of need to bring her here by force.
Here she shall stand and learn to blush, a pain
She would not let me spare her. Therefore, son,
Take good heart at the prospect of near joy.

CALAF.

I crave your pardon, sire, and give you thanks!
I am tormented by most fearful doubts,
And by the thought that for my sake she now
Is suffering shame and force. Much rather... No
Not that. If I _do_ lose her, what remains
To me of life? With time and tenderness
I will compel her to forget this rage.
My will shall be her wish, my heart her heart.
For her sake I will grant what either asks,
And my love's banner be: Fidelity!

ALTOUM.

Let there be no more dallying! This Divan
Be changed into a temple, so that she,
Soon as she enters here, may recognize
That I too have a will. Prepare the marriage.
Unveil the altar.

(_The curtain in the background opens, and
the altar with the priests is seen._)

PANTALONE.

She's coming, my dear Lord Chancellor, she's
coming. I believe I can already hear her whining.

TARTAGLIA.

The accompaniment does at all events sound
decidedly dismal. That's what I call a genuine
wedding march, just the same as for a funeral.

SCENE II

TURANDOT, ADELMA, ZELIMA, TRUFFALDINO,
EUNUCHS, SLAVES. _The foregoing._
(_To the strains of a gloomy march_ TURANDOT
_appears_. _Before her proceed eunuchs._
_Her whole escort wear signs of mourning._
_With the same ceremonial as in
First Act_, TURANDOT _ascends the
throne, and at sight of the altar and
the priests starts with surprise_. _The
position of the actors is exactly the same
as in the First Act._ CALAF _stands
erect in the centre_.)

TURANDOT.

This mourning of my escort, _Prince unknown_,
These gloomy faces and these necks bowed down,
Are (well I know it) sweet to your hard heart;
And, mourning, I behold the altar ready.
For all my efforts to avenge the shame
Put on me yesterday, I still am helpless.
I have fought my fight. I bow my neck to fate.

CALAF.

Would you could read the heart you say is hard,
Princess, to see what wormwood your hate blends
With all its rapture. Let not your heart rue
Crowning the man with happiness who loves you
And worships you, and if it is a crime
To worship you, I beg you here: forgive!

ALTOUM.

Enough. She is not worth such humble words.
Now teach _her_ to be humble! Music, ho!
Up! To the altar! Let the priests begin!

TURANDOT.

One moment more! What vengeance is so sweet