delivered up? Is it so bad as that?
ADELMA.
Be silent, thou! Thou pretty little slave,
Thou hast no need to understand these things.
What matters it to thee if, heedlessly,
She pledged her word? And what shall come to pass
In the Divan to-morrow if in shame
She hold her tongue? I can already see
The mockery scarcely hid, the open scorn,
And the base wit, such wit as is the meed
Of a poor actress.
TURANDOT (_beside herself_).
Hold your tongue, Adelma!
Unless I know the names before to-morrow,
I shall have nothing save this dagger....
ADELMA.
Do not despair, Princess. By taking thought--
Or, if it must be so, by trickery--
We yet will find the names.
ZELIMA.
Oh, find the names,
Dear, wise Adelma....
TURANDOT.
I must know the names,
Adelma. His name, and his father's name.
How shall I find them out? Adelma, help me!
ADELMA.
One thing I know: to-day in the Divan
Himself betrayed it: in this city lives
_One_ man who knows his name and origin.
Now what behoves us is to ferret through
The town, and if we make no stint of gold
Haply we may discover what we seek.
TURANDOT.
Take anything--gold, gems--do what you will.
ZELIMA.
What can she do with gold or precious stones?
Whom shall she give them to, to purchase help?
And if the plan succeed, what will you do
If some one find your mesh of trickery?
ADELMA.
Who would betray the trick--if not Zelima?
ZELIMA (_flaring up_).
Shame on your venomous tongue! Princess, hear _me_:
Cast not your gold away. I had indeed
Hoped to appease, convince you in the end,
Hoped you would give the Prince your hand--the Prince
Who loves you, and well is worthy of your love.
Now I will be obedient. My old mother,
Skirina, came to visit me just now.
Rejoicing at the fortune of the Prince,
And knowing nothing of the imminent
Encounter which to-morrow shall decide,
She told me she had spoken to the stranger
The night before, and said that my step-father,
Old Hassan, knows him. There and then I asked
What might his name be, but she did not know,
Or swore she did not. Hassan, so she said,
Would not betray his name for any price.
This notwithstanding, she has promised me
To do her best to worm the secret out.
Now, Princess, doubt my zeal, if still you can.
(_Exit in excitement._)
TURANDOT.
Come, to my arms! Why does she run away?
ADELMA.
Let the fool go. Now we have got the scent,
And let us with swift cunning track the game.
But come with me straightway and let me tell you
The plan I have. Put all your trust in me.
TURANDOT.
Adelma, I put all my trust in you.
But save me from this stranger whom I loathe.
(_Exeunt both._)