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.)