Tur Monologue from Turandot: The Chinese Sphinx

From Turandot: The Chinese Sphinx by Friedrich Schiller

female · defiant · 1:00 min

Relent! I scorn his love,--his pity I resent. The law prescribes three trials. Let's proceed, And try if in the third he may succeed. (KAL: The gods decide! "Or death or Turandot!") (angrily.) Death--death will be your well-deserved lot. (PANT: Keep silence in the court! Ahem! ahem! Now for some crackjaw, mystic apophthegm.) ((rises and declaims.))-- What is that thing, held cheap as dust, Yet honor'd by the Emperor's hand? 'Tis made to pierce, with sword's keen thrust, But sheds no blood, tho' wounds like sand, In number deep inflicts; robs none; Enriches thousands; rules the earth; Makes life with ease and smoothness run; Has founded kingdoms; ended dearth; Most ancient cities it has built, But ne'er caused war, nor war's sad guilt. Answer my question (unveils). Look me in the face, Avow you're vanquished and deserve disgrace.

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