she can name the names, we will not force
Marriage on her; but you--for I forbid
New carnage--free and scatheless go your way!

(_In a low voice to_ CALAF.)

Now follow me! Blind fool, what have you done?

(_Music strikes up with a march._ ALTOUM
_turns, followed by the guards, the
doctors_, PANTALONE, _and_ TARTAGLIA, _to
left exit_. _Exeunt_ TURANDOT, ZELIMA,
TRUFFALDINO, _the eunuchs, and female
slaves, with their tambourines, through
the door to the right_.)

END OF THE FIRST ACT.

THE SECOND ACT

SCENE I

Chamber in the harem.

TURANDOT, ZELIMA. _Afterwards_ ADELMA.

TURANDOT.

I cannot bear to think of it, Zelima;
I cannot bear the thought of my disgrace.

ZELIMA.

I cannot think you mean it, mistress mine.
A young prince, noble, handsome, so enamoured,
And you so full of hatred and disgust?

TURANDOT.

Torture me not. That is the very reason...
I am ashamed to say that it is so....
But there are other feelings strange to me....
I seem to shiver both with heat and frost....
No, no, I hate him, I am sure, Zelima--
Hate him for making me a laughing-stock
Before the whole Divan--nay, the whole world!
How they will laugh at me! Help me, Zelima!
Come to my help! How did his riddle run:
"Who is that Prince and of what stock is he,
Who was a beggar, porter, menial,
Yet in good fortune more unfortunate?"
So much is clear that he himself is meant.
But how in all the world am I to guess
His and his father's names? Here no one knows him.
The Emperor himself has granted him
For the time being still to be unknown.
Only to save time did I take the odds.
What shall I do now? I am helpless, helpless!

ZELIMA.

How would it do to ask a fortune-teller?

TURANDOT.

A fortune-teller?

ZELIMA.

No, that would not do.
But think, how genuine his pain, his sighs!
And how he cast himself at your father's feet
To plead for you!

TURANDOT.

Enough of this--enough!
I said, indeed... my heart... believe it not.
It is not true. I hate him. For I know
They all are treacherous: pretending love
Until they have the maiden in their toils;
But when they have their will, they laugh at us,
Dallying with now this woman and now that;
Nor is there any slave too base for them,
Nor any harlot at too low a price.
Zelima, speak no more of him. If he
To-morrow is victorious again,
Oh, I shall hate him worse than death.

ZELIMA.

Dear mistress,
So long as you are young and beau