[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. [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! [Going to the door, puts her head out] [She returns to Turandot. The twanging outside decreases, but still continues] Oh, I have lost Courage and faith and kindness. All is dark— Dark and disgrace. ’Tis no disgrace to win A husband. 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. The gods forbid! ’Twere very wicked, Lady: And him, that saved you, and gave back your freedom So gentlemanly! Ha! and caught me again With his own riddle! Heaven, I hate him. Yet— Zelima, did you see his eyes? [Nodding] Most strangelike They were. 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. Why lost, my Lady? The emperor promised you to search the city And find your beggar. 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! [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! [Wildly] For a stubborn will Makes Love to be ill, But a merry heart makes him well, O! And a merry heart— [Opening the door] [Outside] —O, a merry heart Never yet kept fond lovers apart, Nor tweaked the nose of their Punchinello. 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] What fresh presumption of your brazen lord Is this? 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! [Harlequin draws back] To celebrate Our lord Sir Capo’s great discovery. [Mysteriously] Who’s found? [Darkly] By the yawn of Jonah’s whale, We have disbellied him from Pekin’s maw And blackest hollowness. [Chafing] [In a loud whisper] SCARAMOUCHE AND PANTALOON [Sepulchrally] [Faintly] [Speaks at her ear] The louse-gray mongrel with the chalkish beard— We’ve got him kennelled, ha! [Nodding] Alas! What are these tidings? Have you searched Only to find an old poor man? [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. [Bitterly] So you come too. Have you, then, come to break Once more the vow you made? [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. Is there good cause to break an oath? 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? A single day; a single day, I said! So by to-morrow I must wed this Khan, This nameless prince—unless I guess his name. [Glancing quickly] [Indulgently] Will you renew Your broken allegiance? I am desperate. I will do anything to free myself.— What shall I do? First swear me faith again. 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] What should I do With this? 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. [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? 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. [Searchingly] [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] [With a questioning glance at Turandot] A hair’s breadth! Will you risk it—by a hair? [Growing suddenly radiant] O wonderful!—At midnight, did you say? [Smiling] Now are we friends—and may I kiss your hand? [Ardently] [She seizes Capo’s hand and kisses it. He laughs softly] 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. 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] [Entering in the dimness] There is no loneliness Where thoughts are merry. [Staring at him for a moment] Merry!—Sire, I have Forgot the meaning of that word. Recall it, Then, quickly, for I bring you pleasant news. [Eagerly] From her? from her, O Sire? From Turandot. The lady loves you. Loves me! You are mad, Or jesting. To the sober-serious Jesting’s a sort of madness.—But no matter. The lady loves you none the less. You’ve forgot my specialty So soon?—or am I skilled in guessing riddles? I should have failed without you. 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? [Nods approvingly] Sapphire.—That might describe them, with some license Of love and rhetoric. What have my eyes To do with guessing riddles? Much to do! They have to close and go to sleep, before The guessing. Softly now: lie down and close them Until to-morrow. Then do so! For on to-morrow morn, I promise you Delight—and perfect marriage with your love. 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] [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:] [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] [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] [Murmurs louder in his sleep] Be gracious unto me: Calaf, the son Of Timur, King of Astrakhan! [Laughing silverly] Aha! Calaf! Calaf, the son of Timur, King Of Astrakhan! [Starting up on the divan] [Lifting a mandolin strung from the shoulder, strikes a swift chord and bounds away toward the door] [Leaping to the floor, and following] [The Figure pauses] [The Figure takes a timid step forward, and stops] You! You, the dumb player, servant of our lord The emperor! What brings you here? Aha! Reveal, O Lady: What is he His true-born name, His father’s fame— How’s that? Can the dumb speak? Calaf, the son Of Timur—hail! [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] Calaf, son Of Timur—grace! Give me the key! [Turning, Calaf slowly staggers to his feet, gazing with awe on the face of Turandot] O Dream! Dream of my love transmuted to a boy— O little dream in motley, speak once more! The key! Unlock the door, and let me forth. [He kneels before her] I do not ask for worship—but a key. 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. [Rising] He dared more, to say You love me, and I dared believe. [Amazed] He who shuttles through our lives, Unriddling and riddling, like a restless loom— The motley emperor. Capocomico! He is a jester, Sir. 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? [Struggling with herself] 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. Is it not so, Lady beloved? 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! [Holding out the key, gazes at her] [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. 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. [In hushed triumph] O dark! What light and darkness and the murmur of waters Lure me toward you? Night and yearning stars And rush of winds blend us, beloved. Listen! Look in my eyes, O love!—Lean to my lips! [Closing her eyes] [Reaching his arms passionately, he kisses her] [Starting back, with a cry] Destroyed. O shame of all my vows forsworn, Where have I fallen? On your lover’s heart. Look, it is I. 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! Not that!—Ah, do not stab me with that word, And make me bleed for one who begs.—The key, Give me the key! Mistress, your words go by me Like leaves blown wildly. I cannot gather them. Sir prince, I blow them wildly, and I care not Whither they whirl. Love changes blood to wine. The kiss of our communion hath turned wine To madden you. [Giving her the key] Take it, my lady, So you may know your freedom and my love, And me your lover, Calaf. 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] You came here to betray me?—Speak! I came to win your secret, and to shame you To-morrow at the trial. Let me pass. No! We are in each other’s power. Let doom Strike on us both together. [Inexorably he compels her. She sinks on the couch] In your power! What, I? You would not dare— 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! [Trembling] Open it?—What will you do? Now shall the rafters of your palace ring With “Turandot, the Harlequin, Calaf’s lover Stolen to his arms beside his midnight couch!” [Shrinking from his gesture] [Seizing her] Wine! Your kiss turns in my blood To wine of fire poured foaming, and the flames Burn outward toward your lips. Kiss not again! Be merciful, and hear me! Mercy cries To God, not to our enemy.—Your lips! [With fearful appeal] [Drawing back amazed] Yea—my love! Your eyes—another blazes in your eyes. 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. [Clasping her] [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.]
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