(_March heard._ _Enter_ TRUFFALDIN, _with his drawn sabre on his shoulder_. _Black male and female slaves, beating tantans and cymbals._ ADELMA, _in Tartar costume, and_ SKIRINA, _both veiled_. ADELMA _carries a salver upon which are sealed papers_. TRUFFALDIN _and male slaves prostrate themselves as they pass_ ALTOUM'S _throne; the female slaves kneel, with their hands to their forehead_. _Then appears_ TURANDOT, _veiled, in rich Chinese costume_. _The courtiers and doctors prostrate themselves before her._ ALTOUM _rises; the Princess makes him a slight inclination, with her hands to her forehead, then ascends the throne, and seats herself_; ADELMA _and_ SKIRINA _on either side, the former nearest the audience_. TRUFFALDIN _takes the salver from_ ADELMA, _and with exaggerated ceremony, distributes the papers to the eight doctors, and resumes his place. March ceases._) TUR. (_haughtily_.) Once more a vain aspirant for my hand, Compels me here before you all to stand. This rash intruder, who thus fondly thinks To overcome in wit the Chinese Sphinx, Must little prize his life. His downfall's sore. ALT. There stands the man. Now don't be so demure. He's young and handsome, do have some compassion, Don't doubly kill him, in your usual fashion. Accept him as your husband, my sweet daughter, Don't keep us any longer in hot water. TUR. (_after gazing at_ KALAF, _aside to_ SKIRINA)-- Skirina, what can ail me? Heigho! surely This can't be love--I feel so faint--quite poorly. No man has ever touched my heart--but now For this sweet youth I feel--I don't know how. In all my life I never felt so queer. SKIR. At last you've fall'n in love; that's very clear. So much the better! make your riddles plain. And then he needn't puzzle his poor brain. TUR. Nay, peace, Skirina, recollect my glory. (ADELMA _has observed_ KALAF _with emotion_.) ADELMA. 'Tis he! my former slave. I guessed his story. My heart was right, he's one of noble birth. TUR. Young prince, I clearly recognise your worth. Be wise in time. Relinquish your attempt. Too arduous is the trial. Do not tempt The Fates. I am not cruel, as they say, But shun the yoke of Man's despotic sway. In virgin freedom would I live and die; The meanest hind may claim this boon,--shall I, The daughter of an emperor, not have That birthright which belongs to all? Be slave To brutish force, that makes your sex our lord? Why does my hand such tempting bait afford? The gods have made me beauteous, rich, and wise, Presumptuous man considers me his prize. If nature dowered me with bounteous treasure You tyrants think 'twas all to serve your pleasure. Why should my person, throne, and wealth be booty To one harsh, jealous master? No, all beauty Is heaven's gift, and like the sun, should shine To glad earth's children, and their souls refine. I hate proud man, and like to make him feel He may not crush free woman 'neath his heel. KAL.