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....