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_.) a.s.sist 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. p.r.o.nounce 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.

My people shall not see Turandot fall, The slave of one means abject slave to all.

(_Enter_ ALTOUM, _perusing a scroll_; PANT, _and_ TART, _following at some distance_.)

ALT. (_to himself_.)

The Bey of Tefflis dead? So ends this tyrant!

PANT. (_aside to_ TART.)

What makes his Majesty indulge in high rant?

ALT. (_as above_.)

Prince Kalaf, heir to Tartary's high throne, Is called to fill the Bey's, besides his own.

This scroll informs me Kalaf is the stranger Who overthrew the Sphinx and 'scaped her danger.

I'm glad to find the Prince is no bad catch,-- My daughter's will be quite a splendid match.

PANT. (_to_ TART.)

What is he muttering all to himself, Just like a miser counting o'er his pelf?

I do believe he's talking in blank verse, Or reasoning in rhyme, which would be worse.

He's deaf; if he were blind, 't would suit us better, For then he couldn't read his private letter.

TART. (_to_ PANT.)

A s-sp-special Es-taf-fette! _Ci cova gatto!_ S-such m-my-mystery! _Capisco niente affatto._

(ALT. _places the scroll in his breast, and signs to_ PANT. _and_ TART. _to withdraw, which they do with reluctance_.)

ALT.

My child, the night is far advanced; yet still Thy restless steps pace through thy hareem chill.

Quite hopeless is thy task; not all the College Of Doctors could impart the wished-for knowledge.

Thou canst not guess thy 'pponent's name, tho' we Have fully learned his family history.

He's worthy of thy hand; my wish obey, Avoid to-morrow's public _exposee_.

Thou'rt sure to fail. For my sake save thy fame, My soul recoils from witnessing thy shame.

TUR.

I shall not put my father to the blush; My adversary's arrogance I'll crush.