He hesitated, however, before looking at it. ‘What am I about to do?’ he cried. ‘Ought I to place before my eyes so dangerous an object? Think, Calaf, think of the fatal effects it has had; have you already forgotten what the tutor of the Prince of Samarcand has just told you? Do not look at this painting; resist the impulse which moves you whilst it is still only one of curiosity. Whilst you enjoy your reason, you can prevent your destruction. But what am I saying—pre­vent? What false reasoning is inspiring in me a timid prudence? If I am to love the princess, is not my love already written in the heavens in ineffaceable characters? Moreover, I believe the finest portrait can be seen with impunity; one must be very weak to be troubled at the sight of a vain mingling of colours. Let us fear nothing; let us calmly consider these conquering and assas­sinating features. I wish to find defects in them and taste the new pleasure of censuring the charms of this too superb princess; and I would wish, for the mortification of her vanity, that she should know that I have looked upon her face without emotion.’

The son of Timurtasch assured himself that he would look with an indifferent eye on the portrait of Tourandot; he looked at it, examined it, admired the contour of the face, the regularity of the features, the vivacity of the eyes, the mouth, the nose—all seemed perfect to him. He was astonished at so rare a combination, and although on guard against what he saw, he let himself be subject to the charm. An inconceivable trouble agitated him in spite of himself; he knew himself no more. ‘What fire,’ he said, ‘is suddenly ani­mating me?—how is this portrait disordering my senses? Just Heaven! is it the fate of all those who look at this painting to love the inhuman princess it represents? Alas! I feel too well that it is making on me the same impression that it has made on the unhappy Prince of Samarcand. I succumb to the features which were his ruin, and far from being terrified at his pitiable fate I almost envy his misfortune. What a change! Great God! I did not conceive just now how one could be mad enough to despise the rigour of the edict, and at this moment I see nothing to alarm me, all the danger has disappeared. No, incomparable prin­cess,’ he continued, looking at the portrait with a tender air, ‘no obstacle deters me. I love you in spite of your barbarity, and since it is permitted to me to aspire to your hand I wish from to-day to try to obtain you. If I perish in such a fine enterprise, I shall feel in dying only the grief of not being able to win you.’ Calaf, having resolved to ask the princess in marriage, returned to his old widow, whose house he had no little difficulty in finding, for he had wandered far from it in the night.

‘Ah! my son,’ said his hostess as soon as she saw him, ‘I am charmed to see you again. I was very troubled about you, I feared some disastrous accident had happened to you; why did not you return sooner?’

‘My good mother,’ he replied, ‘I am sorry to have caused you anxiety, but I lost my way in the dark.’ Then he related to her how he had met the prince’s tutor, and he did not fail to repeat all he had told him; then, showing the portrait of Tour­andot, ‘See,’ he said, ‘whether this painting is merely an imperfect image of the Princess of China; for myself, I cannot imagine that it does not equal the beauty of the original.’

‘By the soul of the Prophet!’ cried the old woman, after having examined the portrait, ‘the princess is a thousand times more beautiful and more charming still than she is represented here. I would you had seen her; you would be persuaded that all the painters of the world who might undertake to paint her as she is would not succeed, I do not except even the most famous.’

‘You give me great pleasure,’ replied Prince Calaf, ‘in assuring me that the beauty of Touran­dot is above all efforts of painting. How this assurance flatters me! It strengthens me in my intention, and excites me to attempt at once such a fine enterprise. Were I only now before the princess! I am burning with impatience to try whether I shall be more fortunate than the Prince of Samarcand.’

‘What are you saying, my son?’ replied the widow. ‘What enterprise are you daring to form and think of executing?’

‘My good mother,’ replied Calaf, ‘I propose to-day to present myself to answer the questions of the princess. I only came to China to offer my sword to the great King Altoun-Khan, but it is better to be his son-in-law than an officer of his army.’

At these words the old woman began to cry. ‘Ah, my lord,’ she said, ‘in God’s name do not persist in such a bold resolution. You will perish without doubt if you are bold enough to come forward as a suitor of the princess. Instead of being charmed with her beauty detest her rather, since she is the cause of so many tragic events; represent to yourself that it will cause grief to your parents when they receive news of your death; be touched at the mortal grief in which you are about to plunge them.’

‘Pray, good mother,’ interrupted the son of Timurtasch, ‘cease depicting to me things so calcu­lated to distress me. I know that if I end my life to-day it will be an inexhaustible source of tears to the authors of my being, perhaps even, for I know their love for me, they may die of grief at hearing of my death. However cognisant, neverthe­less, I should be, and indeed am, of their sentiments, I must yield to the ardour which dominates me. But what am I saying? Is it not also to make them happier that I wish to expose my life? Yes, doubtless their interest is in accord with the desire which animates me, and if my father were here, so far from opposing my design, he would incite me to execute it promptly. I am resolved upon it; therefore do not waste time in trying to persuade me, for nothing can shake me.’

When the old woman saw that her young guest did not listen to her advice, her grief redoubled. ‘So be it, my lord,’ she said; ‘you cannot be prevented from rushing on to your destruction. Why need you have come to lodge in my house? Why have I spoken to you of Touran­dot? You became enamoured of her from the portrait I drew of her. Unhappy woman that I am, it is I who have destroyed you; why must I have your death on my conscience?’

‘No, good mother,’ the Prince Calaf inter­rupted a second time, ‘it is not you who cause my misfortune. Do not impute to yourself the love I have for the princess, I was bound to love her, and I am fulfilling my destiny. Moreover, who has told you that I shall reply badly to her questions? I am not uneducated, nor without intelligence, and Heaven has perhaps reserved to me the honour of delivering the King of China from the distress which a terrible oath causes him. But,’ he added, drawing out the purse which the Khan of Berlas had given him, and in which there were still a con­siderable number of gold pieces, ‘my fate is, I admit, uncertain, and I may die, so I make you a present of this purse to console you for my death. You may even also sell my horse and keep the money, for I shall not want it, whether I receive the daughter of Altoun-Khan as the price of my audacity, or whether my death must be the sad reward of it.’

The widow took the proffered purse, saying: ‘O my son! you are much mistaken if you think these gold pieces console me for your loss. I am going to employ them in good works, distributing a part of it in the hospitals for the poor, who suffer their misery in patience and whose prayers in consequence are so agreeable to God. I shall give the rest to the ministers of our religion, so that they may all pray Heaven to inspire you and not permit you to expose yourself to death. All the favour that I ask of you is not to go to-day and present yourself to answer the questions of Tourandot. Wait till to-morrow. The time is not long; give me time to interest good people and Heaven in you. After that you can do as you please. Grant me, I beg, this satisfaction. I venture to say you owe it to a person who has already conceived for you so much friendship that she would be inconsolable were you to perish.’

Certainly, Calaf had an appearance which spoke well in his favour; beside being one of the handsomest and best made princes in the world, he had easy and agreeable manners, so that to see him was to love him. He was touched at the grief and affection which this good old woman dis­played.

‘Well, my mother,’ he said, ‘I will grant you the favour you ask me; I will not go and ask the hand of the princess to-day. But to tell you the truth, I do not think anything can make me change my mind.’

He did not leave the widow’s house all day. She went to distribute alms in the hospitals, and bought with good solid cash the intercession of the priests with Heaven; she also had chickens and fish sacrificed to the idols.

The genii were not forgotten either; rice and vegetables were offered them in sacrifice in the places consecrated to this ceremony. But all the prayers of the priests and the ministers of the idols, although well prayed, did not produce the effect which Calaf’s good hostess had expected; for the next morning he seemed more determined than ever to ask the hand of Tourandot.