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Turandot, Princess of China
A Chinoiserie in Three Acts
Turandot, Princess of China
A Chinoiserie in Three Acts
Turandot, Princess of China
A Chinoiserie in Three Acts
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Turandot, Princess of China A Chinoiserie in Three Acts

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Release dateNov 27, 2013
Turandot, Princess of China
A Chinoiserie in Three Acts

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    Turandot, Princess of China A Chinoiserie in Three Acts - Karl Vollmöller

    Project Gutenberg's Turandot, Princess of China, by Karl Gustav Vollmöller

    This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with

    almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or

    re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included

    with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org

    Title: Turandot, Princess of China

    A Chinoiserie in Three Acts

    Author: Karl Gustav Vollmöller

    Translator: Jethro Bithell

    Release Date: September 30, 2008 [EBook #26730]

    Language: English

    *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TURANDOT, PRINCESS OF CHINA ***

    Produced by Chuck Greif


    PLAYS OF TO-DAY AND TO-MORROW

    TURANDOT

    PRINCESS OF CHINA

    A CHINOISERIE IN THREE ACTS

    BY

    KARL VOLLMOELLER

    AUTHORIZED ENGLISH VERSION,

    BY

    JETHRO BITHELL

    LONDON: T. FISHER UNWIN

    ADELPHI TERRACE

    First Edition, January, 1913

    (All rights reserved.)

    DRAMATIS PERSONÆ

    SCENE: Pekin.—All the acting characters wear Chinese costume, except Adelma and Calaf, who are in Tartar dress.

    Cast of the play as produced at the St. James's Theatre, London, on January 18, 1913, under the management of Sir George Alexander.

    The action takes place outside the gates of Pekin, and inside the Emperor's Palace.

    to

    my friend that great artist

    FERRUCCIO BUSONI

    NOTE

    The very affecting history of the cruel Princess Turandot and the handsome Prince Calaf may be read in those Persian tales which are known by the name of The Thousand and One Nights.

    Twice already has the story gone over the boards: in 1762 in Venice as Turandotte, one of the fiabe of Count Carlo Gozzi; in 1804 in Weimar, as Friedrich Schiller's Turandot. Both versions lived their passing hour, and died to the stage.

    The present dramatisation of the ancient fable—a modest attempt to cast good metal anew—closely follows the Italian of the sardonic nobleman whose bones have been mouldering by the blue lagoons for over a hundred years.

    Karl Vollmoeller.

    THE FIRST ACT

    SCENE I

    One of the city gates of Pekin. Over the gate, planted on iron poles, a row of severed heads with shaven crowns and Turkish tufts.

    TIME: Shortly after sunrise. When the curtain rises the gate is closed. From within the roll of drums and military commands.

    BRIGELLA.

    (

    Behind the scenes.

    ) Halt! Present arms!

    TRUFFALDINO.

    (

    Behind the scenes.

    ) Halt! Slope swords!

    Open the gate! At ease! Quick march!

    (

    The gate is thrown open.

    TRUFFALDINO

    ,

    leading the eunuchs

    ;

    then, between

    PANTALONE

    and

    TARTAGLIA

    ,

    the

    PRINCE OF

    SAMARKAND

    ;

    behind them, at the head

    of his pages,

    BRIGELLA

    .

    The whole

    procession halts in front of the gate,

    they all draw up in one line, and gaze

    upwards at the bloody heads.

    )

    PANTALONE.

    (

    Stepping in front of the footlights.

    )

    My name is Pantalone, and I am a native of Venice. At

    the moment I am the Prime Minister of the

    Chinese Empire. Eh, what d'ye say? What

    I'

    m

    doing here in Pekin? H'm. (

    Puts his hand

    in front of his mouth.

    ) Venice got too hot for

    me. An ind-indelicate affair. My wife of

    course, you guess my meaning. (

    To the

    PRINCE

    .)

    This, your Royal Highness, is the place you

    have heard so much of. Have a good look at

    it,

    please

    . Make yourself

    quite

    at home. Yes,

    quite right, up there,

    please

    ! (

    To

    TARTAGLIA

    .)

    I say, my dear Lord Chancellor. Be so good as

    to show his Royal Highness the elevated position

    he will occupy in the near future. You have the

    information, I presume.

    (

    TARTAGLIA

    turns towards the

    PRINCE

    ,

    PANTALONE

    pulls his sleeve

    .)

    Don't forget, my dear Lord Chancellor.

    TARTAGLIA.

    (

    Stepping in front of the footlights.

    ) My name

    is Tat-Tra-Tartaglia (

    stammers

    ). From Naples.

    My mother always maintained that she was the

    daughter of a Spanish grandee, but I fear she

    was a fisherman's daughter from Po-Po-Pozzuoli.

    My father, on the other hand (

    stops short and

    looks round

    )——

    (

    PANTALONE

    makes signs to him

    .)

    PANTALONE.

    Better not.

    TARTAGLIA.

    Better not! That old scarecrow there makes

    out that nobody ever knew who my father was.

    He is a... li-li-liar. Excuse me, one moment,

    ladies and gentlemen. (

    To the

    Prince

    .) That

    head up there on the right, which I beg your

    Royal Highness graciously to observe, is the head

    of the valiant Prince of Hyrcania. A valiant

    prince, a sweet prince. But silly, silly. There's

    quite a nice open space next to him for you, a

    fine, sunny situation with a pleasant prospect.

    How would that do, eh? Company to your liking?

    All of 'em in the Almanach de Gotha.

    PANTALONE.

    (

    To

    BRIGELLA.) Send the executioner up with

    the pole. We'll let this charming young Prince

    select his own point of vantage.

    BRIGELLA.

    (

    To the headsman.

    ) What are you hanging

    about here for, you hangman, you? Up on the

    wall with you, by Hikey Mo! Up on the wall or

    I'll wallop you.

    PANTALONE.

    Halt! 'Sh! Don't forget!

    BRIGELLA.

    (

    Stepping in front of the footlights.

    ) I'm

    Brigella, begging your pardon. One of the old

    honest family of the Brigellas. As you can hear

    by the way I talk, I was born in Ferrara. There

    are lying rogues, drat

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