Bruce Alan Wilson:

>Turandot is incapable of loving anybody--including and especially herself--
>or of allowing anybody to love her.  It is only the self-sacrificing love
>of Liu, giving of itself without asking or expecting any return, that is
>able to break down the wall of ice that Turandot has erected around
>herself.  Only then is she able to accept Calaf's love--and return it.

Liu's faithfulness to the point of death is enough to get Turandot's
attention, but that is only half of it.  What really breaks through to
her--aside from the little matter of that kiss--is Calaf's renunciation
of the role of dominator--which is what Turandot hated about men, by his
voluntary gift to her of his name.  If these actions had not shaken her
up she might have been incapable of change.  Whether her turnaround is
any more believable than that of Scrooge is another question, but we want
to believe in this possibility: Calaf may have been insanely in love but
romantic love has always grabbed the Western imagination, even when it is
self-destructive.  (A recent play by Alan Ayckbourne--sp?--called Things
We Do for Love very believably shows that what we often do for love is
betray other people--with more claims on one than Liu had on Calif.) It
is interesting that Puccini was never able to complete the music for this
opera.  He was a slow worker anyway, but he seems to have been particularly
stuck on this one.

The story, up till the transformation of Turandot, including the cheering
of the crowd, is horrifying, yes.  As is the plot of Tosca.  Two or three
decades ago someone published an article, in Musical America, I think,
saying that Puccini was a Fascist and expressed cruelty in his music.
I think that author went over the edge on the latter claim at least.
Whatever his politics, and whatever his taste in libretti, Puccini's music
in general is ravishing and the music of Turandot is glorious--all of it.
Anyone who doesn't like it--and Benjamin Britten didn't--can always hear
something else, of course.

Jim Tobin