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Turandot: The Chinese Sphinx

Год написания книги
2017
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My friend shall call you his e'er morrow's night.
You hesitate – you dare not swear a lie
Before the sacred face of great Fo-hi.

ADELMA

Presumptuous wretch, dar'st thou our queen defy?
Princess, demur no longer; let him die.

(SKIRINA rushes in.)

SKIR

Hold, Princess; hold; your father is at hand!
(aside.) My knees are knocking; I can hardly stand.

ADELMA

Unlucky chance! To prison with this fellow!

SKIR

Adelma, hush; you needn't bawl and bellow.

TUR

In deepest dungeon let him be confin'd.

BAR

My body you may shackle; not my mind.

SKIR. (aside to BARAK.)

Take courage, husband; do not fear their spite;
The pig will save us yet; I tell you it's all right.

(Mutes hastily conduct BARAK through a secret door; othersremove the dish of gold.)

TUR

Adelma, thou'rt my only friend. Advise
My mind distraught 'twixt love and hate. Despise
Me not, but pity me. Some counsel lend.

ADEL

As force has failed, by craft we'll gain our end.
I have a plan, – I'm sure of its success,
If to the stranger's cell we gain access.

TUR

Take gold – suborn his guards – the highest meed
I hold as nought if thy new scheme succeed.

ADEL

Skirina's help I need to work my plot.

SKIR

I'd let myself be skinned for Turandot.
I wish my service could my husband save.

TUR

His life be thy reward, thou faithful slave.

(SKIRINA kisses Turandot's hand.)

ADEL

Your royal father comes. In me confide.
(aside.) Assist me, love, to quell her haughty pride.

(Exeunt ADELMA and SKIRINA.)

TUR

What will Adelma's fertile brain devise?
(after a pause.) In vain the truth I'd hide from mine own eyes;
My heart is his – irrevocably his.
To be his wife – oh rapture, heavenly bliss!
Yet I must spurn his love. I will not bear
All China's cold contempt; man's scoffing sneer.
What glory would be mine could I but tame
This bragging conqueror. Pronounce his name
In high divan, and chase him from our city,
Abashed and in despair. But yet, with pity
My heart would surely break. Come, virgin pride
And woman's art my shame and grief to hide.
To-day, proud man has made me bear disgrace;
To-morrow I must triumph o'er his race.
But yet – he did not boastfully rejoice —
Rebuke I welcomed from his gentle voice.
How humble was his suit – how mild and good,
How unresentful towards my scornful mood.
Avaunt, ye tender phantasies, avaunt!
I dread the world's disdain – its scoffing taunt.
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