Betray me not, O Barak! Now or never,
This is the crisis that decides my fate.
Why should I spare a life I loathe already?
Earth's brightest prize let me at once possess,
And empire with her, or this irksome life
At once abandon. Loveliest work of nature,
Pledge of my bliss, sweet object of my hope,
Another sacrifice stands ready for thee,
And presses with impatience to the altar.
Deal not too harshly with him. Barak, tell me,
Shall I, before I die, in the Divan,
Behold in truth the bright original?
[The figure of the Executioner masked is seen appearing above
the city-gate. He places a bloody head beside the others.
Sound of muffled drums.
Barak. O horrible! look there, dear prince, and shudder!
There stands the head of the unhappy youth.
Look how it glares on us: and those same hands
That placed it yonder only wait for thine.
O yet, return-return-no human wit
Can solve the riddles of this lioness;
I see in fancy thy beloved head,
Another warning to adventurous youths,
In that sad circle blackening in the sun.
Calaf (after gazing on the head with emotion.)
O hapless youth! What darksome power impels me,
Mysterious, irresistible, into
The fatal fellowship of them and thee!
[He remains musing a moment, then turns to Barak.
Why weep'st thou, Barak? Hast thou not already
Wept for me as for one long dead? Come, come,
Disclose my name to none. Perchance the gods,
Weary of persecution, may reward
My daring with success, with happiness.
If not, what has a desperate man to lose?
If I survive to read those riddles, Barak,
I will be grateful for thy love. Farewell.
The second Act opens in the Divan. The adventurous Calaf has claimed the trial. The Emperor, moved by his noble aspect and deportment, endeavours to dissuade him from the risk, but in vain. The only favour Calaf requests is, that he may be allowed in the meantime to conceal his name, merely assuring the Emperor that he is a prince and a monarch's son, and the Emperor, trusting to his assurance, grants the request.
SCENE IV.
[A march. TRUFFALDIN (the Chief of the Eunuchs) advances, his scimitar on his shoulder, followed by Blacks, and by several Female Slaves beating drums. After them ADELMA and ZELIMA, the former in Tartar costume, both veiled. ZELIMA bears a tray with various sealed papers. TRUFFALDIN and the Eunuchs prostrate themselves before the EMPEROR as they pass, and then rise up; the Female Slaves kneel with their hands on their foreheads. At length appears TURANDOT, veiled, in rich Chinese costume, with a haughty and majestic air. The Counsellors and Doctors throw themselves down before her, with their faces to the earth. ALTOUM rises; the Princess makes an obeisance to him with her hand on her brow, and then seats herself upon her throne. ZELIMA and ADELMA take their places on each side of her, the latter nearest to the spectators. TRUFFALDIN takes the tray from ZELIMA, and distributes with comic ceremony the billets among the Doctors, then retires with the same obeisances as before, and the march
ceases.
Turandot (after a long pause.)
Where is this new adventurer, who thus,
Despite the sad experience of the past,
Would vainly strive to solve my deep enigmas,
And comes to swell the catalogue of death.
Altoum (pointing to CALAF, who stands as if struck with asto-
nishment, in the centre of the Divan.)
There, daughter-there he stands, and worthy too
To be the husband of thy choice, without
This frightful test, which clouds the land with mourning,
And fills with sharpest pangs thy father's breast.
Turandot (after gazing at him for some time-aside to Zelima.) O heaven, what feeling's this, my Zelima!
Zelima. What is the matter, Princess?
Turandot.
Never yet
Did mortal enter this Divan, whose presence
Could move my soul to pity, until now.
Zelima. Three simple riddles then, and pride farewell!
Turandot. Presumptuous girl, dost thou forget my honour?
Adelma (who has in the meantime been regarding the Prince
with astonishment-aside.)
Is this a dream. Great god, what do I see?
'Tis he, the youth whom at my father's court
I knew but as a slave. He was a prince,
A monarch's son. My heart foreboded it,
Love's deep presentiments are ever sure.
Turandot. Still there is time, O Prince; abandon yet
This wild attempt-turn from this hall for ever.
Heaven knows those tongues belie me that accuse
My heart of harshness or of cruelty.
I am not cruel, I would only live
In freedom,-would not be another's slave;
That right, which even the meanest of mankind
Inherits from his mother's womb, would I,
The daughter of an Emperor, maintain.
I see, throughout the East, unhappy woman
Degraded, bent beneath a slavish yoke;
I will avenge my sex's injuries
On haughty man, whose sole advantage o'er us
Lies, like the brutes, in strength. Yes, nature's self
Hath armed me with the weapons of invention
And subtilty, and skill to guard my freedom.
Of man I'll hear no more. I hate him-hate
His pride and his presumption. Every treasure
He grasps with greedy hand; whate'er, forsooth,
His fancy longs for, he must straight possess.
O! why did Heaven endow me with these graces,
These gifts of mind, if noblest natures still
Are doomed on earth to be the mark at which
Each savage hunter aims, while meaner things
Lie tranquil in their insignificance !
Shall beauty be the prize of one? No, rather
Free as the universal Sun in heaven,
Which lightens all, which gladdens every eye,
But is the slave and property of none.
Calaf. Such lofty thought, such nobleness of soul,
Enshrined in such a godlike form! O, who
Shall censure the fond youth who gladly sets
His life upon a cast for such a prize?
The merchant for a little gain will venture
His ships and crews upon the stormy sea;
The hero hunts the shadow of renown
Across the gory field of death; and shall
Beauty alone be without peril won,
Beauty, the best, the brightest good of all?
Princess, I charge thee not with cruelty,
But blame not thou in turn the youth's presumption-
O hate him not, that with enamoured soul
He strives for that which is invaluable.
Thyself hast fix'd the treasure's price; the lists
Are open to the worthiest. I am
A prince,-I have a life to hazard for thee,
No happy one, but 'tis my all,--and had I
A thousand lives I'd sacrifice them all.
Zelima (aside to Turandot.)
O Princess, dost thou hear? For heaven's sake,
Three simple riddles-he deserves it of thee.
Adelma (aside.) What nobleness, what loving dignity!
O that he might be mine,-that I had known him
To be a prince, when at my father's court
I dwelt of yore in freedom and in joy!
How love flames up at once within my heart,
Now that I know his lineage equals mine!
Courage, my heart! I must possess him still.
Princess, thou art confused-thou'rt silent. Think,
Think of thy glory, honour is at stake.
Turandot (aside.)
And none till now had moved me to compassion-
Hush, Turandot-thou must suppress thy feelings.
Presumptuous youth, so be it then, prepare!
Altoum. Prince, is thy purpose fix'd?
Calaf.
Fix'd as the pole.
Or death, or Turandot.
Altoum.
Then read aloud
The fatal edict; hear it, Prince, and tremble.
[TARTAGLIA takes the Book of the Law out of his bosom, lays it on his breast, then on his forehead, and delivers it to PANTALON.
Pantalon (receives the Book, prostrates himself, then rises, and reads aloud.)
The hand of Turandot to all is free,
But first three riddles must the suitor read,
Who solves them not must on the scaffold bleed,
And his head planted o'er the gate shall be.
Solves he the riddles, then the bride is won,
So runs the law,-we swear it by the sun.
Altoum (raising his right hand, and laying it upon the Book.) O, bloody law, sad source of grief to me,
I swear by Fo that thou fulfilled shall be.
Its branches to the sun,
But coal black is the other,
[TARTAGLIA puts the Book again in his bosom-a long pause. Turandot (rising, and in a declamatory tone.)
The tree within whose shadow
Men blossom and decay,
Coeval with creation,
Yet still in green array;-
One side for ever turneth
And seeks the light to shun.
New circles still surround it,
So often as it blows;
The age of all around it,
It tells us as it grows;
And names are lightly graven
Upon its verdant rind,
Which, when its bark grows shrivell'd,
Man seeks in vain to find.
Then tell me, Prince-this tree,
What may its likeness be?
[Sits down.
Calaf (after considering for a time, with his eyes raised, makes his obeisance to the Princess.) Too happy, Princess, would thy slave be, if No riddles more obscure than this await him. The ancient tree that still renews its verdure, On which men blossom and decay, whose leaves On one side seek, on the other flee the sun, On whose green rind so many names are graven, Which only last so long as it is green, That tree is TIME, with all its nights and days. Pantalon (joyfully.) Tartaglia, he has hit it. Tartaglia. To a hair!
Doctors (breaking open the sealed packet.)
Optime, optime, optime, Time, Time, Time,
It is Time.
[Music.
Altoum (joyfully.) The favour of the Gods go with thee, son, And help thee also through the other riddles.
Zelima. Oh Heaven assist him!
Adelma (aside.) Heaven assist him not.
Let it not be, that she, the cruel one,
Should gain him, and the loving-hearted lose.
Turandot (in anger.) And shall he conquer, shall my pride be humbled?
No, by the Gods !-Thou self-contented fool, (To Calaf.)
Joy not so early. Listen and interpret.
(Rises again, and declaims as before.)
Know'st thou the picture softly rounded
That lights itself with inward gleam,
Whose hues are every moment changing,
Yet ever fair and perfect seem;
Within the narrowest pannel painted,
Set in the narrowest frame alone;
Yet all the glorious scenes around us
Are only through that picture shewn?
Or know'st thou that serenest crystal,
Whose brightness shames the diamond's blaze,
That shines so clear, yet never scorches,
That draws a world within its rays;
The blue of heaven, its bright reflection,
Within its magic mirror, leaves,
And yet the light that sparkles from it
Seems lovelier oft than it receives?
Calaf (bending low to the Princess, after a short consideration.)
Chide not, exalted beauty, that thy servant
Thus dares again to hazard a solution.
This tender picture, which, with smallest frame
Encompassed, mirrors even immensity;
The crystal in which heaven and earth are painted
Yet renders back things lovelier even than they;
It is the eye, the world's receptacle-
Thine eye, when it looks lovingly on me.
Pantalon (springing up joyfully.)
Tartaglia, by my soul he hath hit the mark,
Even i' the centre.
Tartaglia. As I live 'tis true.
Doctors (opening the packet.)
Optime, optime, optime,-the Eye, the Eye, it is the Eye.
[Music.
Altoum. What unexpected fortune! Gracious gods,
Let him but reach the mark once more!
Zelima. O that it were the last!
Adelma. Woe's me, he conquers! he is lost to me!
[To Turandot.
Princess, thy glory is departed. Canst thou
Submit to this; shall all thy former triumphs
Be tarnished in a moment?
Turandot (rising in the highest indignation.)
Sooner shall
Earth crumble into ruin. No. I tell thee,
Presumptuous youth, I do but hate thee more,
The more thou hop'st to conquer-to possess me.
Wait not my last enigma. Fly at once,
Leave this Divan for ever. Save thyself.
Calaf. It is thy hate alone, adored Princess,
That could appal or agitate my heart;
Let my unhappy head sink i' the dust,
If it unworthy be to touch thy bosom.
Altoum. O yield, beloved son, and tempt no farther
The gods, who twice have favoured thee. Now safe,
Nay crowned with honour, thou canst leave the field.
Two conquests nought avail thee, if the third,
The all-decisive, be not won. The nearer
The summit, still the heavier is the fall.
And thou-Ö, be content with this, my daughter;
Desist, and try him with no more enigmas.
He hath done what never prince before him did—
Give him thy hand then, he is worthy of it,
And end the trial.
[Zelima makes imploring, and Adelma menacing
gestures to Turandot.
Turandot. End the trial, say'st thou ?
Give him my hand? No, never. Three enigmas
The law hath said. The law shall take its course.
Calaf. Let the law take its course. My life is placed
In the gods' hands. Death then or Turandot.
Turandot. Death be it then-Death. Dost thou hear me,
Prince? [Rising, and proceeding to declaim as before.
What is that weapon, prized by few,
Which in a monarch's hand we view,
Whose nature, like the murderous blade,
To trample and to wound seems made;
Yet bloodless are the wounds it makes,
To all it gives, from none it takes;
It makes the stubborn earth our own,
It gives to life its tranquil tone.
Though mightiest empires it hath grounded,
Though oldest cities it hath founded,
The flame of war it never lit,
And happy they who hold by it?
Say, Prince, what may that weapon be,
Or else farewell to life and me?
[With these last words she tears off her veil.
Look here, and if thou canst, preserve thy senses,
Die, or unfold the Riddle!
Calaf (confused, and holding his hand before his eyes.)
O dazzling light of heaven, O blinding beauty!
Altoum. O God, he grows confused-his senses wander;
Compose thyself, my son, collect thy thoughts.
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