Chapter I: Part 1

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?