(_In the distance a beating of m.u.f.fled drums._)

This m.u.f.fled 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 her vices is her pride.

CALAF.

To h.e.l.l with such a monster! If _I_ were Her father,, I would burn her at the stake....

BARAK (_looking towards the city gate._)

See, there comes Ishmael, the friend and guide Of the young Prince they slaughtered even now.

My poor friend!

SCENE IV

ISHMAEL. _The foregoing._

ISHMAEL (_Enters weeping from the city_).

Oh, my friend! Now he is dead.

My Prince is dead! Accursed headsman's axe, Why hast thou severed not this neck of mine?

(_Breaks out into despairing weeping._)

BARAK.

But why didst thou not hinder him in time, My friend?

ISHMAEL.

Dost thou on all my misery Heap reprimands, Ha.s.san! I have done my duty To the uttermost. I might, indeed, have summoned His father hither, if there _had_ been time; But there was _not_.

BARAK.

Be calm, my friend, be calm.

ISHMAEL.

Calm? I be calm? Like arrows stinging sharp The last words that he spoke stick in my breast:

"Weep not," he said, "for I am glad to die, Since I may not possess her. Bear my greeting Unto my father. May he pardon me That when I fared I took no leave of him.

Tell him it was for fear lest his denial Should force my disobedience. And show him This picture.

(_Draws a picture from the folds of his robe._)

When he sees such loveliness, He will forgive, and weep my fate with thee."

Thus speaking, my dear Prince a hundred times Kissed the accursed picture, and then bowed His neck to the stroke. Blood spurts on high.

The trunk Quivers, and falls. High in the headsman's hands The head I love. Blind, dazed with pain I flee....

(_Hurls the picture to the ground and tramples on it._)

Thou devilish, accursed witchery!

I tread thee in the dust, thou sp.a.w.n of h.e.l.l!

And O that I could trample with these feet The witch herself! Haha! I was to take thee Unto his father, unto Samarkand?

I fancy That Samarkand will never see me more.

(_Exit in desperation._)

SCENE V

BARAK, CALAF.

BARAK.

Well? Did you hear?

CALAF.

You see me all amazed.

One thing I understand not: how such power Should issue from a picture.

(_Bends down to lift up the picture._)