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The Schillerized 'Macbeth' may be regarded as a sort of necessary transition-stage between the gross travesties of an earlier time and the more faithful presentations that were to come. With respect to 'Turandot' a few words must suffice. This again grew out of the laudable desire of the duumvirs to acclimate in Weimar dramatic productions that had pleased the public in other climes.
He seems not to have looked at the Italian text at all, and indeed it could have been of little use to him. As one would expect, he made an attempt to give some poetic weight to the fantastic trifle, but it was a thankless undertaking, albeit good Italian critics have praised his 'Turandot' as far superior to the original.
He cried out excitedly that he had never seen a more beautiful creature had never before known what love was it was now blazing up in the depths of his heart. I jested about the extraordinary effect of the picture on him called him a second Kalaf, and congratulated him on the fact that my good Angelica was not a Turandot.
The comic-opera subject, for such it really is, was not adapted to Schiller's vein. His 'Turandot' is distinctly stiff and operose. It had a short run at two or three theaters, where, as at Weimar, it excited a small interest on account of the riddles and the Chinese 'business', and then it was quietly consigned to the limbo of things that were.
"Do you know the story of Turandot?" "No. Novels and comedies I dare not read yet; but I should like to know, for Aunty Diodora is nicknamed 'Princess Turandot. I have often heard her spoken of by that name. I think that Turandot must be a fictitious creature, who tortures all her suitors to death, for aunty is also very unkind to them.
If Weber little more than toyed with Chinese and Turkish musical color in "Turandot" and in "Oberon," Félicien David in his songs and in his "Le Désert" attempted seriously to infiltrate into European music the musical feeling of the Levant. In the corner of Schopenhauer's apartment there sat an effigy of the Buddha; volumes of the Upanishads lay on his table.
Death comes to man with hasty stride, No respite is to him e'er given; He's stricken down in manhood's pride, E'en in mid race from earth he's driven. Prepared, or not, to go from here, Before his Judge he must appear! From Turandot, act ii. scene 4.
"The rooms are nominally occupied by a certain Maitre Turandot, maker of violins, and not even the concierge of the place knows that the hunchbacked and snuffy violin-maker and the meddlesome Scarlet Pimpernel, whom the Committee of Public Safety would so love to lay by the heels, are one and the same person.
"She was a northern Turandot!" said Otto; "the stony heart itself was forced to break and bleed. There is really a jest in having the marble painted. She stands before future ages as if she lived a stone image, white and red, only a mask of beauty. She is a warning to young ladies!" "Yes, against dancing!" said Sophie, smiling at Otto's extraordinary gravity.
"Well, what is it?" queried the other peremptorily. "Papa Turandot is a poor, harmless maker of volins," said the concierge. "I know him well, though he is not often at home. He lives with a daughter somewhere Passy way, and only uses this place as a workshop. I am sure he is no traitor." "We'll soon see about that," remarked Rouget dryly.
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