A Thousand Years Ago: A Romance of the Orient

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Title: A Thousand Years Ago A Romance of the Orient Author: Percy MacKaye Commentator: Clayton Hamilton Release Date: July 21, 2019 [EBook #59965] Language: English Character set encoding: UTF-8 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A THOUSAND YEARS AGO *** Produced by Richard Tonsing, MFR and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive) _The Drama League Series of Plays_ _VOLUME II_ A THOUSAND YEARS AGO A ROMANCE OF THE ORIENT BY PERCY MACKAYE WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY CLAYTON HAMILTON [Illustration] “_Here in China the world lies a-dream, like a thousand Years ago, and the place of our dreams is eternal_” GARDEN CITY 1914 NEW YORK DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY _Copyright, 1914, by_ PERCY MACKAYE ALL RIGHTS RESERVED BY THE SHUBERT THEATRICAL CO. +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | In its present form this play is dedicated to the reading | | public only, and no performances of it may be given. 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Revised Statutes, Title 60, Chap. 3. | +--------------------------------------------------------------+ TO HERMANN HAGEDORN Singer of flashing swords Lover of olden songs “Miming Romance, seductive Adventure Amorous Magic, improvised Comedy And all the love-charming, blood-thirsty Enchantments Our prosy old workaday world has lost wind of” THE AUTHOR Percy MacKaye, the author of this play, was born in New York City, March 16, 1875—a son of Steele MacKaye. He graduated from Harvard with the class of 1897 and shortly afterward spent two years in Italy and at the University of Leipzig. In 1904 he joined the Cornish (New Hampshire) Colony and has since devoted himself to literary and dramatic work. He is a member of the National Institute of Arts and Letters. Following is a list of his published works: THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS: A Comedy. THE CANTERBURY TALES OF CHAUCER. FENRIS, THE WOLF: A Tragedy. JEANNE D’ARC: A Tragedy. SAPPHO AND PHAON: A Tragedy. THE SCARECROW: A Tragedy of the Ludicrous. LINCOLN CENTENARY ODE. MATER: An American Study in Comedy. THE PLAYHOUSE AND THE PLAY. Essays. A GARLAND TO SYLVIA: A Comedy. ANTI-MATRIMONY: A Satirical Comedy. YANKEE FANTASIES. Five One-Act Plays. TO-MORROW. A Play in Three Acts. POEMS. URIEL, AND OTHER POEMS. THE CIVIC THEATRE. SANCTUARY: A Bird Masque. A THOUSAND YEARS AGO. _Original Cast of the Play as first produced in Boston, at the Shubert Theatre, December 1, 1913_ WILLIAM A. BRADY (LTD.) PRESENTS A THOUSAND YEARS AGO _A Romance of the Orient_ BY PERCY MACKAYE “_Here in China, the world lies a-dream, like a thousand Years ago, and the place of our dreams is eternal._” (The play is an original comedy, suggested by the Persian romance in “The Thousand and One Tales,” wherein is recited the adventures of Calaf, Prince of Astrakhan, and the beautiful Princess of China.) CAST OF CHARACTERS ASIATIC TURANDOT, Princess of Pekin Rita Jolivet ALTOUM, her father, Emperor Frederick Warde ZELIMA, her slave Fania Marinoff CALAF, Prince of Astrakhan Jerome Patrick BARAK, his servitor Frank McCormack CHANG, Eunuch Edmund Roth EUROPEAN SCARAMOUCHE } { Sheldon Lewis PUNCHINELLO } Vagabond Players from Italy { Bennett Kilpack PANTALOON } { Allen Thomas HARLEQUIN } { Joseph Smith CAPOCOMICO, their leader H. Cooper Cliffe LORDS OF THE ROYAL DIVAN Hugh Nixon, John P. Savage, Anthony Romack, Reginald Simpson BEGGARS William H. Dupont and W. Bradley Ward SOLDIERS OF PEKIN David Earle, Charles Muche, Thomas Edwards, Joseph Reed, Howard Jackson, Carl Textoris, Joseph Weston, James Bannister TEA BEARERS Franklin Montgomery and John Leons COURT ATTENDANTS Philip Sheridan and Robert W. Gest FEMALE ATTENDANTS Marie Benton, Daisy Miller, Ruth Pierson, Constance Howard, Elsie Oates and Sybil Maitland SCENES ACT I City Gate at Pekin ACT II Scene 1: Room in the Imperial Harem Scene 2: Great Hall of the Emperor ACT III Scene 1: Turandot’s Dream (1) The Mountains (2) A Street Scene 2: Anteroom of the Harem Scene 3: Calaf’s Bedchamber ACT IV Great Hall of the Emperor. (The same as Act II, Scene 2) Play produced under the direction of Mr. J. C. Huffman Interpretative music composed by William Furst EXECUTIVE STAFF Tarkington Baker Manager Frederick Schader Business Manager Frank McCormack Stage Director William W. Brown } Stage Managers W. Bradley Ward } William Furst Musical Director PREFACE The present play is an original comedy, of which certain elements in the plot have been suggested by the old Persian tale which is the theme of the eighteenth century Italian comedy “Turandotte,” by Carlo Gozzi, translated into German by Friedrich Schiller. It is not a revision or rewriting of that work. It is an entirely new play. Since, however, some modern productions have recently been made in Germany, England and America, under the title of “Turandot,” it is fitting to make clear the relation which my play bears to those and to the older productions of Gozzi and Schiller. In January, 1762, “Turandotte” by Carlo Gozzi was first acted by the Sacchi company of players at Venice. It was one of a number of “improvised comedies”—or _Commedie dell’ Arte Improvisata_—composed by Gozzi in his single-handed artistic war against the more naturalistic works of Goldoni, his contemporary. The plots of these comedies, or _Fiabe_, were derived from nursery or folk-tales. They were acted by masked, or semi-masked players. Their technique was based on the old Italian form of _scenari_. This form is described by John Addington Symonds, in the Preface to his “Memories of Count Carlo Gozzi,” as follows: “Comparative study of these _scenari_ shows that the whole comedy was planned out, divided into acts and scenes, the parts of the several personages described in prose, their entrances and exits indicated, and what they had to do laid down in detail. The execution was left to the actors; and it is difficult to form a correct conception of the acted play from the dry bones of its _ossatura_. ‘Only one thing afflicts me,’ said our Marston in the Preface to his _Malcontent_: ‘to think that scenes invented merely to be spoken, should be inforcively published to be read.’ And again in his Preface to the _Fawne_: ‘Comedies are writ to be spoken, not read; remember the life of these things consists in action.’ If that was true of pieces composed in dialogue by an English playwright of the Elizabethan age, how far more true is it of the skeletons of comedies, which avowedly owed their force and spirit to extemporaneous talent! Reading them, we feel that we are viewing the machine of stakes and irons which a sculptor sets up before he begins to mould the figure of an athlete or a goddess in plastic clay. “The _scenario_, like the _plat_ described for us by Malone and Collier, was hung up behind the stage. Every actor referred to it while the play went forward, refreshing his memory with what he had to represent, and attending to his entrances.” Written as _scenari_ Gozzi’s acted _Fiabe_ were eminently successful in their day, and established his works as models of a dramatic taste which, toward the last of the eighteenth century, it became the desire of cultivated Germans to introduce into their own country. With this object in view, Goethe and Schiller selected “Turandotte” as a foreign comedy worthy to be translated and adapted for production at the Weimar Theatre. Accordingly Schiller recast in poetic form a German version of Gozzi’s play, made by Werthes, and produced it at Weimar, in honor of the birthday of the Grand Duchess, wife of Karl August, on January 30, 1804. In details of this recasting he was assisted by Goethe. The attempt, however, thus to “elevate the taste of the German public” was not successful. More than one hundred years later, Dr. Max Reinhardt produced in Berlin a play based on Schiller’s “Turandot” made by Karl Voellmueller. In 1912 an English translation of this version by Jethro Bithell was produced in America by the Shubert Theatrical Company, and after a brief run on the road was withdrawn from the stage. In January, 1913, it was also produced for a short run in London by Sir George Alexander. Considering the version as it stood to be in need of changes for their purposes, the owners of the American rights requested me to suggest and make the changes. To this I replied that to make alterations or adaptations of the version did not appeal to me, but if the owners would like to give me entire freedom to write a new and original play on the theme of the Persian folk-tale used by Gozzi suitable to the scenic settings of Reinhardt’s production, I should be glad to do so. This freedom was courteously given, and the present play was written in the late spring and early summer of this year, and placed in rehearsal in October. In writing my play, then, I have used for my own purposes the folk-tale material treated differently by Gozzi, and in so doing I have entirely reconceived the story and its situations, omitting many characters of the old tale, introducing and creating several new ones, and characterizing all from a fresh standpoint.[1] The chief male character of my play, for instance, Capocomico, is wholly new. The name is that which was given to the director or choregus of the old Italian troupes of the _Commedia dell’ Arte_, concerning which Symonds writes in his Preface before referred to: “The Choregus was usually the Capo Comico, or the first actor and manager of the company. He impressed his comrades with a certain unity of tone, brought out the talents of promising comedians, enlarged one part, curtailed another, and squared the piece to be performed with the capacities he could control. ‘When a new play has to be given,’ says another writer on this subject, ‘the first actor calls the troupe together in the morning. He reads them out the plot, and explains every detail of the intrigue. In short, he acts the whole piece before them, points out to each player what his special business requires, indicates the customary sallies of wit and traits of humor, and shows how the several parts and talents of the actors can be best combined into a striking work of scenic art.’” The four “Maskers” of my play, followers of Capocomico, are, of course, my own renderings of the types familiar to the old Italian comedies. For their dialogue in the introductory scene of this modern comedy in English, I have invented for them (or rather made use of, for the first time, for modern actors) a form of spoken verse suggestive perhaps of the voluble, capricious, unnaturalistic spirit of fantasy common to them: embodied especially in their leader and spokesman, Capocomico. Needless to say, “A Thousand Years Ago” historically speaking, there were no disciples of the school of _la Commedia dell’ Arte_ to invade old China, but fantasy and comedy are older (and younger) than the schools. As Capocomico himself remarks to Punchinello: “Here is China the world lies a-dream, like a thousand Years ago, and the place of our dreams is eternal.” To the stage production of the play Mr. J. C. Huffman has brought the admirable powers of his vital directorship. The theatrical rights are owned and reserved by the Shubert Theatrical Company, of New York. PERCY MACKAYE. CORNISH, NEW HAMPSHIRE, November, 1913. INTRODUCTORY NOTE The author, in his preface, has explained the pedigree of “_A Thousand Years Ago_.” It is the chief advantage of long pedigrees that they allure us from the contemplation of the present to the investigation of the past; and, for students of dramatic literature, perhaps the most important feature of this present play is that the tracing of its ancestry leads us back to one of the most interesting periods in the history of the theatre. In his quotations from John Addington Symonds, the great English authority on the Renaissance in Italy, Mr. MacKaye has already set before us the main features of the _Commedia dell’ Arte Improvisata_, which flourished in Italy for several centuries; but a few additional notes may be appended for the benefit of those who wish to extend their study of this type of drama. Two books upon the subject are readily accessible and may be strongly recommended. One of these is the “_Histoire du Théatre Italien_” by Louis Riccoboni, and the other is a volume entitled “_Masques et Bouffons_” by Maurice Sand, the son of Georges Sand, the famous novelist. Both of these books contain interesting illustrations of the stock characters in Italian comedy; and the pictures in “_Masques el Bouffons_” are reproduced in colors. The _Commedia dell’ Arte_ attained its climax about the year 1600, but its career was extended well along into the eighteenth century by the interested activity of the very fertile and very popular playwright, Carlo Gozzi. The essential feature of this type of drama was that the lines were improvised by the actors as they worked their way through the scenes of an intrigue which had been carefully plotted in advance. Throughout the seventeenth century in Italy, the general public showed little patience with the _Commedia Erudita_ (the phrase may be translated into contemporary slang as “High-brow drama”), in which the lines were written out by a man of letters and repeated by the actors parrotwise. Such plays, though they might have been composed by poets as eminent as Torquato Tasso, were condemned by the populace because they lacked what seemed the essential element of spontaneity. It will not be difficult for us to understand the attitude of the Italian public toward this distinction, if we apply a similar test to our own contemporary art of after-dinner speaking. We demand of our after-dinner speakers that they shall cull their phrases as they go along, and we respond with dulness to a speech that has been evidently written out and learned by rote. The president of one of our great American universities has been quoted as saying that any professor who writes and learns a lecture is merely insulting the printing-press; there can be no advantage in speaking on a subject unless the speaking be spontaneous: and this was the attitude of the old Italian public toward the actors that addressed it from the stage. A single set sufficed for most of the improvised Italian comedies. This set represented a public square in an Italian town, a meeting-point of several streets; and the houses of the leading characters were solidly built with doors and windows fronting on the square. With the action set in such a public place, the playwright could experience no embarrassment in motivating his entrances and exits; any characters could meet at any time in the neutral ground of the stage; and the practicable doors and windows of the surrounding houses could be employed by acrobatic actors in the exhibition of exciting scenes of elopement or of robbery. One of the most definitive features of the _Commedia dell’ Arte_ was the fact that, though the plays presented differed greatly from each other in subject-matter and in plot, they invariably employed the same set of characters. The individual actor appeared in many different plays, wearing always the same costume and the same mask. Harlequin made love to Columbine in play after play; the Doctor, from Bologna University, repeated the same sort of pedantries in plot after plot; and the Captain Spavento (a lineal descendant of the _Miles Gloriosus_ of Plautus) swaggered through story after story. Individual actors became so completely identified with the stock characters they assumed upon the stage that they bore in private life the conventional names of their impersonations. A letter is extant which was sent by Henry Fourth of France (the gallant Henri Quatre of Navarre) to a famous actor of Italy inviting him to bring his company to Paris; and this letter is simply addressed to Harlequin, since the royal patron had no knowledge of the actor’s actual name. Similarly, the famous Scarramuccia from whom the immortal Molière learned the rudiments of his craft as a comedian—an actor described in a rhymed chronicle of the time as “_le roi des comédiens et le comédien de rois_”—has come down to us in history under the title of Scaramouche, with no recollection of his parental name. The modern stage exhibits many analogies to this identification of an actor with a single _rôle_. For instance, in the old days of the association of Weber and Fields, these comedians always appeared in precisely the same parts, regardless of any difference of subject-matter in the comic scenes that they presented. Mr. Weber invariably depicted a fat little man who was easily gullible; and the leaner and more strenuous Mr. Fields was forever getting the better of him and using him as a butt for ridiculous persecution. At the present time, Mr. William Collier approaches very nearly the method of the old Italian actors. Regardless of the particular points of any play in which he chooses to appear, he always represents precisely the same character—a perennial dramatization of his individual traits as a comedian; and he also habitually exercises the Italian actor’s license of improvisation in the presence of an assembled audience. Five of these standard acting types of the _Commedia dell’ Arte_ are revivified by Mr. MacKaye in his new play on Gozzi’s old theme. The most interesting figure is the Capocomico—the leader of the _troupe_, who devises the _scenari_ of the plays which they present and rehearses the other actors in the business of their respective parts. This creation of the author’s is an evocation of a famous figure from a nigh-forgotten page of the storied past of the theatre, and may serve easily as a starting point for a series of very interesting researches undertaken by individual students of the history of the drama. Though Mr. MacKaye’s play has been written appropriately in English verse, aptly varied in its forms to be spoken by the modern actor, the reader should remember that this drama is designed to appeal more emphatically to the eye than to the ear. It should be regarded as a modification of that type of Decorative Drama which was exhibited by Professor Reinhardt in his masterly production of the pantomime of “_Sumurûn_.” For his background, Mr. MacKaye has chosen an old tale of the Arabian Nights which is hung before the eye as a fantastic bit of oriental tapestry; and in the foreground he has exhibited in _silhouette_ the sharper colors of the prancing figures of his group of Italian comedians. More subtly, this play may be conceived as a parabolic comment on a problem of the theatre at the present time. The histrionic disciples of Carlo Gozzi, the eighteenth century champion of traditional romance, are depicted as having lost their fight in Venice against the dramatist Goldoni, who, as a follower of Molière, was regarded at that time as the leader of the realistic movement; and, despairing of being accepted any longer in the country of their birth, these romantic outcasts have sought refuge in the distant orient, an orient to be considered in no sense as historic or realistic, but as purely fantastic. At the present time, our theatre has been conquered (for the moment) by sedulous recorders of the deeds of here and now; we find the drama in the throes of a new realism, more potent in its actuality than the tentative and groping realism of Goldoni; and our romantic playwrights, like these old adventurous and tattered histrions of Carlo Gozzi, have recently sought refuge in the fabulous and eye-enchanting orient. Hence the success, in recent seasons, of such romantic compositions as “_Kismet_” and “_Sumurûn_” and “_The Yellow Jacket_.” To escape from the obsession of Broadway and the Strand we now turn eagerly to the gorgeous east, just as these discarded comedians of Gozzi’s sought a new success within the enchanting and alluring gates of the city of Pekin. Furthermore, by restoring to our stage the old European tradition of masks in his group of “Maskers,” Mr. MacKaye flings a prophetic shaft in the age-long tourney between symbolism and naturalism in the arts of the theatre. CLAYTON HAMILTON. CONTENTS THE AUTHOR PREFACE INTRODUCTORY NOTE CHARACTERS SCENES ACT FIRST ACT SECOND ACT THIRD ACT FOURTH APPENDIX A Thousand Years Ago CHARACTERS _Asiatic_ TURANDOT │Princess of Pekin ALTOUM │Her father, Emperor ZELIMA │Her slave CALAF │Prince of Astrakhan BARAK │His servitor CHANG │Eunuch _European_ ────────────────┬─────────────────────────── SCARAMOUCHE │Vagabond Players from Italy PUNCHINELLO │ 〃 PANTALOON │ 〃 HARLEQUIN [Mute]│ 〃 ────────────────┼─────────────────────────── CAPOCOMICO │Their leader SCENES ACT I. City Gate at Pekin. ACT II. Scene 1: Room in the Imperial Harem. Scene 2: Great Hall of the Emperor. ACT III. Scene 1: Anteroom of Harem. Scene 2: Calaf’s Bedchamber. ACT IV. Great Hall of the Emperor. [The same as Act II, Scene 2.] ACT FIRST _Outside a city gate, at Pekin._ _Above the gate, in a row, severed heads of young men are impaled on stakes. On the wall, at one side, more heads of older men, with grizzled locks, stare down: among them, conspicuous, one with a white beard._ _It is early morning; the sun just rising._ _The gate is closed._ _From behind is heard barbaric martial music._ _Outside, from the right, drums roll, and Chinese soldiers enter, accompanied by a few beggars and peasants._ _Pausing before the gate, they sound a trumpet._ _The gate is opened and they pass within, followed by all, except two beggars, a young man and a middle aged._ _The gate remains open._ _The middle-aged beggar points upward at the head with the white beard._ _The younger starts, and prostrates himself beneath it with a deep cry._ _Outside, on the left, a twanging of stringed instruments sounds faint but merry. It draws nearer, and quickly the players come running on—five tattered, motley vagabonds in masks: Scaramouche, Harlequin, Punchinello, Pantaloon and Capocomico._ _The last, leading them with his baton, stops in the gateway, before which Harlequin executes a ballet-step dance, while Scaramouche, Pantaloon, and Punchinello play accompaniment on guitar, mandolin and zither._ _Breaking off, Punchinello begins to improvise an imitation of Harlequin’s dance, but being beaten over his hump with a thwacking stick by Harlequin, retreats with grotesque pantomime._ _At their merriment, the younger beggar, rising, draws away with the elder, making a tragic gesture toward the white-bearded head on the wall._ _Perceiving them, Capocomico silences the musicians and approaches the younger beggar curiously._ _Stepping between them, the older beggar salaams and asks alms._ _Laughing, Capocomico turns his empty pouch wrong-side-out and bows obsequiously, extending his own palm._ _The other Maskers do likewise, sticking out their tongues._ _Shrinking from them, the younger beggar draws the older away with him, and goes off, left._ CAPOCOMICO [_Waving them adieu_] Mohammed, Confucius, Buddha, befriend you!— [_Turning to his troupe_] Behold, my cronies, beggars—beggars Bow down to us! Lo, they take us for lordlings! Ha, what did I tell you? Our tables are turning: In China henceforward we shall be emperors. SCARAMOUCHE By the carcase of Charlemagne, I’m dog-aweary Of twanging these gutstrings for breakfast. PANTALOON And us, too, Of dancing from Venice to Pekin, for sixpence.— My slippers need soling. PUNCHINELLO My poor hump is hollow! CAPO. Our journey is ended! Nimble Sir Harlequin, [_Bowing to each_] My lord Pantaloon, signore Punchinello, Magnificent Scaramouche—enter your Kingdom! SCARAMOUCHE Enter it!—Now, by the eye-balls of Argus Where is this same kingdom, Signore Capocomico? My kingdom is Breakfast: Show me the gateway! CAPO. [_Pointing_] Behold it before you! Within there, the table Of Fortune is spread for us, served by her handmaids— Miming Romance, seductive Adventure, Amorous Magic—improvised Comedy, And all the love-charming, blood-thirsting Enchantments Our prosy old workaday world has lost wind of. SCARAMOUCHE Ha, beard of Balshazzar! that warms me a bellyful! ’Twas all for the likes of such merry contraptions We were kicked out of Europe. CAPO. Precisely, my bully-boy! What would you?—At home, half the world is dyspeptic With pills of reformers and critics and realists. Fun for its own sake?—Pho, it’s old-fashioned! Art with a mask on?—Unnaturalistic, They warn you, and scowl, and wag their sad periwigs.— So _we_—the unmatched, immortal, Olympian Maskers of Antic,—we, troop of the tragical, Symbolical, comical, melodramatical _Commedia dell’ Arte_—we, once who by thousands Enchanted to laughter the children of Europe— Behold us now, packed out of town by the critics To wander the world, hobble-heel, tatter-elbowed, Abegging our way—four vagabond-players, And one master director—me, Capocomico! PUNCHINELLO But why did you fetch us to China? CAPO. Because, my Punchinello, in China there are no technicians To measure our noses and label them false ones, Or question our subplots and call them fictitious. Here in China the world lies a-dream, like a Thousand Years Ago, and the place of our dreams is eternal. Here in China Romance still goes masquing serenely With dragons, magicians, clowns, villains and heroes, So that five motley fellows like us may resume our Old tradetricks, and follow our noses to fortune!— For a taste point your own, Punch, up there at the gate-stone! PUNCHINELLO [_Staring up at the heads_] What pretty young princes!—But where are the rest of them? SCARAMOUCHE By Saladin! They’ve plenty of room for their breakfast! PANTALOON It makes me light-headed to look at them. CAPO. Comrades, Consider, I ask you, where else but in China May an audience view so romantic a prologue? These gentlemen open the comedy: Yonder Behold, in the sunrise, they flaunt their grim Secret For us to unravel:—Who are they? What means it That here, on a gateway of Pekin, these gory Oracular heads stare downward in silence? And yonder—those others? Who’s he in the white beard?— Love, jealousy, murder—what is their mystery? By the ghost of old Gozzi, now what are we good for Unless we untangle their shadowy intrigues!— Follow _me_, then, my playboys! Before the next sunrise Your pouches shall burst with the gold of their Secret.— Follow me!—Yonder heads are our mascots to fortune! [_Striking their instruments and running through the gate, they all disappear within. As their tinklings die away, the two beggars reënter, from the left_] THE YOUNGER BEGGAR [_Prostrating himself again before the white bearded head, rises with up-lifted arms_] Father!—O slaughtered King of Astrakhan, Timur, my father!— THE OLDER BEGGAR [_Furtively_] Calaf! Have more care; There may be ears to listen. CALAF [_Distractedly_] Let them hear!— Oh, he has held me, Barak, on his knee, And as a little boy I clutched that beard With playful fingers: golden brown it was In those days, and the first bright silver hair When I had found and plucked it out—, his eyes— Oh, those poor staring eyes!—they laughed with light, And with those mummied lips,—red, then, as wine— He kissed my cheek, and his warm, happy tears Wet my own face, childish with wonder.—Ah, My father! BARAK Hush! The soldiers of Altoum Surround us here. CALAF Altoum! damned emperor Of China—I will be avenged on him Who killed my father, and destroyed our kingdom! BARAK And what are you to be avenged on him?— A beggar. CALAF I am prince of Astrakhan! BARAK No longer; he is dead. Remember, prince, How you were drowned a year ago. That night Altoum destroyed your capitol in war, You leaped in flight into the river Yen And perished there.—Do not forget. CALAF Forget? Forget that night? That night I died indeed, And rose from out the river’s chilly death Into strange paradise: A garden, walled With roses round: A moon, that zoned with pearl A spirit there: a lady, garbed in gold And her more golden smile! Wrapt in disguise— A beggar’s cloak, which you had hid me in, The river’s ooze still staining me with slime— On me—_me_, outcast and destroyed, she smiled, And tossed for alms the white rose from her hair!— [_Taking from his bosom a withered rose, he looks on it rapturously_] My deathless rose! BARAK The rose of Turandot Is dangerous as her smile. CALAF Ah, were it not That Turandot is daughter of Altoum, I would have been avenged before to-day.— But he who killed my father—is her father, And she is more than life or death, and mightier Even than a father dead and unavenged: She is love. BARAK Ah, desperate boy, you nurse this love On worse than poison. Calaf, hark to me. Have I not served you and your royal father Faithfully? CALAF More than faithfully: lovingly. BARAK Then by my love of you, I beg you, boy, Crush your mad love for Turandot, which must Lead only to your death, and hasten with me Far from your enemy’s city. CALAF My enemy’s? BARAK Altoum, if he should find you living, would Spike your head—yonder. Ah, be wise, my prince! Root out this rashness. Throw that rose away. See, it is withered—dead. So let your love be! CALAF [_Smiling_] Only a lover rightly loves the rose! Withered, you tell me?—dead? How dull is the sense Which does not feel the soul! For me, Barak, This flower still blooms, and round it all the air Is sweet with spirit-perfume, even to swooning. BARAK [_Rising_] Then it is vain.—My middle age has lost Its smell for magic. Well, then, I must be Content to play the beggar with my prince. CALAF Yes, it is vain. For, still I’ll wear her rose, And, in this beggar’s cloak she smiled upon, Still haunt her perilous city.—I have heard This morning she shall pass this eastern gate Coming from the palace.—So, my old dear friend, Wait with me here, for I can only live By feeding on the glimpses of her face. BARAK Come, then, this way and beg, for folk are coming. [_They draw toward the gate. Barak, starting fearfully, drags Calaf away left_] Great heaven—the emperor! CALAF The emperor! Wait, Barak. Stop!—No further. [_On the edge of the scene, they crouch by the wall, like beggars. Through the gate enter Altoum amid Chinese courtiers, accompanied by Capocomico and followed by the other Maskers_] ALTOUM [_To Capocomico_] An instant is enough For inspiration, and you have inspired Fresh hopes in me. CAPO. That is my specialty, Your majesty. ALTOUM Yet it is strangely sudden:— You and your motley troop spring in my path Like gorgeous mushrooms from exotic soils, And tempt me by your brilliance and surprise To taste your newness.—Well, I am desperate: Old remedies have lost their tonic; home Physicians have proved quacks. I know them all You—I know not. Therefore I will accept Your services. CAPO. We are practitioners In every specialty, my liege. If we Fail to perform our utmost promise—well, [_Pointing to the gate_] Our heads are decorative; they will adorn Your majesty’s collection. ALTOUM Nay, not mine. Those grizzled heads of warriors on the wall Are mine: the trophies of my victories. But those above the gate—those youthful brows Of tragic lovers, hapless in their love— Those are my daughter’s. BARAK [_To Calaf_] Do you hear, my prince? His daughter’s! Oh, take heed! CAPO. Your majesty Allures me. Is your daughter— ALTOUM Hush! Come closer. [_He leads Capocomico away from the curtain, right. Calaf follows furtively, heedless of Barak’s gestures_] My daughter is my cause of desperation. In all but her I have been fortunate: In peace, most prosperous; in war, my worst Of rivals, Timur, king of Astrakhan— [_Pointing at the wall_] Yonder you see his head! None of his house Survives to avenge him, for his only son Perished by drowning. CALAF [_To Barak, who implores him to draw back_] God! if I remain, I’ll kill him. BARAK [_Drawing him away_] Come! [_They go within the gate_] CAPO. Was this long since, my liege? ALTOUM This day one year ago.—Some months I kept Old Timur caged before I bleached him there.— And strangely it was on that very night I conquered Astrakhan the change began. CAPO. The change—my liege!—what change? ALTOUM In Turandot, My daughter. Always till that time her mind Was tender-mannered as her face is fair. Till then, there was no creature living whom She would have harmed, even with a thought of pain— Least of all those who loved her. But that night, Groping by moonlight from her rose garden Into my war tent, half distractedly She forced from me a promise— CAPO. What to do? ALTOUM To make this edict: For a year and a day, All royal suitors of her hand in marriage Must answer first three riddles put by her: To him who answers right she shall be wed; But all who answer wrong shall straightway die And their dissevered heads be spiked in scorn High on the city’s gate. CAPO. [_Looking at the gate_] So those are they Who answered wrong! ALTOUM None yet has answered right. CAPO. But why, my liege— ALTOUM Why did I give consent To publish the mad edict? This is why: I worship Turandot. There is no whim Of hers I would not grant to make her happy,— But ah!—how can I make her so? CAPO. Is she Unhappy, then, in her success? ALTOUM At times She weeps to hear the headsman’s gong, but when Her lovers cry to her for pity, straight Her eyes grow cold with sudden cruelty And give the sign for death. CAPO. Have you no clue For this? ALTOUM [_Distractedly_] No clue? Gods of my ancestors, Have I not sought a thousand counsels, all In vain!—A gentle girl, a dove of maidens, Sudden transformed to be a thing of talons— A harpy-tigress! Clue? What clue have I For murder in the bosom of a dove?— CAPO. Softly, my liege. That is my specialty. ALTOUM So I have heard from specialists before; Yet now I feel new hope. If you shall find This clue—whether it be some hidden, strange Indisposition, or some secret reason Concealed by her—and _if you find the cure_,— To you, and to these motley friends of yours, I will bequeath power and provinces And wealth unbounded. But—pay heed, Sir Capo! If you shall _fail_ to find this cause and cure, By holy Confucius, I will _doom_ you all To tortures and slow death. So to perform Your task, I grant one day—until the hour Of noon to-morrow. Are you satisfied To undertake the task? If not, begone! CAPO. Your majesty, I am most itching pleased To undertake it—on conditions. ALTOUM What? CAPO. For this one day _I_ must be emperor, In place of you, and these my motley friends— Prime-ministers. ALTOUM My star!—What then, Sir? CAPO. Then, My liege, I most devoutly stake my head And theirs, with these our masks thereto pertaining, Not merely to ascertain the cause and cure Of your fair daughter’s malady, but also— For this, my liege, is my _true_ specialty!— I undertake to see her happily Plight in a perfect marriage of romance. ALTOUM Great Buddha! Now, this quickens my stale blood— To meet one man of live audacity! Ha! bid me abdicate—usurp my throne— A one day’s emperor!—Good; be it so. Agreed:—But on your head the consequences! CAPO. May the consequences let my head be on!— Where shall I find your daughter? [_A deep bell sounds within the walls. Calaf reënters with Barak_] ALTOUM Hark! the gong! CAPO. What gong? ALTOUM The gong of death: the execution. Another hapless lover has guessed wrong The fateful riddles. Now the headsman holds His head, and Turandot is coming here In state, to impale the gory token—yonder. BARAK [_To Calaf_] You hear!—You hear? CALAF O happy lover, whom The dearest of women honors so in death! BARAK Madness! ALTOUM [_To Capocomico_] By heaven, I am impatient of Such slaughter. See you stop it. CAPO. [_Nodding loftily_] We shall bear In mind your supplication, Sir.—Meanwhile My crown! [_He extends his hand for Altoum’s crown. Altoum, startled, smiles, takes it off and hands it to him_] ALTOUM Gods of my ancestors! CAPO. [_Putting on the crown_] And now Present to us our court! ALTOUM [_Bows, laughing_] Well said, my liege! [_Turning to the Chinese courtiers, he beckons them_] Doctors and ministers of the royal Divan! Witness our will:—Until to-morrow noon We abdicate our throne, and in our place Appoint, with all our high prerogatives, Our friend and servant—Capocomico. Salute your emperor! CAPO. [_Nodding affably_] Emperor, _pro tem_! THE CHINESE COURTIERS [_With murmurs of astonishment, prostrate themselves before Capocomico_] Salaam! CAPO. Not at all. Delighted! We will now Present our friend and servant—Scaramouche, Prime-Minister! [_The courtiers salaam before Scaramouche, who puts his hand on his heart and blows them a kiss from his drawn sword-point_] And next, Sir Harlequin, Prime-Minister! [_The courtiers repeat. Harlequin replies with a ballet-curtsy_] His lordship, Pantaloon, Prime-Minister! [_The courtiers repeat. Pantaloon shuffles nervously_] And Signore Punchinello, Prime-Minister! [_The courtiers repeat. Punchinello, tapping his nose, bows sagely. The four Maskers assume toploftical airs and gather about Capocomico_] And now, Prime-Minister, are your four heads All dumb? Your emperor awaits advice. SCARAMOUCHE By the belly of Baal, your majesty, I move We all adjourn to breakfast. PANTALOON [_Quickly_] Second the motion! PUNCHINELLO Hear! hear! Applause! [_Harlequin dances to the gate_] CAPO. [_Correctively_] No applause in court! The motion Rests on the table— [_To Scaramouche_] with your breakfast.—Now More pressing matters urge: Our imperial Daughter—Princess of Pekin—comes. ALTOUM [_Gasping_] Your daughter! CAPO. Daughter, _pro tem_!— [_To all_] The princess Turandot: Salute her! [_To the intermittent toll of the deep gong, soldiers enter with procession to slow, martial music. Amongst them, with regalia, a Headsman bears on a pike the head of a young man, which he places beside the others over the gate._ _Finally, accompanied by female slaves, comes Turandot, dressed like her followers in garb of gloomy splendor._ _In the crowd Calaf gazes at her passionately. With him is Barak._ _The Chinese courtiers prostrate themselves._ _The Maskers bow in European fashion_] THE CHINESE COURTIERS AND CROWD Turandot! Salaam! CAPO. [_Speaks familiarly to the emperor_] Altoum, Present to us our newly adopted daughter! ALTOUM Turandot, heaven to-day has interposed To grant your prayers. Listen! TURANDOT [_Looking with wonder at Capocomico and the Maskers_] I am listening, Sire. ALTOUM ’Tis your strange prayer never to marry. Well, Henceforth I vow no more to oppose your whim. One year has passed and one day yet remains Of my rash law that dooms your lovers to death. [_He points to the new head upon the wall_] For that one day, to celebrate my vow And do you pleasure, I have appointed these Princes of Faraway, to usher in Our new régime. Sir Capocomico Is now your emperor; these are your court To make a festa of the law’s last day.— After to-morrow you are free forever. TURANDOT Sire, are you jesting? CAPO. Signorina, all We dream or do is jesting, and ourselves The butts of the jester. We are antics all. To advertise it is my specialty. Therefore, if we be kings or deuces hangs On how the clever jester cuts his pack. This cut I’m king, and [_Pointing to the Maskers_] red is trumps, not black. So doff your mourning, daughter. TURANDOT If I am dreaming, Or you are jesting, this is the pleasantest jest My heart has dreamed in all one doleful year. Princes of Faraway, I welcome you. This bloody sport of spikèd lovers’ heads— I’m tired of playing it. Those heartless fools That sought to wed a princess ’gainst her will— Look how they read my riddle on the air! Love is a slippery necklace.—Bring me laughter, My one day’s Sire, and I will bow me low And kiss your garment. CAPO. Go and change your own, then, To match our motley. TURANDOT I will go—and laugh In going. [_To her slaves_] Come! [_Turandot starts to return within the gate. Pushing through the crowd, Calaf prostrates himself before her, with a passionate cry_] CALAF Alms!—alms for hearts That beg! [_Reaching toward her, Calaf holds up the withered rose._ _Gazing, Turandot pauses an instant, moves past, but, looking back, staggers, trembling_] TURANDOT Ah me! [_Swaying, she swoons in the arms of her slave, Zelima_] ZELIMA My lady! CAPO. [_Rushing toward her, with Altoum_] Quick! She’s falling! ALTOUM Turandot!—Kill the beggar. TURANDOT [_Faintly, recovering_] No, ’tis nothing. [_To Capocomico_] Here, give him this. CAPO. [_Taking it, astounded_] Your ring? TURANDOT A token, Sire.— A token of our new régime: to all My people—blessing, and to beggars—love. [_She goes out_] ALTOUM [_Going with her_] Attend her well, Zelima. [_All follow after, and at a gesture from Capocomico, pass out. Near the gate the Maskers pause and wait for Capocomico, who returns to Calaf_] CAPO. Fellow, rise! [_Calaf staggers to his feet_] Your most high princess graciously bestows This alms—a ring, in token of her love To all the world. [_Taking it, Calaf falls again to the ground. Barak comes to him._ _Capocomico watches, and beckons, twinkling, to the Maskers_] Now heaven witness this:— He also swoons. My playboys, catch your cue. Who said Romance is buried? Here is China Where princesses and beggars swoon to meet!— [_Surreptitiously, he takes from Calaf’s side a wallet. Then beckons the Maskers._] Prime-Minister, follow your emperor! [_He departs with the Maskers_] BARAK [_With solicitude_] Calaf—my prince! [_He raises him to a sitting posture_] CALAF [_Dazedly_] Her ring! BARAK We must be gone gone— Danger surrounds us here. CALAF [_Rising_] _Her_ ring for token! But ah!—he said “to all the world.” BARAK Be quick! CALAF [_With suddenness_] I will. This instant I will follow her. BARAK Follow her!—what, to death? CALAF Death or delight, Either or both, for death itself were joy For her sake. BARAK Do you wear that ring in hope? A beggar? CALAF No, she gave it as an alms, “To all the world.” The princess of the world Would never stoop in love to wed with less Than royal blood.—There is no hope for me, A beggar. BARAK How, then—? CALAF I will go as prince— As Calaf, prince of Astrakhan, I’ll go To guess her riddles—like those others. BARAK No! That would be doubly death. Your head is forfeit If you are even found. CALAF Few know me here, or none, In Pekin; yet though every dog should know me I’ll do it.—Here, keep safe this beggar’s cloak: I love it for her sake. This ring and rose Guard as your life. Come now; help me remove This stain and straggled beard. Then wait for me, Till I have won my love—or perish there! [_Pointing to the heads on the gate, he rushes into the city._] BARAK [_Following him_] Lord of mad lovers, save him! _Curtain._ ACT SECOND SCENE I: _A Room in the Harem_ _On a low bench Zelima is sealed, sewing a gorgeously embroidered garment. About her are other female slaves._ _At the back stands Chang, the chief Eunuch._ ZELIMA [_Stops sewing and listens_] There! Hark! I hear it again. CHANG I can hear nothing. ZELIMA You’re growing deaf, Chang. Some one is knocking—softly. CHANG [_Opening the door, left_] No one is here. ZELIMA Below—at the outer door. See who it is. CHANG I will see. [_He goes out, closing the door. Zelima sews for a moment; then rises, puts away her needle and spreads out the garment, surveying it._ _From the right Turandot enters, splendidly arrayed._ _She runs impetuously to Zelima and embraces her_] TURANDOT Zelima! Zelima! Little Zelima! ZELIMA [_Affectionately_] My lady! TURANDOT Dance with me!—Dance! ZELIMA I heard a knocking, my lady. TURANDOT [_Pressing her left side_] You heard it—here. My lover is knocking, and I have let him in. ZELIMA [_Frightened_] You’ve let him in, my lady? TURANDOT [_Laughing_] Into my heart! He came a-begging. Oh, does he love me, Zelima? ZELIMA [_Concernedly_] He kept your rose. TURANDOT The rose I tossed from my garden In Astrakhan, one year ago to-night— Isn’t he handsome, Zelima? ZELIMA [_With conscientious pause_] Handsome, my lady? TURANDOT Splendid and fair like a prince! ZELIMA He is a beggar. TURANDOT I spoke of his soul—his eyes. His eyes are sapphires; All other men’s are clay. ZELIMA [_Dubiously_] His face was dirty. TURANDOT [_Slapping Zelima’s arm_] Stop it, you dunce! His face was nobly tanned By sun and rugged wind. ZELIMA I thought his beard— TURANDOT His beard—God did his best: I want no better. ZELIMA _You_—want a beard, my lady? TURANDOT Stupid Zelima! Where’s my new robe? I’ll wear it to-day—for him. ZELIMA [_Helping her on with the embroidered garment_] You like it? TURANDOT Are not gold and gorgeousness For joy? To-morrow ends my year and a day. Then no more suitors—no more severed heads! I shall be free then—free to search for him Through all the city. ZELIMA Search for a beggar! Why, My lady? TURANDOT Must I scratch your silly eyes out To make them see?—Of all men that love women, I will have none for husband—if he’ll have me— But _him_, the man to whom I gave my ring. ZELIMA Holy Confucius save you, lady! You, Princess of Pekin, wed a beggar! TURANDOT Hush! Unless I dream so and rejoice to-day Then I must wake and tear my flesh for grief That I was born Princess of Pekin. Oh, Little Zelima, let me dream I am A beggar-maid, or he, my beggar—a prince! ZELIMA I hope your royal father hears no word Of this, my lady. He would kill your lover Sooner than you should wed him. TURANDOT I know it well. So I have kept my secret this long year, And let full many a brave prince lose his head To hide my true love. Do not make me weep Again for pity and despair. For now Fresh hope has come. This Capocomico Has changed my father’s heart to set me free To-morrow. Only one more day is left; You only know my secret; none can guess it; And for this final day there is no suitor To claim my hand. [_Chang enters, left, in perturbation. Turandot looks up inquiringly_] Well—well? CHANG Another suitor Has come, my lady. TURANDOT Nay, alas! ZELIMA What,—here? Is he at the door? CHANG Not him,—the emperor Is at the door. He comes to tell you, lady, And asks admittance. TURANDOT What, my father! CHANG [_Fidgetting_] Not Your royal father: The new emperor Is here. TURANDOT Sir Capo here! ZELIMA [_Appalled_] Here, in the harem! CHANG What should I do, your highness? TURANDOT [_Staring_] What can it mean? CAPO. [_Entering, left_] The new régime, fair ladies! [_To Zelima, who runs with the other slave girls toward the door, right_] I beseech you, Do not be timid: All true love romances Are hatched in harems. ’Tis my specialty. [_Dressed in robes of royal splendor, Capocomico stands smiling at them_] TURANDOT Sir, this intrusion breaks our ancient law. CAPO. To-day—O lovely daughter!—_I_ am the law And legalize intrusion. [_To Chang_] You may go. [_Chang pauses, dubious, but at a gesture from Capo, departs hastily. Zelima goes timorously to Turandot, whose eyes flash_] TURANDOT Will you make entrance here against our wills, Or why, then, have you come? CAPO. [_Smiling_] For a beggar’s sake. TURANDOT [_With sudden start_] A beggar’s? CAPO. What I bring will fill four ears— No more. TURANDOT [_Faintly_] Zelima, wait within—close by. [_Zelima goes out, right with the slave girls_] Well, Sire, what do you bring me? CAPO. Riches, child, In a ragged wallet. [_He takes out Calafs wallet, and holds it toward her._] TURANDOT [_Starting_] This! Why bring me this? CAPO. Hold it, and feel how heavy. TURANDOT [_Slowly takes it, peering in_] Why, ’tis empty. CAPO. What is so heavy as an empty heart Hollow with yearning! This has yearned for love Until it cracked. Look there—those sorry gashes TURANDOT What should I do with it? CAPO. Heal its wounds, and fill it With royal favor. TURANDOT [_Reticent_] Sire, you talk in riddles. CAPO. Daughter, you kill in riddles.—Will you kill, Or heal, this beggar’s heart I bring? TURANDOT Ah me! [_No longer suppressing her feelings, she kisses the wallet passionately._] How have you guessed my soul? How have you guessed? CAPO. The souls of lovers are my specialty.— When princesses grow pale, and beggars swoon, Then I bring forth my wallet—and prescribe. TURANDOT Alas—he swooned? Where is he? Is he ill? CAPO. Unnecessary questions, child: Of course He swooned. Where is he? He’s in love, Of course, and so of course is deathly ill. TURANDOT Oh, by the simple truth you’ve torn from me, Do not, I beg, speak sideling, but straight out: That beggar whom I love—how fares he now? Where have you left him? CAPO. By the city gate. There, when he saw your ring, he fell in swoon; And so I left him. TURANDOT [_Passionately_] Find him! Find him for me, And I will give you kingdoms! CAPO. Kingdoms, child, Are shaky things. Give me your confidence: Then I will find him for you. TURANDOT All my faith, My gratitude and wonder—they are yours!— When will you fetch him? CAPO. Soft! To achieve for you Joy in a perfect marriage of romance— That is _my_ vow. ’Tis yours, for a single day, To swear me loyalty. TURANDOT I swear it.—Ah, But do not tell my father. He would kill My hopes. CAPO. Your father—I will educate; And for your low-born lover, I’ll despatch The eight proud legs of my prime-minister To stalk the city till they stumble on him. By nightfall, I will give you news what luck They meet. Meantime, you must prepare once more Your riddles for your final suitor. TURANDOT [_Appalled_] What! CAPO. Keedur, the young khan of Beloochistan, Waits in the hall below, to try his fate To-day. TURANDOT Keedur? Another! Must another Still die on this last day? Oh, misery! And I to run the awful risk once more!— When must this be? CAPO. This hour, in the great hall Of the imperial Divan. Rest you merry, My child, and whet your riddles sharp.—Good-bye! TURANDOT [_Detaining him by a swift gesture_] Not yet! Stay yet a little: Help me! CAPO. How? TURANDOT To shape my riddles so no man that lives Can answer them. CAPO. [_Bows, smiling_] Why, that’s my specialty. TURANDOT [_Slowly, with desperation._] Capo, those riddles hold his life or mine: If Keedur guesses them—I’ll kill myself. _Curtain_ SCENE II: _Great Hall of the Emperor’s Divan._ _On either side is a high tower, with entrance._ _Down scene on the left stands the Emperor’s throne, opposite the throne of Turandot._ _As the curtain rises, Scaramouche, Punchinello, Pantaloon, and Harlequin enter, dragging in Barak by four purple ropes attached to his neck._ _Barak carries a ragged bundle._ _At the centre he falls, prostrating himself before them._ _The four Maskers are dressed sumptuously in Chinese garments, worn over their own tattered garbs of motley, which—at times, when they gesticulate or move abruptly,—are fantastically visible._ BARAK Mercy and clemency, your highnesses! PUNCHINELLO Your _highness_, slave! Address thy vermin speech To the Prime-Minister. BARAK To which, O Lord? SCARAMOUCHE By the eye of Og and head of Hamongog, To _us_, thou quaking mongrel! Howl thy prayers Quadrately to thy quadrigeminal master! BARAK [_Revolving himself fearfully_] Mercy, O Master! PANTALOON First confess thyself! Where is he? PUNCHINELLO Where’s thy fellow beggar? Speak! SCARAMOUCHE Tooth of the Turk!—Disgorge him! [_Harlequin thwacks Barak on the head with his flat-stick_] BARAK Lord, I know not. I am an old poor man. I have no fellow To beg with me. PANTALOON Thou lousy bag of lies! He swooned beside thee at the city gate. PUNCHINELLO He took the Princess’ ring for alms. Where is he? SCARAMOUCHE [_Tightening his rope_] By Sardanapalus! Squeeze off his neck And pick the secret from his gullet. BARAK [_As Harlequin bangs him again_] Spare me! [_Enter, left, Capocomico_] CAPO. Hah! here’s our beggar’s crony.—Where’s thy mate, Old gaffer? BARAK Spare me, lord! I have no mate— I beg alone. CAPO. Where was he found—this fellow? SCARAMOUCHE Godbodikins! We caught him gutter-skulking Behind the palace. CAPO. What’s here in this pack? BARAK [_Fearfully clutching his bundle_] Old rags, your mightiness: poor worthless pickings. CAPO. Conduct him to my quarters. Search him there And look what this contains. [_The four begin to drag him out with the ropes_] BARAK A—yi! Alas! PUNCHINELLO [_Mocking him_] A—yi, old pickings! SCARAMOUCHE [_Pulling_] Sacrasacristan! Heave-ho, my hearts! CAPO. Hold him in custody Till I can question further. BARAK [_Crying aloud_] Calaf, save me! PANTALOON We’ll save ’ee in salt, old calf! SCARAMOUCHE Yank-ho, there! [_They drag him out, left_] CAPO. [_Stands meditating_] Calaf! [_Hardly have they disappeared, when Calaf enters hastily, looking about him with a startled expression. He is dressed in princely regalia, and his face is shaved. Seeing Capo., he pauses abruptly, and makes obeisance_] CAPO. Greetings, Sir Keedur!—You are _searching_ here? CALAF [_Embarrassed_] Nothing, your majesty. It seemed I heard A voice here cry in terror. CAPO. Cry—on _whom_? CALAF Nay, Sire, I do not know. CAPO. ’Twas just a beggar That cried at being expelled. CALAF Expelled?—Where to? CAPO. [_With a flitting smile_] You—care to know? CALAF Nay, Sire, why should I care? CAPO. Nay, why indeed? You caught me querying. CALAF [_Turning to leave_] Forgive that I disturbed your thoughts. CAPO. My thoughts Were trying to construe the beggar’s cry. “Calaf, save me!” he called. CALAF [_Pausing, with a faint start_] Ah—Calaf? So! CAPO. An odd coincidence, for ’tis one year To-night since Calaf, prince of Astrakhan, Perished by drowning in the river Yen.— [_With slow emphasis_] He was the Emperor’s arch-enemy. CALAF [_Calmly_] An odd coincidence! CAPO. And still more odd It might be—might it not?—if Keedur, Khan Of far Beloochistan, had chanced to know Or meet this Calaf. CALAF Still more odd. CAPO. Perchance He never did! CALAF [_Fidgetting slightly_] I never met him, Sire. CAPO. [_With a quick glance_] That being so, we must no more delay Your audience with the princess. My ear itches. Methinks by that your suit will prosper; let me Conduct you to your place of waiting. Come, And by the way, I will confide to you— I have a specialty. CALAF In what, Sire? CAPO. [_Smiling, as they go out_] Riddles. [_Enter Altoum and Chang. They look after Capo as he departs_] ALTOUM In the harem, with my daughter—? CHANG [_Obsequiously_] Even so, O Majesty. ALTOUM And closeted, you say, An hour with her! CHANG An hour, O Majesty. ALTOUM But you kept watch: The Princess, she was not Alarmed? CHANG Her royal highness seemed Moved in her spirit, O Majesty. ALTOUM Moved? So! Well, Chang, inform me further what you note. To-day this stranger reigns as Emperor. Obey him. [_Capo reënters, right_] CHANG [_Salaaming to a gesture of dismissal from Altoum_] As your Majesty decrees. [_Exit_] ALTOUM [_Greets Capo cordially_] Hail, friend! You wear my Empire as you’d worn it Life long. CAPO. [_Laughing_] I’ll wear it longer if you like. ALTOUM Perchance I’ll let you. As for me, I feel Lighthearted as a schoolboy playing truant. This abdicating gives me appetite For holidays.—And what success so far? CAPO. So far—perfection. ALTOUM Have you, then, discovered My daughter’s malady? CAPO. I’ve diagnosed Already, and prescribed. ALTOUM [_Eagerly_] What is the ailment? CAPO. Ah! question the doctor when he makes the cure.— Another twenty hours! ALTOUM To rule is sweet, I see. Good luck attend your reign! If so, I have four kingdoms waiting for your fellows, And for yourself a petty empire—_but_, Forget not—Sire! For failure I’ve prepared Five torture chambers and a sharpened axe. CAPO. To-morrow, then, four kingdoms shall have kings! As for the petty empire, I’ll return it With compliments, and count myself well quit To have served your Majesty and true Romance. [_Kettledrums are sounded within_] Now, then, to pass the first ordeal.—Pray follow! ALTOUM [_Attending him, left_] This suitor Keedur—I like well his looks And bearing. What if he should guess the riddles? CAPO. That lies now with the Fates—and they obey me. [_They go out._ _To the sound of kettledrums, tambourines and music outside, the scene is now for a moment empty. Then from both entrances two processions enter simultaneously._ _From the right enter Eunuchs and female slaves of the harem; from the left Chinese soldiers and courtiers of the Emperor’s suite._ _With ceremonial, salaaming and flare of music, the persons in the processions group themselves on either side about the thrones._ _Entering last in their separate processions come Turandot and Capocomico—the latter accompanied by Altoum, as a subordinate._ _On the right throne Turandot sits, on the left—Capocomico._ _All the others prostrate themselves, except Altoum, who stands beside a lesser seat, at the right of Capo’s throne._ _Having taken their positions, at a signal from Capo, all are served with tea in little cups, which they sip simultaneously thrice, then resume their former obeisances._ _To this gathering now enter three of the Maskers—Scaramouche, Punchinello and Pantaloon—bearing severally three golden platters, on which stand little jeweled boxes, closed._ _Behind them follows Harlequin, who bears a great parchment roll, which—with bows and ballet-dancings—he lays before the throne of Capo; then takes his stand at Capo’s left._ _Lastly Calaf enters, alone._ _Bowing to the throne, he remains in the centre, where he gazes rapt at Turandot._ _Capo now rises, and Altoum seats himself_] CAPO. Powers of our royal Divan and our Harem, Once more, in token of our sovereign will, We are assembled. Let the law be read! [_He sits. Harlequin, stepping forward with a flourish, presents the roll of parchment to Punchinello, who, exchanging with him his platter for the script, reads in a shrill voice_] PUNCHINELLO To high Confucius and our ancestors— Worship and awe! The edict of Altoum _In re_ the royal princess Turandot Perpends: To suitors of her august hand Who guess her riddles—marriage, riches, joy! To all who fail—shame, execution, death! None save of royal blood shall qualify. [_Harlequin receives back the roll from Punchinello, and resumes his place_] CAPO. Who seeks the august hand of Turandot? CALAF [_Standing forward_] I, Keedur, Khan of great Beloochistan. CAPO. Keedur, full many noble youths before you Have made this trial; all have failed—and died. Have you considered well their doom, O Khan? CALAF There is no doom for me but loss of her; If then I fail, death can but ease my doom. TURANDOT [_In a low voice_] His eyes, Zelima! Oh, I would he’d look Another way. ZELIMA It is a lovely youth. CAPO. Think well, you are young. You may even still withdraw And live these many years. CALAF [_His eyes meeting Turandot’s, who looks at him anxiously_] If I must die, I shall have lived forever in this instant. CAPO. Then let the trial proceed. TURANDOT Fair stranger, first Hear me, and so relent. CALAF My spirit, lady, Stands tiptoe to your words. TURANDOT You have not well Considered what you seek; but I, who know, Can better advise you. Turandot you seek, But I, who know this Turandot, can tell you She is a lady of too little worth To cause the noble lineage in your blood To die. She neither wants you, nor your death. Now leave her, Sir, and give her leave to wish you Joy of your twice escape. CALAF I hear you, yet I hear like one who dies out on the desert And dreams he hears sweet water tinkling.—Lady, I parch and drink dream-water. Would you dash That boon from my soul’s lips? TURANDOT Nay, then, no more! Hear now my riddles.—But, I pray you, look not This way, but elsewhere. CALAF I will close my eyes And look upon you, listening.—I am ready. [_Closing his eyes, he waits with a faint smile_] TURANDOT Tell me, O friend: What is that flower Which, dying, steals its lover’s breath, And being dead, still blooms in death, Living beyond its little hour To grow more sweet in fragrance as it grows In memory? [_Turandot gazes pityingly. Calaf speaks with closed eyes_] CALAF A withered rose. [_Turandot starts suddenly from her throne and sinks back, whispering to Zelima. Capo despatches Harlequin to Turandot, who gives him tremblingly a key, which he carries to Scaramouche_] CAPO. Unlock the secret box. SCARAMOUCHE [_As Harlequin unlocks the little box on his platter and presents to him a strip of parchment from within it, reads aloud_] A withered rose. [_A murmur runs through the assembly_] ALTOUM Now by my star, well guessed! CAPO. [_With a gesture for silence_] The second riddle! TURANDOT [_With emotion_] Stranger, you are the first of all my suitors That ever reached the second.—I have spoken To you in pity, but my pity now Is for myself, lest you should guess too well. Cease, then, I beg you. Rest content with passing Your rivals. Go! And I will give you triumph In your departure. ALTOUM Shame! Fair play, my daughter! CAPO. Silence, my lord Altoum!—What says the Khan? CALAF I answer here by law, risking my death. Therefore, O lady, since my love of you Surpasses life, I claim my right of law. TURANDOT [_Her eyes flashing_] By heaven, cold prince, I see I wasted pity Upon a heart of ice. Meet, then, your fate! I will not weep to watch the headsman’s axe. CALAF I trust you will not, princess.—I am ready. TURANDOT [_To Zelima_] O fiend! My fingers itch to scratch him. [_To Calaf_] Hear, then: Reveal, O youth: What is that fetter Which, chaining, sets its captive free, But broken, makes of liberty A weary bondage, little better Than death, to one whose spirits mount and sing In manacles? [_Calaf remains silent, pressing his closed eyes in thought. Altoum leans forward. The people mutter low. Turandot gazes disdainfully. Soon, letting his raised hands fall, Calaf speaks with tense calmness._] CALAF A lover’s ring. TURANDOT [_Cries out_] What’s that? [_Clutching Zelima’s arm_] My God! here is some treachery. CAPO. Open the second lock! [_Harlequin unlocks the little box held by Punchinello, who reads aloud_] PUNCHINELLO A lover’s ring. [_A great murmur goes up from the assembly_] ALTOUM Wondrous! The fates are with him. TURANDOT [_Rising, fiercely_] Not the fates fates— The fiends are with him. I cry out upon This answer. Some perfidious hand Has tampered with those locks. CAPO. Respect this hall And presence, Princess: _We_ shall judge alone. TURANDOT False friend, is this your pay for all my trust, And this the perfect joy you bid me hope for? [_To Altoum_] Father, I cry on you to right this wrong! ALTOUM The wrong is yours to flout your own decree. But right or wrong, my power is hushed: Not here But yonder sits the Emperor of China. TURANDOT Why, this is monstrous. I am sold a slave By an abdicated father and a motley Who apes the emperor in a player’s mask!— I’ll put no further riddle. CAPO. [_Smiling_] As you like, Princess, but let us keep our humors. If There be no final riddle, Keedur wins: The priests are ready to perform your wedding. TURANDOT [_Trembling with rage_] My wedding!—Ah, then, I am duped indeed, And must submit to treachery. But you— O subtle Khan, dream not to shame me so, And win. I will not _live_ to be your wife.— Do you still claim your riddle? CALAF [_Who has stood in utter calmness_] I am ready. TURANDOT [_In fury_] Then may your answer spike your head in death! [_Clutching her throne, she speaks with voice quivering_] Reply, O Prince: What may that be Which, light of heart, causes despite, But heavy-laden, renders light Its bearer, making care so free That kings might give their crowns to call it Their treasure house? [_A deep hush falls on the assembly. Calaf stands, silent, swaying._ _Slowly he totters and falls on the steps of Capo’s Throne._ _There, as Harlequin raises him, Capo whispers swiftly at his ear. Suddenly then, fixing his eyes on Turandot, who stands pale and rigid, Calaf speaks thrillingly._] CALAF A beggar’s wallet. TURANDOT [_With a low cry, holding her side_] Ah! CAPO. [_To Harlequin_] Quickly!—The third key! [_Swiftly Harlequin unlocks the box held by Pantaloon, who reads aloud_] A beggar’s wallet. TURANDOT [_Turning, desperately_] Zelima! ZELIMA [_Screaming_] Lady! [_Snatching from Zelima a little dagger, she lifts it and strikes at her own breast. Leaping to the throne, Calaf intercepts her and turns the dagger against himself_] CALAF Not you, my love! CAPO. Disarm them! ALTOUM Turandot! [_Amid uproar, the four Maskers rush upon Calaf and wrest from him the dagger_] TURANDOT [_With fierce disdain_] Coward hearts! CALAF [_Uplifting his hands to Capo_] Sire, hear my plea! CAPO. Order and silence!—Speak, Sir Keedur. CALAF Sire, If I have won this ordeal by the law— Declare it. CAPO. You have won. CALAF Then I renounce All I have won, and place before this court A counter plea. Shall it be granted? CAPO. What Do you petition? CALAF Sire, since it would shame me And her, to take this noble princess’ hand Without her heart, I quit my claim, but ask In substitute, a boon:—I, whom you call Sir Keedur, Khan, am royal and a prince, But I am not Khan of Beloochistan. Keedur is not my name. TURANDOT So, treachery Once more! ALTOUM Peace, daughter! CAPO. [_To Calaf_] Speak. What is your plea? CALAF This, Sire: Since I have answered now three riddles Of Turandot, that she—to make fair play— Shall answer one of mine. If she shall guess it, I then depart, but if she fail, I stay— And wed her. TURANDOT [_Scornfully to Capo_] Ha! This jesting, Sire, fits well Your new régime. CAPO. [_To Calaf_] What is your riddle? CALAF This: Reveal, O Lady: What is he, His true-born name, His father’s fame, Who, desperate for love of thee, Assumed from far Beloochistan The false name—Keedur, Khan? TURANDOT Nay sir, I’d scorn to answer. What you are, Or who, or whence—to me henceforth ’tis nothing. CAPO. Softly, quick tongue! To us the game seems fair. Sir nameless lover, you shall have your plea. ’Tis granted. TURANDOT [_Trembling with rage_] What!—O miracle of shame! Perfidious Masker! CAPO. This your riddle shall Be answered here to-morrow by this lady, Or else you shall be wedded to her here Before high noon. TURANDOT [_Descending swiftly from the throne_] Fools! I defy you—both! [_Flinging her sceptre at Capo’s feet, she rushes out_] CAPO. [_Rising_] Follow her! [_At his gesture, the four Maskers follow after. Amid loud murmur and commotion Calaf stands staring at the empty throne_] _Curtain_ ACT THIRD [2]SCENE I: _An anteroom in the harem. Night._ _In the centre of the columned room is a table, on which—softly illumined—stands a large crystal bowl, filled with swimming gold fishes._ _Nearby, Turandot sits weeping, Zelima beside her. Outside, the shrill voice of Punchinello is heard singing to the twang of stringed instruments:_ _O Lady, Lady, let fall your tears No more, no more, for foolish fears, But let in your true playfellow; For Sorrow’s a thief Brings Love to grief, But a merry heart makes him mellow, And a merry heart, O, a merry heart Never yet kept fond lovers apart, Nor pinched the shoe of their Punchinello._ TURANDOT [_Savagely_] Drive them away, Zelima! Drive them away! PUNCHINELLO, SCARAMOUCHE, AND PANTALOON [_Singing together outside_] And a merry heart, O, a merry heart Never yet kept fond lovers apart! ZELIMA [_Going to the door, puts her head out_] Begone! [_She returns to Turandot. The twanging outside decreases, but still continues_] Take courage, Lady. TURANDOT Oh, I have lost Courage and faith and kindness. All is dark— Dark and disgrace. ZELIMA ’Tis no disgrace to win A husband. TURANDOT _Win_ him!—To be tricked and sold In slavery to one I love not—lose The one I love, and truckle to the word Of an upstart—a false, masquing popinjay Of an emperor!—Yet, no disgrace! Ah me, Why did your little dagger fail me? Now I have no pluck of soul to try once more. ZELIMA The gods forbid! ’Twere very wicked, Lady: And him, that saved you, and gave back your freedom So gentlemanly! TURANDOT Ha! and caught me again With his own riddle! Heaven, I hate him. Yet— Zelima, did you see his eyes? ZELIMA [_Nodding_] Most strangelike They were. TURANDOT I must not think upon his eyes, Or I might hate him less. No, only one Of all men wears the gazes which I love, And he is lost to me. ZELIMA Why lost, my Lady? The emperor promised you to search the city And find your beggar. TURANDOT Capo’s promises Are like himself—all lies. Nay, I must answer This false Khan’s riddle, or be doomed to-morrow. But how?—“His true-born name, his father’s fame—” Where shall I find the clue? Ah, heartless fate And stony hearted men! THE VOICE OF PUNCHINELLO [_Sings outside to the instruments_] O Lady, Lady, lift up your moan No more, no more ’gainst hearts of stone, But let in your blithe playfellow! TURANDOT [_Wildly_] Go! Stop them! THE VOICE OF PUNCHINELLO For a stubborn will Makes Love to be ill, But a merry heart makes him well, O! And a merry heart— ZELIMA [_Opening the door_] Stop Your noises! PUNCHINELLO [_Outside_] —O, a merry heart Never yet kept fond lovers apart, Nor tweaked the nose of their Punchinello. ZELIMA Cease! Her royal highness orders— PUNCHINELLO, SCARAMOUCHE AND PANTALOON [_Pushing past Zelima, enter the room bearing bright Chinese lanterns, and singing in chorus_] A merry heart, O, a merry heart Never yet kept fond lovers apart! [_Joined by Harlequin, they pause together before Turandot and, pointing simultaneously their left toes, strike sharply their instruments with a sweeping bow_] TURANDOT What fresh presumption of your brazen lord Is this? PUNCHINELLO This is our homage, Lady, Lady! [_Thrumming their instruments again, they accompany a dance of Harlequin, who by his pantomime indicates to Turandot the bowl of gold fishes, while Punchinello lilts shrilly_:] And thus our Harlequin: He’s showing How all our hearts be overflowing With little, lovely, golden wishes For your delight—as fine as fishes! TURANDOT Go—go! [_Harlequin draws back_] Why have you come? PUNCHINELLO To celebrate Our lord Sir Capo’s great discovery. PANTALOON [_Mysteriously_] He’s found. TURANDOT Who’s found? SCARAMOUCHE [_Darkly_] By the yawn of Jonah’s whale, We have disbellied him from Pekin’s maw And blackest hollowness. PUNCHINELLO He’s trapped, my Lady! TURANDOT [_Chafing_] Will you tell _who_? PUNCHINELLO [_In a loud whisper_] The beggar. SCARAMOUCHE AND PANTALOON [_Sepulchrally_] Hush! TURANDOT [_Faintly_] A beggar! SCARAMOUCHE [_Speaks at her ear_] The louse-gray mongrel with the chalkish beard— We’ve got him kennelled, ha! TURANDOT An _old_ man? PANTALOON [_Nodding_] Pickled! TURANDOT Alas! What are these tidings? Have you searched Only to find an old poor man? CAPO. [_Who has entered behind them_] They found Your beggar’s gaffer, Lady.—Barak he Is called, and lies imprisoned now below, Where I will learn from him about your lover. TURANDOT [_Bitterly_] So _you_ come too. Have you, then, come to break Once more the vow you made? CAPO. [_Quietly_] A single day, Lady, you swore me faith and loyalty; Yet in one little hour you cast away Your faith, to call me traitor. TURANDOT Had I cause, Or no? CAPO. Is there good cause to break an oath? TURANDOT You broke your own. You vowed to achieve for me Joy—joy, and perfect marriage with my love.— Am I, then, joyful? Am I with my love? CAPO. A single day; a single day, I said! TURANDOT So by to-morrow I must wed this Khan, This nameless prince—unless I guess his name. CAPO. Why not, then, guess it? TURANDOT [_Glancing quickly_] How? CAPO. [_Indulgently_] Will you renew Your broken allegiance? TURANDOT I am desperate. I will do anything to free myself.— What shall I do? CAPO. First swear me faith again. TURANDOT I swear it. Now tell! CAPO. How easily ladies swear When they are in love!—Prime-Minister, retire! [_The four Maskers, bowing, withdraw to the background, where they are entertained by Zelima, whom they instruct to play upon their instruments with a low strumming_] In the general practice of my specialties, Lady, I often recommend for love A sleeping-charm—like this. [_Capo takes from his sleeve a small vial and hands it to Turandot_] TURANDOT What should I do With this? CAPO. This, if ’tis poured upon the sleeping lips Of man by a maid, or maiden by a man, Will make the sleeper murmur in his dream Whatever secret thing his soul conceals When it is asked of him. TURANDOT [_After a pause, gives a sudden cry of joy_] Ah, now I see!— But how can I find access to this Khan When he is sleeping? CAPO. I am emperor, And by my new régime, at midnight, all The guards retire, and in the men’s hall, men May pass unnoticed by the others. TURANDOT [_Searchingly_] Men? CAPO. [_Calls, beckoning_] Here, Harlequin!—I pray you, princess, stand Back to back with this boy. [_Turandot looks puzzled, and then turns and stands back to back with Harlequin. Capo measures their heights with his flattened hand. They separate and Capo indicates Harlequin_] A hair’s breadth higher. [_With a questioning glance at Turandot_] A hair’s breadth! Will you risk it—by a hair? TURANDOT [_Growing suddenly radiant_] O wonderful!—At midnight, did you say? CAPO. [_Smiling_] _Now_ are we friends—and may I kiss your hand? TURANDOT [_Ardently_] No, I will kiss yours! [_She seizes Capo’s hand and kisses it. He laughs softly_] _Curtain_ SCENE II: _A bedchamber, mysteriously lighted. The room is vast and magnificent. In the centre, by a divan couch, Calaf is seated in deep brooding._ CALAF If she should guess!—If she should fail to guess! If she should fail to guess!—If she should guess! O endless, awful night, you are like thought— Hollow, unanswering and full of echoes! And like my heart you, too, are sleepless, yearning With dim and palpitating mystery. If she should guess?—Then would I doubly lose My love—my life. If she should fail to guess? Then how might I dare hold her to my bond And wed against her will?—If she should guess— If she should fail—Ah, God! The night gives back Only my emptiness, and moment builds On moment mountains of hell, and here I sit Alone. [_Rising, he reaches his arms with a low cry_] Alone! CAPO. [_Entering in the dimness_] There is no loneliness Where thoughts are merry. CALAF [_Staring at him for a moment_] Merry!—Sire, I have Forgot the meaning of that word. CAPO. Recall it, Then, quickly, for I bring you pleasant news. CALAF [_Eagerly_] From her? from _her_, O Sire? CAPO. From Turandot. The lady loves you. CALAF Loves me! You are mad, Or jesting. CAPO. To the sober-serious Jesting’s a sort of madness.—But no matter. The lady loves you none the less. CALAF How is it Possible? CAPO. You’ve forgot my specialty So soon?—or am I skilled in guessing riddles? CALAF I should have failed without you. CAPO. Will you try me Again? CALAF But how— CAPO. Come hither in more light. [_Calaf moves out of the deeper shadow. Capo tips Calaf’s face upwards, examining it_] What color are your eyes? CALAF I do not know. CAPO. [_Nods approvingly_] Sapphire.—That might describe them, with some license Of love and rhetoric. CALAF What have my eyes To do with guessing riddles? CAPO. Much to do! They have to close and go to sleep, before The guessing. Softly now: lie down and close them Until to-morrow. CALAF Would I might! CAPO. Then do so! For on to-morrow morn, I promise you Delight—and perfect marriage with your love. CALAF O friend, I am too weary to refuse. I will lie down and dream it is to-morrow. [_He lies on the couch. A far chiming is heard_] What bell is sounding? CAPO. Midnight.—Merry dreams! [_Capo steals out. Calaf closes his eyes and is still. The room is silent and dim. After a few moments, out of the darkness there emerges, scarlet and pied, the Figure of Harlequin, who tiptoes toward the couch. At a sigh from Calaf, the Figure starts back, returning more reticently. Again Calaf murmurs in his sleep_:] CALAF Turandot! Lady beloved! [_Standing in a shaft of vague light, the Figure of Harlequin lifts cautiously a vial and, unstopping it, dances softly three times around the divan; then pauses close to Calaf, who murmurs once more_] Princess! Love. THE FIGURE OF HARLEQUIN [_Chants in a low voice_] Reveal, O dreamer: What is he, His true-born name, His father’s fame, Who, desperate for love of me, Assumed from far Beloochistan The false name—Keedur, Khan! [_Bending above the dreaming form of Calaf, the Figure sprinkles from the vial upon his lips; then draws back and listens_] CALAF [_Murmurs louder in his sleep_] Be gracious unto me: Calaf, the son Of Timur, King of Astrakhan! THE FIGURE OF HARLEQUIN [_Laughing silverly_] Aha! Calaf! Calaf, the son of Timur, King Of Astrakhan! CALAF [_Starting up on the divan_] Who calls me? THE FIGURE [_Lifting a mandolin strung from the shoulder, strikes a swift chord and bounds away toward the door_] Ahaha! CALAF [_Leaping to the floor, and following_] What are you? Stop! [_The Figure pauses_] Come from your shadow! [_The Figure takes a timid step forward, and stops_] You! You, the dumb player, servant of our lord The emperor! What brings you here? THE FIGURE Aha! Reveal, O Lady: What is he His true-born name, His father’s fame— CALAF How’s that? Can the dumb speak? THE FIGURE Calaf, the son Of Timur—hail! CALAF By heaven, a spy! [_He springs toward the door. The Figure tries to pass him but, thwarted, leaps back_] Not yet! You shall not go till I have plucked the face Out of that mask. [_At the door he turns the key and takes it_] The door is locked. Reveal Yourself! [_The Figure draws away. He strides toward it. It escapes_] Light footed imp! Now by my soul, You shall not live to blab beyond these walls The secret you have stolen from my sleep. [_He starts again toward the Figure. It dances away from him, striking the strings of its mandolin. Round the great couch and about the shadowy room he pursues it, ever eluding him. Suddenly he pauses, and stares_] Stay! Am I, then, asleep? Are you indeed Some imp of dreamland, sent to plague my soul With fever shuttle-dances, a pied phantom Painting the dark, and tinkling with your timbrel These rafters of my riddle-tortured brain?— If she should guess—If she should fail to guess!— O Night, it is your Echo, mocking me: ’Tis but a Question, and beneath that mask There are no lips to answer! [_Desperately, he throws himself down by the couch, burying his face against it. After a moment, the Figure approaches, cautious, surveys his prone form closely, bends as if to snatch at his robe, but draws back and stands hesitant; then with a gesture half frightened removes its mask, and speaks low_] THE FIGURE Calaf, son Of Timur—grace! Give me the key! [_Turning, Calaf slowly staggers to his feet, gazing with awe on the face of Turandot_] CALAF O Dream! Dream of my love transmuted to a boy— O little dream in motley, speak once more! TURANDOT The key! Unlock the door, and let me forth. CALAF My lady—and her voice! Yet, shining boy, Before my soul loses belief in you, Still let me wonder, looking on your image, And worship at your shrine—Saint Harlequin! [_He kneels before her_] TURANDOT I do not ask for worship—but a key. CALAF The key you ask for locks the gate of heaven And we are shut within. Love builds him bars To stablish heaven where lovers are locked in. TURANDOT Lovers? You dare much. CALAF [_Rising_] He dared more, to say You love me, and I dared believe. TURANDOT [_Amazed_] Who dared To say it? CALAF He who shuttles through our lives, Unriddling and riddling, like a restless loom— The motley emperor. TURANDOT Capocomico! He is a jester, Sir. CALAF Did he, then, jest To furnish you that vial in your hand And charm the fateful secret from my lips Into your power? Ah, if you do not love me, Why have you stolen here now to drag my name From dreams—Calaf, your father’s enemy, Doomed unto death? TURANDOT [_Struggling with herself_] Nay, ask not. CALAF Turandot, Princess of Pekin, stoops not to betray Her enemy, nor steal a riddle’s answer Thiefwise by night, to slay her enemy. The thought is slander. No!—Therefore you love me: So you have robbed—to save me. TURANDOT Turn your eyes Away! CALAF Is it not so, Lady beloved? TURANDOT Oh, ask not with your eyes!—Nor with your thoughts Ask not why this bold Harlequin is here Thiefwise by night, to steal your secret name; But let me go! CALAF [_Holding out the key, gazes at her_] Will you, then, go? TURANDOT [_Reaches for it, but pauses and turns back her hand, screening her face_] Your eyes! They blind the space between. I cannot grope The key I reach for. CALAF Will you go? TURANDOT The air Is dim, but bright with pathways to your face, And where they lead I falter, like a moth To where the lamp shines. CALAF [_In hushed triumph_] You will stay! TURANDOT O dark! What light and darkness and the murmur of waters Lure me toward you? CALAF Night and yearning stars And rush of winds blend us, beloved. Listen! Look in my eyes, O love!—Lean to my lips! TURANDOT [_Closing her eyes_] I lean: Let me not fall! CALAF Thus will I save you! [_Reaching his arms passionately, he kisses her_] TURANDOT [_Starting back, with a cry_] Ah me! I am betrayed. CALAF By Buddha, I swear— TURANDOT Destroyed. O shame of all my vows forsworn, Where have I fallen? CALAF On your lover’s heart. Look, it is I. TURANDOT Who’s there? CALAF Calaf, your prince. TURANDOT Calaf!—Now shame put acid on my lips And sere them of your kiss! A prince hath touched me! O you poor bloody heads on Pekin’s wall, Have you, then, died for this?—and Turandot Shamed by a prince at last! CALAF Lady, I beg— TURANDOT Not that!—Ah, do not stab me with that word, And make me bleed for one who _begs_.—The key, Give me the key! CALAF Mistress, your words go by me Like leaves blown wildly. I cannot gather them. TURANDOT Sir prince, I blow them wildly, and I care not Whither they whirl. CALAF Love changes blood to wine. The kiss of our communion hath turned wine To madden you. TURANDOT The key! CALAF [_Giving her the key_] Take it, my lady, So you may know your freedom and my love, And me your lover, Calaf. TURANDOT Calaf, not My lover.—Calaf, or Keedur, Khan, you are Mine enemy in my power.—Until to-morrow, Good-night! [_She hastens toward the door. Grasping her arm, his eyes glow passionately_] CALAF You came here to betray me?—Speak! TURANDOT I came to win your secret, and to shame you To-morrow at the trial. Let me pass. CALAF No! We are in each other’s power. Let doom Strike on us both together. [_Inexorably he compels her. She sinks on the couch_] TURANDOT In your power! What, I? You would not dare— CALAF Who would not dare? Infinite ages climbed to this little moment; Infinite ages shall sink after it. I stand here on its peak to make it mine.— Open the door! TURANDOT [_Trembling_] _Open_ it?—What will you do? CALAF Now shall the rafters of your palace ring With “Turandot, the Harlequin, Calaf’s lover Stolen to his arms beside his midnight couch!” TURANDOT [_Shrinking from his gesture_] Touch me not! CALAF [_Seizing her_] Wine! Your kiss turns in my blood To wine of fire poured foaming, and the flames Burn outward toward your lips. TURANDOT Kiss not again! Be merciful, and hear me! CALAF Mercy cries To God, not to our enemy.—Your lips! TURANDOT [_With fearful appeal_] My lover, then! CALAF [_Drawing back amazed_] Your lover! TURANDOT Yea—my love! Your eyes—_another_ blazes in your eyes. CALAF Another! Who? TURANDOT The noblest in this world: I love him. I have sworn it. Yet—O Yet— My flesh cries out to yours, my soul to yours, My lips, my lips to yours. CALAF [_Clasping her_] Ha, mine at last! TURANDOT [_Repulsing him_] Clasp me not, lest I cling to you.—No more! I _will_ not. I am his. No kiss of yours Can quench his burning image. Let me go! But ah, the spell and rapture of your arms— Reach them where yearning lovers starve in hell, And bless them.—Stop! My body and soul are _his_. I hate you—I hate you—hate you! [_She rushes into the dark. Calaf reaches—groping—with a wild cry._] _Curtain_ ACT FOURTH _The scene is the same as the second act, scene second, except that the back of the great hall of the emperor’s Divan is now hidden by a decorated curtain. The assembly is gathered as before: Capocomico, Turandot and Altoum seated on their larger and lesser thrones._ _Before them, Harlequin, Scaramouche, Punchinello and Pantaloon are performing a dance._ _At its conclusion Capocomico rises, and addresses the Maskers._ CAPOCOMICO Enough! Go, bring the nameless prince before us. [_Dismissing them with a gesture, he turns toward Altoum_] Altoum,—our greater emperor, the Sun, Sits higher even than our august selves, And soon shall set his throne at highest noon. Then must I abdicate my one day’s reign, First having sealed your daughter’s perfect marriage, Ending in joy her doleful year and a day. Therefore, in those brief minutes which are left me To consummate these little things, I pray you Deign of your courtesy to take my seat And let me do the honors. ALTOUM [_Rising from his lesser place_] As you will! Till noon, my thanks for hospitality. CAPO. Oh, not at all! [_Pointing to his seat_] Pray, make yourself at home. [_As they pass each other to change places, Altoum speaks to Capo in lower voice_] Have you performed your task, and saved your head? CAPO. My head was never more attached to me. TURANDOT [_Bending from her throne_] A word, my liege? CAPO. Nay, but a hundred, lady! [_He goes to her side. She speaks to him low_] TURANDOT Have you kept faith with me? Ah—is he found— My heart’s desire? CAPO. Your heart’s desire is found, And waits for you. TURANDOT [_Excitedly_] Where is he? CAPO. Lo, he comes! [_Pointing toward the entrance, he goes to the lesser throne. With music of their stringed instruments, the four Maskers usher in Calaf, haggard and dishevelled. Turandot starts, with a cry and look of bewilderment at Capo. Capo addresses Altoum and the Divan_] Your Majesty and lords, the nameless prince Awaits to learn his name from Turandot. CALAF [_Stepping forward fiercely_] He waits not, for his name has been betrayed To her—and you, false jester, have betrayed it. ALTOUM [_Amid commotion_] What’s that? CALAF My liege, why should I play the fool In a Masker’s comedy? Death holds less scorn Than being duped to dance in a puppet-show To tinkling mandolins. ALTOUM Speak out your grievance! CALAF I stand here in your power, and his.—At midnight, By secret sprinkling of a sleeping-charm, This masker sent to rob my dreaming lips Of the answer to my riddle— ALTOUM Gods! to rob? Your proofs of this! CALAF The proofs stand up in me. I who did deem it heaven to love your daughter Have proved it hell. Your daughter knows my secret, And all the ravage hidden in my name, Yet am I nothing, my damnation—nothing To her, who loves another. ALTOUM [_Startled_] What—other? Who? CALAF “The noblest in the world.”—O noble world, There aspiration earns its crown of scorn, And baseness wins nobility! In such, I’d liever be a beggar. But enough! My fate indeed is nothing, and my name— My name is— TURANDOT Stop! your riddle goes unanswered. Go you in peace—and friendship. You, Sir Capo, Who keep your faith so strangely, set before me The heart of my desire. CAPO. He stands before you. TURANDOT Trick me not also. Keep your promise still. This man is Calaf, Son of Timur, not My heart’s desire. ALTOUM [_Rising, wrathful_] How! Calaf, Son of Timur! CALAF Not drowned my liege, in water—but in grief. ALTOUM My darkest enemy.—So, Capo, this Is he whom you would wed within my house To my own daughter—Prince of Astrakhan! Now by my star, the doom upon his head Shall fall on yours—and doubly. I, it seems, I, too, am duped! TURANDOT [_Brokenly_] He has betrayed us all. CAPO. A single day is short to make all snug. The Lord took six. ALTOUM A single day is all My word allowed. I see! You bungled, fool, Striving to save your neck, but now your time Hangs at the stroke, and you have failed me. Doom Falls on you and your fellows! THE MASKERS [_Trying unsuccessfully to salaam_] Mercy, Sire! CAPO. [_Behind his hand chiding them_] Where are your manners, my Prime-minister? Venetian bows are still the mode in court, Whilst we are emperor. [_Giving a sign to Harlequin, who runs out, he turns to Altoum_] O Sire—elect! Before the ominous gong sounds in mine ears That ushers me unto oblivious rags To stroll the world again, let me rejoice That you have turned your wrath from this brave youth Upon _my_ humble head.—Congratulations! And with exchange of courtesies, I pray you Felicitate me and these fellow-players On the happy curtain of our comedy. [_At his gesture, Punchinello and Pantaloon run to the curtain at back_] ALTOUM Say rather—tragedy. CAPO. We stand corrected: Or say—romance, where true love laughs through tears: Name it Romance, and grant us your applause. [_Punchinello and Pantaloon draw the curtain, revealing an oriental altar, with idol, beside which stand two priests_] ALTOUM What’s there? CAPO. The altar for our ceremony: The Wedding of the Princess and the Beggar. [_Reënter Harlequin, bringing in Barak, who rushes to Calaf and embraces him_] BARAK My prince! CALAF [_Overwhelmed_] Barak—old friend! TURANDOT [_To Zelima_] Look, look, ’tis he! My beggar’s gaffer. ALTOUM [_Before whom Harlequin presents three tokens_] What are these? CAPO. Our trophies: The secret of your daughter’s malady— [_Leading Calaf bewildered before Turandot_] Lady, receive them with your heart’s desire: A ring, a rose, a beggar’s wallet. TURANDOT You— Are _you_ my beggar? CALAF [_Taking from Barak his old cloak_] I am he who won In Astrakhan—this rose, at Pekin gate— This ring, and in this ragged beggar’s cloak You once did smile upon, I now depart. TURANDOT Stay, love—_You_ are my noblest in the world! [_Calaf turns in wonder and kneels to her. She bends and embraces him. A great gong resounds_] CAPO. [_Presenting his crown to Altoum_] My liege, I abdicate. And you applaud? ALTOUM Yea, marvel, Capo. Kingdoms will I give To these your fellows. THE MASKERS [_Bowing Venetian_] Hail! ALTOUM And to yourself yourself— Whate’er you ask for. CAPO. Then, my liege and lady, I beg—this withered rose. CALAF [_Giving it to him_] Only a flower? CAPO. Lovers, that lives beyond its little hour In memory.—Adieu!—My players, rule Your kingdoms still in masks.—Now for the world! [_Tossing his gorgeous emperor’s cloak to Harlequin, he springs away in his tattered motley_] TURANDOT [_Calls after him_] What seek you there? CAPO. [_Kissing to her and Calaf the withered rose_] _More_ roses and romance! _Curtain_ END OF PLAY APPENDIX TURANDOT’S DREAM In the acted performance of this play, the third act commences with a scene which sets forth, wholly in pantomime, a dream of Turandot, representing—by suggestions of mystic light and sound—the state of her distracted mind, trying to solve the riddle of Keedur Khan. The pantomime takes place in two imaginative settings—a mountain top and an oriental street—blending the one into the other. Out of darkness first appears the outline of the dark summit, against a blue-gray radiance of sky. Etched upon this Zelima enters, like a shadow-phantom, beckoning. Following her to strange music Turandot appears, unsubstantial as shadow, painted opaque on the glowing background, like some silhouetted, featureless figure on an ancient vase, imbued as by magic with motion and antique gesture. Bowing in awe above the brink of darkness, the figure of Turandot is led downward (and forward) into obscuring mists, tinged with green lights and gules. Out of the mist, voices—shrill, bizarre, bell-toned, menacing, mysterious—echo the words: “Khan, Keedur Khan, Khan, Khan!” While the female forms grope below, the figure of Capocomico now appears on the summit, beckoning to his four maskers, whose shadow-forms gesticulate weirdly toward Turandot. “Reveal, O Lady: What is he— His true-born name, His father’s fame—?” Through the interpretive music, the teasing words of the riddle are chanted by the varied voices, amid strange hiatuses filled with mocking laughter. Lastly, alone, appears the shadow form of Calaf, who follows the Maskers downward into the mist, searching with arms outgroped toward Turandot. There, as the unreal forms pass and disappear, the silhouette of Capocomico stands fluting on the mountain top, while below echoes the basso and falsetto laughter of the Maskers, and the low taunting cry: “Keedur Khan!” As this tableau shuts in darkness, there comes vaguely to light in the foreground a street scene. Here, at a gateway, beggars with yokes are huddled; before the gate, a moving frieze of dream figures, noiseless, pass fantastically: Chinese soldiers, high stepping; Turandot again, downcast, gliding like a captive with Zelima; Calaf, swift searching in pursuit; the Maskers, lithe, grotesque, pointing after him; rearguarded by Capocomico—blithely dominant in gesture, triumphant with fantasy. Last of the dream images he also fades in darkness, out of which rise the merry strains of a chorus: “O Lady, Lady, let fall your tears No more, no more for foolish fears, But let in your blithe playfellow——” and Turandot, sobbing beside Zelima on her bench in the harem, awakes from her haunting dream of Keedur Khan. Zelima bends over her. “Alas, my lady, what ails you? You cried in your swoon!” The merry voices of the Maskers outside sing louder. “Oh, I have dreamed, Zelima! Drive them away!” Thus follows the first spoken scene of Act Third, as here printed. As acted, the stage management and lighting of this pantomime have been movingly devised by Mr. J. C. Huffman. Here in description its visionary quality can only be suggested. ----- Footnote 1: Since the date of the commission for my play, the translation of “Turandot” by Jethro Bithell has been published in America by Duffield & Company, New York, so that the Gossi-Schiller-Voellmueller dramatic version of the folk-tale is thus made available for English readers. Footnote 2: See Appendix. [Illustration] THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS GARDEN CITY, N.Y. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES 1. Table of Contents added by transcriber. 2. Silently corrected typographical errors and variations in spelling. 3. Retained anachronistic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings as printed. 4. Footnotes have been re-indexed using numbers and collected together at the end of the last chapter. 5. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_. 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