Turandot, Princess of China A Chinoiserie in Three Acts

Excerpt

THE FIRST ACT

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....