ea, was nigh to death!
And when the Emperor would not bate a jot,
Hark what this wild she-devil then devised....

CALAF.

I know the tale! She craves an edict: this--
That any prince be free to sue for her.
With this condition: She will set the suitor
Three riddles, and before the whole Divan.
If he can solve them, he shall be her consort,
And heir of China. If he cannot solve them,
Altoum by most solemn oath is bound
To rid the reckless suitor of the head
Which could not solve the riddles of his daughter.
Goes not the fable so? Well, you go on with it;
It bores me.

BARAK.

Fable! Would to Heaven it were!
The Emperor would not hear of it at first;
But she with threats and feints and flattering
Forces the old man's gentle heart to yield,
Convincing him by saying: "No one ever
Will risk his head on it; and if he should,
In any case the Emperor would be blameless,
Since it were question of an edict sworn,
And noised abroad." And what she willed was done.
A fable, is it? Is it a fable, all
That this inhuman law has brought to pass?

CALAF.

Well, if you say it is so, I will credit
The edict. But I never will believe
That any fool has known, and risked his head.

BARAK.

You won't believe it? Pray you, look up here!

(_Points to the heads on the wall._)

All those are heads of hopeful princes, who
Have tried their luck and could not solve the riddles,
And hence... are where they are.

CALAF (_horror-struck_).

Most horrible!
But, tell me, who could ever be so mad,
So crazy, as to risk his head to win
A monster of a maiden such as this?

BARAK.

Prince, he who sees her picture is so lost,
That to possess the living picture he
Would blindly walk into the arms of death.

CALAF.

A fool might.

BARAK.

Yes, and a wise man, too.
Hark to the people pouring out to see
The wise and handsome Prince of Samarkand
Beheaded now. The Emperor himself weeps,
But the she-devil puffs herself with pride.

(_In the distance a beating of muffled drums._)

This muffled rolling is the headsman's sign.
It was to see it not I left the town.

CALAF.

These are strange things you tell me, Barak
How
Could Nature ever fashion such a thing,
And call it woman, as this Turandot,
So harnessed against love, so pitiless?

BARAK.

My own wife's daughter serves her in the harem,
And tells such things about her--things, my
Prince!--
Worse than a tigress is this Turandot;
And worst of all