  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. 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. 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] 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. 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, 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 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. [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. 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! 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? 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. 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 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! 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] 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 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 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, 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— 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. [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! [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! 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] [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, 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. ’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 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 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. 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. 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. [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. 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. |
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