The action takes place outside the gates of Pekin, and inside the Emperor's Palace.

to
my friend that great artist
FERRUCCIO BUSONI

NOTE

The very affecting history of the cruel Princess Turandot and the handsome Prince Calaf may be read in those Persian tales which are known by the name of The Thousand and One Nights.

Twice already has the story gone over the boards: in 1762 in Venice as "Turandotte," one of the fiabe of Count Carlo Gozzi; in 1804 in Weimar, as Friedrich Schiller's "Turandot." Both versions lived their passing hour, and died to the stage.

The present dramatisation of the ancient fable—a modest attempt to cast good metal anew—closely follows the Italian of the sardonic nobleman whose bones have been mouldering by the blue lagoons for over a hundred years.

Karl Vollmoeller.

THE FIRST ACT

SCENE I

One of the city gates of Pekin. Over the gate, planted on iron poles, a row of severed heads with shaven crowns and Turkish tufts.

TIME: Shortly after sunrise. When the curtain rises the gate is closed. From within the roll of drums and military commands.

BRIGELLA.

(Behind the scenes.) Halt! Present arms!


TRUFFALDINO.

(Behind the scenes.) Halt! Slope swords!

Open the gate! At ease! Quick march!

(The gate is thrown open. TRUFFALDINO,
leading the eunuchs; then, between PANTALONE
and TARTAGLIA, the PRINCE OF
SAMARKAND; behind them, at the head
of his pages, BRIGELLA. The whole
procession halts in front of the gate,
they all draw up in one line, and gaze
upwards at the bloody heads.)


PANTALONE.

(Stepping in front of the footlights.)

My name is Pantalone, and I am a native of Venice. At
the moment I am the Prime Minister of the
Chinese Empire. Eh, what d'ye say? What
I'm doing here in Pekin? H'm. (Puts his hand
in front of his mouth.) Venice got too hot for
me. An ind-indelicate affair. My wife of
course, you guess my meaning. (To the PRINCE.)
This, your Royal Highness, is the place you
have heard so much of. Have a good look at
it, please. Make yourself quite at home. Yes,
quite right, up there, please! (To TARTAGLIA.)

I say, my dear Lord Chancellor. Be so good as
to show his Royal Highness the elevated position
he will occupy in the near future. You have the
information, I presume.

(TARTAGLIA turns towards the PRINCE,
PANTALONE pulls his sleeve.)

Don't forget, my dear Lord Chancellor.


TARTAGLIA.

(Stepping in front of the footlights.) My name
is Tat-Tra-Tartaglia (stammers). From Naples.
My mother always maintained that she was the
daughter of a Spanish grandee, but I fear she
was a fisherman's daughter from Po-Po-Pozzuoli.
My father, on the other hand (stops short and
looks round)——

(PANTALONE makes signs to him.)


PANTALONE.

Better not.


TARTAGLIA.

Better not! That old scarecrow there makes
out that nobody ever knew who my father was.
He is a... li-li-liar. Excuse me, one moment,
ladies and gentlemen. (To the Prince.) That
head up there on the right, which I beg your
Royal Highness graciously to observe, is the head
of the valiant Prince of Hyrcania. A valiant
prince, a sweet prince. But silly, silly. There's
quite a nice open space next to him for you, a
fine, sunny situation with a pleasant prospect.
How would that do, eh? Company to your liking?
All of 'em in the Almanach de Gotha.


PANTALONE.

(To BRIGELLA.) Send the executioner up with
the pole. We'll let this charming young Prince
select his own point of vantage.


BRIGELLA.

(To the headsman.) What are you hanging
about here for, you hangman, you? Up on the
wall with you, by Hikey Mo! Up on the wall or
I'll wallop you.


PANTALONE.

Halt! 'Sh! Don't forget!


BRIGELLA.

(Stepping in front of the footlights.) I'm
Brigella, begging your pardon. One of the old
honest family of the Brigellas. As you can hear
by the way I talk, I was born in Ferrara. There
are lying rogues, drat 'em, as say as how you can
tell any one that comes from Ferrara by his
knavish face. Concerning my own person, though
I says it as shouldn't, I've a heart of gold. Not
half. Talking about gold now, you'll be wondering,
sure enough, what brought me from Ferrara
to Pekin. Well, now, it was a purse of gold,
God bless ye! It was a little matter of two
hundred florins that belonged to my employer,
the celebrated Dr. Gratiano...


PANTALONE.

(Pulls his sleeve.) Better not!


BRIGELLA.

And now with this heart of gold of mine blest
if I ain't got to conduct this broth of a boy,
bless his honest face! to the block, by command
of my mistress, the high and mighty Turandot
...the cru'l Turandot. (Sobs.)


TRUFFALDINO.

(Pushing BRIGELLA aside.) That's enough.
Get out of that. A regular rogue. Standing
there and talking about florins.... H'm!
Regular rogue.

(PANTALONE pulls his sleeve.)

Ah! quite so. I am Truffaldino, by your leave.
Truffaldino from the Giudeccao Quite so.
(Turning towards BRIGELLA.) Regular rogue.
It is monstrous that the dirtiest rascals should
always get on best. I have not myself always
had the best of luck in these parts... Would you
believe it, my voice used to be a very fine, deep
baritone. But now... (Sings falsetto):

I am not young; I am not old;
I live, yet have no life!
Ask him who hath suffered woes untold
From some volcanic strife
Of passionate years, if he remember,
Tombed in the grave of life's December,
Its vanished golden June.

What do you say about my voice? Lady-like?
Well, yes, you see I've spent so much of my
time in the society of ladies that I'm afraid my
voice has assimilated the quality of theirs. (Sighs
deeply.) Oh, yes. Not that there is any lack of
good nourishment. Oh, no. Nor of liquid
refreshment. Oh, no. Nor of refined and entertaining
company. Oh, no. Nor could any one
suggest that I am not in high favour. Oh, no.
I have