Turandot: The Chinese Sphinx

Friedrich Schiller

Turandot: The Chinese Sphinx

Personages

ALTOUM, Khan of the Celestial Empire.

PANTALOON, his Prime Minister.

TARTAGLIA, Lord Chancellor.

TRUFFALDIN, Keeper of the Hareem.

BRIGHELLA, Captain of the Imperial Black Guards.

KALAF, Prince of Tartary.

BARAK, his former Tutor.

ISHMAEL.

DOCTORS of THE DIVAN.

Courtiers, Guards, Priests, Slaves of the Hareem

TURANDOT, Heiress to the Celestial throne: generally known as "The Chinese Sphinx."

SKIRINA, her attendant, wife to Barak.

ADELMA, Princess of Keicobad, slave to Turandot.

Female slaves of the HareemSCENE. —Peking and its environs

ACT I

SCENE. – Outskirts of Peking. L. View of town gate, above which are reared long poles, bearing turbaned and shorn heads, symmetrically disposed so as to form a kind of architectural ornament. R. Small suburban dwellings, from one of which issues PRINCE KALAF, dressed in a fantastic Tartar warrior's costumeKALAFThe Gods be thanked, at last by patient seeking,I've found a lodging in this crowded Peking.

(Enter BARAK, in Persian costume; sees KALAF and starts, surprised.)

BARAKPrince Kalaf? 'tis not possible. He's dead!Yet, sure 'tis he – his eyes – his legs – his head, —My Lord!KALAFWhat – Barak! here – alive?BARAKAnd kicking.But how escaped you from that fatal lickingThe Bey of Tefflis gave us all in battle?Your father's troops were slaughtered off like cattle,And you, my Prince, we thought, were slain or taken;So off I fled to save, at least, my bacon.I found a refuge in this queer old city;A widow married me for love – or pity.We live like happy doves in yonder cot, —My only grief, – the thought of your sad lot.KALAFWe never thought to meet again, dear Tutor, —In China too!BARAKFor years I've taken root here.But, dearest Prince, how was it, tell me, pray,You 'scaped the perils of that dreadful day?KALAFBreathe not my name! A price is on my head;I've roamed from land to land; have toiled for bread.As slave I served the Shah of Keicobad;This King a fair and gracious daughter had,Who guessed my birth, and offered me her heart.Her haughty father bade me quick depart;With horse and arms he furnished me. I'm hereT' enlist myself as Chinese volunteer;I hope to serve the Son of Moon and StarsIn some crack regiment of Light Hussars.But what's the meaning of the crowds that floodEach caravanserah? Refused I stoodBy all, till in yon house I found, at leastAccommodation for myself and beast.BARAKIn that trim cottage lives my wife. 'Tis luckyShe proved herself in house-letting so plucky.KALAFI give you joy, old friend; you're married snugly,Your wife (for a Chinese) is not so ugly,And kind as kind can be, though somewhat droll,Adieu, – I'll through the city take a stroll.And then proceed to visit the great Khan,And beg him to engage me as his man.BARAKStay, Prince, how rash! – you do not know your danger:'Tis evident to Peking you're a stranger.To-day a horrid deed will be enacted, —A cruel death, by Turandot exacted.Have you not heard that Turandot the fairHas filled this land with bloodshed and despair?KALAF'Tis true I heard, in distant Keicobad,Accounts of Turandot, so strange, so sad,That I believed them false, – exaggerated.'Twas said the Prince of Keicobad, ill-fated,Had met his death by Turandot's command;His father, in revenge, assailed this land,But lost his life; my patroness, his daughter,By chance escaped unhurt the gen'ral slaughter,And slave was made to haughty Turandot:All this I heard, but credited it not.BARAKToo true is all you've heard through common rumour,The Princess Turandot's ferocious humourHas many princes caused to lose their lifeIn seeking to obtain her as a wife.Her beauty is so wonderful, that allAs willing victims to her mandate fall;In vain do various painters daily vieTo limn her rosy cheek, her flashing eye,Her perfect form, and noble, easy grace,Her flowing ebon locks and radiant face.Her charms defy all portraiture: no handCan reproduce her air of sweet command.Yet e'en such counterfeits, from foreign partsAttract fresh suitors, – win all hearts.But she, whose outward semblance thus appearsTo be Love's temple, such fierce hatred bearsTo all marital sway, or marriage tie,That rather than submit to man, she'd die.Great kings and princes, all have sued in vain,One glance of love or pity to obtain.KALAFIn Keicobad I heard this oft-told tale,But thought it paradoxical – and stale.BARAK'Tis true. Her poor old father's in despair,For China's throne is now without an heir;He longs for her to wed some prince or other,And not perplex him with continual bother.He's of an age to live in peace and quiet,And not be plagued with wars and civil riot;He's tried all means his daughter's mind to soften,Has often sternly threatened – coaxed as often;Used prayers for such a monarch infra dig—But all in vain; she's headstrong as a pig.At length she said she'd make a compromise,The Khan consented – (he's not over-wise!)His artful daughter wheedled him to swear,By great Fo-hi, that she should never wearThe hateful Hymeneal yoke, unlessSome suitor for her hand should rightly guessThree difficult conundrums by herself composed:But if the man who for her hand proposedShould fail to solve her problems – then his pateShould be struck off, and grace the city-gate.KALAFWhy, what a tigress must this Princess be!I never heard such cruelty – Bless me!BARAKAlready kings and princes by the dozenShe's managed by her subtlety to cozen;For she's so clever that she always diddlesThe keenest wits by her confounding riddles.KALAFAs wife, decidedly I should decline her,She's made of dragon-pattern stony China.What fools her suitors are, their hearts to fix onSo termagant and bloodthirsty a vixen!BARAKSo fascinating is she, none withstand her,All men for her do nothing but philander.Behold on yonder gate the ghastly rowOf livid heads set up in dismal show.All these belonged to men who dared to hopeWith Turandot in subtlety to cope.To-day a prince is led to execution,Who failed to give her riddles due solution.That is the reason of the noise you hear,Pray go not to the town.KALAFWhat should I fear?BARAKThe bloody spectacle your nerves might shake;The severed head is fastened to a stake.

(Gong sounds within the city watts.)

But hark! yon tantan's loud infernal dinning,Tells that the tragedy is now beginning.KALAFA monster like this princess should be strangled,Her body by wild horses torn and mangled.BARAKTo all she is not cruelly inclined,'Tis Man she hates; to women she's most kind.Within her royal hareem serves my wife,And with her mistress leads a happy life.The only fault of Turandot is pride, —Her many virtues cannot be denied.KALAFWho comes this way?BARAK'Tis Ishmael, the friendOf him who just has met his tragic end.

Enter ISHMAEL, weeping.

ISHHis life is o'er! Ah, would the cruel knifeHad struck my worthless self, and spared his life.BARAKBear up, good friend, I pity you sincerely,Your master for his love has paid too dearly.Why did you not dissuade him from the trial —ISHMy prayers he met with kind, but firm denial.His dying words still echo in mine ear —"Good friend," he said, "to die I do not fear;My life's a blank if without her I live.Speed to my father, – beg him to forgiveHis hapless son, who staked his life on oneWhose face is fair, whose heart is cold as stone.Shew him this portrait: (takes a miniature from hisbreast) when its charms he views,My frenzied love, my rashness he'll excuse."This said, he clasped the portrait to his breast,Fond kisses on its icy beauty pressed;Then bent his head, and closed his eyes,The death blow fell, and sent him to the skies.

(Dashes the portrait to the ground.)

Away, thou false deceit! thou cause of woe,Th' original I'd trample even so.To dust I'd grind her tiger heart; – her soul,I'd send to Eblis' region dark and foul! (Exit.)BARAKAre you convinced?KALAFI'm perfectly amazed.How can a painted semblance thus have crazedSo sensible a prince? (Stoops to pick it up.)BARAKFor heaven's sake,Avoid that picture as you would a snake.

KALAF (smiling).

No harm will happen, dear old tutor, sureFrom picking up a picture from the floor.No woman yet has caused my heart to throb, —Shall painted lines my soul of freedom rob?

(Barak endeavours to prevent Kalaffrom beholdingthe miniature; Kalaf puts him aside, and gazeson it for some time in silence.)

Ye gods! an angel's face. Oh ecstacy!BARAKNow, there; he's caught. I knew how it would be!KALAFBeneath this beaming smile, these lustrous eyes,There cannot lurk a cruel heart of ice.BARAKI tell you she's the wickedest of creatures;Oh, gaze not on the Syren's fatal features,More baneful than the Gorgon head, Medusa.KALAFHush, hush, I will not hear you thus abuse her,I never saw a face and form diviner;Her's is not mortal clay, but porcelain China,Some magic power, some demon, I know not,Enchains my soul to beauteous Turandot.

(Gazes enraptured on the miniature.)

These eyes to meet, these rosy lips to kiss,Who would not hazard all to win such bliss?My senses reel, my veins are all afire!Good Barak, help me to my heart's desire.Her stern ordeal I'll undergo – to solveHer problems or to die, is my resolve.BARAKDesist from your intention, I conjure you,Let my remonstrance of this madness cure you.KALAFYou speak in vain. My fortune now or never,Shall be ensured for aye, or lost for ever.One stroke will end my life, or I shall gainThe fairest woman e'er beheld, and reignAn Emperor of Chang's celestial state.O smile upon my hopes, benignant Fate!

(During this speech, a Chinese executioner hasappeared on the city gate, bearing a pole uponwhich is fixed a turbaned head: he places it inthe row, and disappears.)

But tell me, Barak, shall I in divanBehold the lovely daughter of the Khan?BARAKA spectacle more thrilling now behold,That head just smitten off. My blood runs cold,To think that yours may be thus closely shaven.KALAFNay, fear is not for princes – I'm no craven.

(Contemplates the head with compassion.)

Poor youth, deserving of a better fate.BARAKSweet prince, renounce th' attempt.KALAFToo late, too late!BARAKI fear you'll fail to guess the Sphinx's riddles.KALAFI'll cut the Gordian knots right down their middles!I'm not so stupid as some folks suppose;'Twill not be easy my quick wit to pose.I fancy I shall come off with éclat;But if I fail, it does not matter, pshaw!If in this enterprise I lose my life,Present my compliments to your good wife;My horse be hers, in payment of her trouble.Heigho! this world's a dream, and life's a bubble!

(Going. Enter SKIRINA from the cottage.)

Reveal my name to none. Nay, do not cry,You've wept me once before as dead. Goodbye.SKIRWhy, what's the matter? You are melancholy.BARAKOh, help me, wife, restrain this youth's mad folly;He's off to Peking – means to dare the Sphinx!SKIRHe's sure to die – my heart within me sinks!What put such silly nonsense in your head?You've got brain fever; bless you, go to bed.KALAFPray save your breath. My fever needs no nurseBut Turandot's fair hand. Here, take my purse,I have no farther need of money; forI either die, or shall become an Emperor.

(Exit hastily into the city gate.)

BARAK (following him)Dear master, hear me; stay; all, all in vain;I ne'er shall see his blessèd face again!SKIRYou know my stranger-guest? how very funny,Let's try to catch him, and return his money.BARAKWife, be not curious; no questions ask,He's gifted with such mental powers, the taskOf coping with the Sphinx he may achieve —His doom unto the gods we now must leave.SKIRWe'll sacrifice a pig to great Fo-hi,He'll perhaps contrive your handsome friend shan't die.

(Exeunt into the cottage.)

END OF ACT I

ACT II

SCENE. —Grand saloon of the Divan. L. Doors leading to the Emperor's apartment. R. Doors leading to TURANDOT's Hareem. Black slaves discovered, engaged in setting the saloon in order; TRUFFALDIN majestically directing themTRUFCome, look alive! His Majesty's DivanWill soon assemble. Now, look sharp, my man!A carpet for this throne; here sits her Highness;Bring brooms, and sweep up all this horrid dry mess.

(Enter BRIGHELLA, looking around wonderingly.)

BRIGI say, Truffaldin, what's this grand array?The high Divan again – twice in one day?TRUF. (without minding him)Eight seats here for the doctors!They're all muffs,But look imposing in their brocade stuffs.BRIGTruffaldin, do you hear? What is the matter?TRUFHow dare you make such a confounded clatter?You stupid, don't you know the whole DivanAre called to meet as quickly as they can?Another suitor for my mistress' heartIs anxious from his silly head to part.BRIGFor shame! Three hours ago one victim fell.TRUFThis new pretender seems a precious swell.His curly poll will grace the hangman's pole,A charming barber's block, upon my soul!'Twill cut a figure in our "Rotten Row;"I think that jest is witty – Ho, ho, ho!BRIGYour soul in blackness with your visage vies —You grin whene'er a fellow-creature dies.TRUFYou jackanapes! None of your paltry spite;My heart's not black, – your liver 'tis that's white;So hold your jaw. Why should I grieve to seeThat men for love such arrant fools can be?The more the merrier; for on each day,Our Princess 'scapes a husband's dreaded sway;She gives us all a good jollification,Besides munificent gratification.BRIGHow barbarous.TRUFNow, don't you be so silly.Her suitors are not dragged here willy-nilly;They know the journey here their heads may cost 'em,But 'tis no loss; for they've already lost 'em.Perhaps that's why the riddles they can't guess,And always fall into a hideous mess.I'm sure my charming mistress is most lenientTo have devised a method so convenientTo rid herself, and China, of such geese;Much harder tasks, – to fetch the golden fleece —Or singing water – or the talking bird —Were formerly exacted, as I've heard.My lovely Highness is not so inhuman,She only tests her sweethearts' fine acumen;And if she must submit to husband's rule,At least she'll not be governed by a fool.

(March music is heard.)

BRIGThe royal trumpets sound. Hark, don't you hear 'em.TRUFI'll run t'escort my Princess from her hareem.Be off! and guard the palace portals,Let none pass thro' but Mandarin-born mortals.

(Exeunt severally.)

(Enter guards and musicians; then eight doctors pedanticallydressed; PANTALOON and TARTAGLIA in characteristic costumes; then the KHAN ALTOUM, in extravagantly rich attire, he ascends histhrone, PANT. and TART. station themselves near it. At his entrance, all prostrate themselves, their foreheads to the ground, and remainthus until he is seated. At a sign from PANTALOON, the marchceases.)

ALTGood folk, behold your monarch much perplexed,I must confess I'm seriously vexed.My daughter's obstinacy quite unnerves me,Such unforeseen and jadish tricks she serves me.One charming prince was killed this morn, at six;Another's just arrived, – I'm in a fix,And worritted to death by constant butch'ry,Of lovers caught by my fair daughter's witch'ry;But yet I cannot break my oath. Fo-hiHas heard my vow; his wrath I dar'n't defy.Prime Minister, can't you some project formAnd be your monarch's rudder thro' this storm?PANTCelestial Majesty —ALTWhat do you say?PANT. (aside.)The loudest bawling's all time thrown away!He's deaf as any post – a perfect dummy —It's no use preaching wisdom to a mummy.I wish I were in Venice back again!I had to fly her happy shores, on painOf being hanged, or losing liberty,Because the bigwigs thought my tongue too free.I hoped, as minister, I was secureTo fatten in an easy sinecure;Instead of which, I've not one moment's leisure;No carnival, nor any Christian pleasure.But constant squabbles, tears, and imprecations,Divans, beheadings, sphinxes, – I've lost patience!I'll quit this land of pigtails, gongs, and teas;Return to Italy, and live at ease.ALTI see you're talking; speak a little louder.PANT. (aside.)He wouldn't hear the bursting of gunpowder.ALTTartaglia, have you seen this poor young fellow?

TART. (stammering, until he speaks Italian very glibly) —

Y-y-your h-hi-high-ness, y-y-es, a-and f-f-found h-hi-him —molto bello.ALTWhat do you say?TARTS-so p-p-please y-your M-majesty,(aside) Non posso più! che sordo! sapresty!ALTThen bring this suitor to divan at once. (Exit guards.)We'll urge him the hard trial to renounce.PANTI'll try my best;ALTWhat do you say?PANT. (aside.)But fearHe'll be as deaf as you, and will not hear.

(Enter KALAF, with guards. He kneels before the Khan, withhis hands to his forehead. ALTOUM regards him with pity.)

ALTArise, rash man.(Aside.) Ah, what a gallant youth,Behead him? 'Twould be quite a shame, in sooth.(aloud) Say, who art thou? From what far distant landDost come to seek in marriage that fair handWhich only royal blood may justly claim?KALGreat Khan, permit me to conceal my name;My lineage justifies my bold desire.PANTI'm sure he's nobly born and nurtured, sire.ALTWhat do you say?PANT. (despairingly.)It doesn't signify.ALT'Twould break my aged heart to see thee die.I'd save thy life if possible. Oh, quitThe sharp encounter with my child's keen wit.My heart and eyes are sickened by the bloodThat's daily shed.KALYour Majesty's too good.ALTI'm captivated by thy noble air;With thee my royal throne I'll gladly share.So thou but force me not to take thy life;Avoid the fatal Sphinx – give up the strife.KALMy thanks are all I have, and these I give;But without Turandot I will not live.My motto is, "Or death, or Turandot."PANT. (aside.)He really is a most pig-headed sot!(aloud) Young man, you cannot know the risk you run.Th' alternative's in earnest – not in fun.Dame Turandot will spin you a tough riddle,That's not to be "got thro' like any fiddle."Not such as this, which any child might guess —(Though the Emperor could not, I must confess;)"What gives a cold, cures a cold, and pays the doctor's bill?"Not short enigmas lightly disentangled;Hard nuts you'll have to crack, fresh made, new-fangled;And if you cannot guess them all instanter,Your head will be struck off – I do not banter.You'll have to answer rightly in a twink;Your head once off, you'll have no time to think.KALYour warning's vain: "Or death or Turandot."PANT. (aside.)For all my sermon he don't care one jot.TARTD-d-dear s-sir, l-let m-me p-persuade you. Lasci stareTh-this d-dr-dread-f-ful st-str-strife, bruttissimo affare.KALAgain I say, "Or death, or Turandot."TARTH-he-he's ho-hope-l-l-less-l-ly in l-lo-love. L'è proprio cot.ALTAs no persuasion moves this headstrong man,Go, summon Turandot to this divan.

(Exit guards.)

(KALAF, violently agitated, gazes towards the hareem entrance.)

KALShe comes – her beauty will enchant my sight,Ye Gods, inspire my mind with sapient might!

(March heard. Enter TRUFFALDIN, with his drawn sabre on hisshoulder. Black male and female slaves, beating tantans andcymbals. ADELMA, in Tartar costume, and SKIRINA, both veiled. ADELMA carries a salver upon which are sealed papers. TRUFFALDIN and male slaves prostrate themselves as they pass ALTOUM'S throne; the female slaves kneel, with their hands to their forehead. Thenappears TURANDOT, veiled, in rich Chinese costume. The courtiersand doctors prostrate themselves before her. ALTOUM rises; thePrincess makes him a slight inclination, with her hands to herforehead, then ascends the throne, and seats herself; ADELMA and SKIRINA on either side, the former nearest the audience. TRUFFALDIN takes the salver from ADELMA, and with exaggerated ceremony, distributes the papers to the eight doctors, and resumes his place.March ceases.)

TUR. (haughtily.)Once more a vain aspirant for my hand,Compels me here before you all to stand.This rash intruder, who thus fondly thinksTo overcome in wit the Chinese Sphinx,Must little prize his life. His downfall's sore.ALTThere stands the man. Now don't be so demure.He's young and handsome, do have some compassion,Don't doubly kill him, in your usual fashion.Accept him as your husband, my sweet daughter,Don't keep us any longer in hot water.TUR. (after gazing at KALAF, aside to SKIRINA) —Skirina, what can ail me? Heigho! surelyThis can't be love – I feel so faint – quite poorly.No man has ever touched my heart – but nowFor this sweet youth I feel – I don't know how.In all my life I never felt so queer.SKIRAt last you've fall'n in love; that's very clear.So much the better! make your riddles plain.And then he needn't puzzle his poor brain.TURNay, peace, Skirina, recollect my glory.

(ADELMA has observed KALAF with emotion.)

ADELMA'Tis he! my former slave. I guessed his story.My heart was right, he's one of noble birth.TURYoung prince, I clearly recognise your worth.Be wise in time. Relinquish your attempt.Too arduous is the trial. Do not temptThe Fates. I am not cruel, as they say,But shun the yoke of Man's despotic sway.In virgin freedom would I live and die;The meanest hind may claim this boon, – shall I,The daughter of an emperor, not haveThat birthright which belongs to all? Be slaveTo brutish force, that makes your sex our lord?Why does my hand such tempting bait afford?The gods have made me beauteous, rich, and wise,Presumptuous man considers me his prize.If nature dowered me with bounteous treasureYou tyrants think 'twas all to serve your pleasure.Why should my person, throne, and wealth be bootyTo one harsh, jealous master? No, all beautyIs heaven's gift, and like the sun, should shineTo glad earth's children, and their souls refine.I hate proud man, and like to make him feelHe may not crush free woman 'neath his heel.KALSuch high-souled sentiments, so fine a mind,Transcendent grace and beauty, all combin'dMust justify my love and seeming boldness.I ne'er accused you of disdain or coldness.I duly honour maidenly reserve. —Your favour I pretend not to deserve;But who would not risk all, with blindfold eyes, —To win a heaven on earth, – a Paradise?Each day do we not see, for smaller gain,Great captains brave the dangers of the main?For glory's empty bubble thousands perish,Above all treasures your fair hand I cherish;Your heart and not your throne, is my desire;Condemn me not if madly I aspire.SKIR. (aside to Turandot.)For Fo-hi's sake! three easy riddles give,Don't let him die, but as your husband live.ADELMAHow noble are his words! Ah, had my sireBut known he was a prince. My heart's desireI'll yet obtain; I'll save him by some plot,He ne'er shall wed the hateful Turandot.(to Turandot.) Princess, you're agitated; calm your nerves,And treat him with contempt as he deserves.TURYou're right, Adelma; thanks for your kind zeal;He's woman's foe; no pity must I feel.(to Kalaf.) Prepare then, arrogant young man. —ALTDear prince,May not our Royal words your ear convince?KALI still repeat: "Or death or Turandot!"PANT. (aside.)My poor young man, you'll surely go to pot!ALTThen read the awful mandate.SKIRHow I tremble.ADELMAMy jealousy I scarcely can dissemble.

(PANTALOON receives the Doomsday Book, first prostrating Himselfbefore it; then reads in a loud voice:) – "By command of his Celestial Majesty, the Son of the Moon, cousin to the planets, and near relative to the firmament in general, – oyes! oyes! oyes!" (Rings crier's bell.) (Aside.) If I said what I liked, I should say, oh no! oh no! oh no! (Aloud.) "Any person of royal descent may sue for the hand of our daughter, Empress Turandot, on the following conditions: – The Princess shall propound three riddles to any suitor proposing himself as her husband; should he be unable to unravel them, his head shall be struck off with an axe, and exposed on the city-gate of Peking; should he unravel them, the Empress Turandot shall become his lawful bride, and together they shall inherit the throne of the celestial empire. We swear it by our ancestor, the sun."

ALT. (placing his hands on the book) —This law, tho' it cause tears and blood to flow,I've sworn to keep, alas! it must be so.TUR. (rises and declaims) —A tree on which men grow and fade;Old as the world, yet ever new;Its leaves, on one side, live in shade,On th' other bears the sun's bright show.Each time it blooms a ring it wears,It tells the age of each event.Upon its bark men's names it bears,Forgotten e'er its life be spent.What is this tree, so young, so old,So sunny warm, so icy cold?KALAF. (ponders awhile, then bows to the Princess) —Too happy is your slave, divine Princess,If nothing harder he may have to guess;This ancient tree which ever buds anew,Which sun and shade, man's age and deeds doth shew,It is "a year," revolving day and night.PANT. (joyfully.)Shake hands, Tartaglia, I'm quite sure he's right!TARTA-a-as-ass-tounding! Sono contentissimo!DOCTORS (having opened the papers)Eureka! Optime! Optissimo!

(Flourish of gongs and cymbals.)