CALAF.

To me he gives this purse here;
A horse he gives me, too, and this attire.
I throw myself into my parents' arms,
And weeping say: "I will no longer bear
To see you so. Now I will fare in quest
Of the jade Fortune, and either I will lose
My life, or you shall hear from me anon."
They clung around my, neck, would come with me.
(God grant they have not followed at my heels
In their blind love!) Now to Pekin I come
Where in the Emperor's army I will 'list;
And if I rise!--The day of vengeance dawns!--
Why is the city full to overflowing?
Stay! I will seek thee out again, Barak;
But now I burn to see what festival
Swells such a crowd.

BARAK.

O go not, my dear Prince.
And spare your eyes the pitiable sight
Of most ignoble butchery.

CALAF.

Butchery?

BARAK.

It cannot be but you have heard the fame
Of Turandot, the Emperor's only daughter,
Who, beautiful as she is cruel, fills
Pekin with death and mourning without end?

CALAF.

Something I heard of this kind at the Court
Of Kaikobad. Indeed, they told me there
That Kaikobad's own son mysteriously
In Pekin found his death. And this was why
King Kaikobad waged war against Altoum.
But these are tales told for an idle hour.
Well, what comes next?

BARAK.

What next? Why, Turandot,
The mighty Emperor's daughter, unexcelled
In the mind's keenness, and of beauty such
That never master's pencil limned her (spite
Of the innumerable pictures of her
Which travel round the world), is so conceited,
And hates all men with such a ruthless hate,
The greatest princes woo her hand in vain.

CALAF.

That ancient fable. And what follows next?

BARAK.

This fable is a fable that is true.
Her father often sought to have her wed--
For she is sole heir to his mighty throne--
But she said "no" to every prince that came,
And his soft heart would not constrain her "yea."
Not seldom her refusal led to war,
And, though his arms were yet victorious,
He felt the approach of age, and so one day
He spake to her, deliberately resolved:
"Make up thy mind to take a husband now,
Or else show me a means to spare my land
The throes of war. Age bows my shoulders down,
And I have made too many kings my foes
By breaking faith with them for love of thee.
So once again I charge thee, promptly wed,
Or show the means I seek, then live and die
Even as it pleases thee." The proud maid then
Used every artifice to thwart his will,
Was sick with fury, y