Title: Marco Millions
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Author: Eugene O'Neill
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Marco Millions
Eugene O'Neill
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Table of Contents
Marco Millions....................................................................................................................................................1
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Marco Millions
Eugene O'Neill
PROLOGUE
ACT I
Scene 1
Scene 2
Scene 3
Scene 4
Scene 5
Scene 6
ACT II
Scene 1
Scene 2
Scene 3
Scene 1
Scene 2
EPILOGUE
PROLOGUE
A sacred tree on a vast plain in Persia near the confines of India.
Votive offerings, pieces of cloth torn from clothing, bangles, armlets,
ornaments, tapers, have been nailed on the trunk or tied to the
branches. The heavy limbs spread out to a great distance from the
trunk. Beneath them is deep cool shade, contrasting with the blinding
glare of the noon sun on the sandy plain in the background. A
merchant carrying in each hand a strapped box that resembles a
modern sample case, plods wearily to the foot of the tree. He puts the
boxes down and takes out a handkerchief to mop his forehead. He is
a white CHRISTIAN, middleaged, averagelooking, with a
moustache and beard beginning to show gray. His clothes in the style
of the Italian merchant class of the thirteenth century are travelworn.
He signs, tired and hot.
Christian:
Phoo!
From the left a MAGIAN, a Persian, dressed in the fashion of a trader, comes
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in. He carries a small, square bag. He also is hot, weary, and dustcovered.
In age and appearance, making allowance for the difference in race, he
closely resembles the Christian. He and the latter stare at each other, then
bow perfunctorily. The Magian sets down his bag and wipes his brow.
Christian:
sympathetically
Hot as hell!
Magian:
grimly
Hotter!
They both chuckle. A BUDDHIST, a Kashmiri traveling merchant comes in,
puffing and sweating, from the right. He has a pack strapped on his back. He
resembles the other two in the essential character of his body and face. He
stops on seeing them. After eyeing him for an appraising second, the two bow
and the Buddhist comes forward to set his pack beside the bags of the others.
Buddhist:
with relief
Phoo!
then breaking the ice
The sun would cook you!
Magian:
It is hot certainly.
Christian:
as they all sit down to rest, looks from one to the otherjovially
Funny! you'd think we three had an appointment here. Your faces look familiar. Haven't I seen you
somewheres before?
Magian:
In the house of the courtezans at Shiraz. You were drunk.
Buddhist:
I happened to be there that night, too. You danced and sang lewd songs.
Christian:
a bit embarassed, but grinning
Humnoh, yesI remember. It was my birthday and I'd taken a drop too mucha very unusual thing for
me.
then abruptly changing the subject
How are conditions down your way?
Buddhist:
pursing his lips
Slow. I come from Delhi. There is a new import tax and trade is very unsettled. We make prayer beads.
Magian:
gloomily
And I, for my sins, am hawking a novelty, a blockprinted book, for an Arab house. It contains one thousand
Arabian lies, with one over for good measure, all full of lecheryat least so they instructed me to tell people
to get them to buy.
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Christian:
Did your trip take you down around Ispahan way?
Magian:
I just came from there. It is a sad city now. All the bazaars have been closed by an imperial edict in mourning
for Queen Kukachin.
Christian:
bounding to his feet as if a wasp had stung him
Is Queen Kukachin dead?
stunned
Why, I've got a letter of introduction to her from the head of my firmMarco Polo of Polo Brothers and
Son, Venice. He acted as her official escort, and took her from Cathay to Persia to be married! Why, I was
counting on selling her and her husband a whole fleet load of goods!
Magian:
suddenly, pointing off left
What makes that cloud of dust?
They all stare and begin to grow worried.
Christian:
It doesn't look like camels.
Buddhist:
fearfully
It has a strange look!
Christian:
It's coming directly this way.
Magian:
These plains are haunted by evil spirits.
Christian:
very frightened, but striving to put up a brave front
I've heard those rumors. And I know for a fact that people are sometimes possessed by devils, but I don't
believe
Buddhist:
suddenly, pointing to the tree
I am going to offer a prayer for protection to this tree sacred to Buddha.
Christian: & Magian:
in chorusirritably
Sacred to Buddha?
Buddhist:
Certainly! Do you not know the legend of how the Holy Sakya picked a twig to cleanse his teeth, and then
throwing it away, it took root, and sprang up into this mighty tree to testify forever to his miraculous power?
Christian:
resentfully
You're absolutely all wrong! This tree was the staff of our first father, Adam. It was handed down to Moses
who used it to tap water out of stones and finally planted it. The cross our Lord was crucified was made of
this wood. And ever since this tree has been sacred to Him!
Magian:
cuttingly
You have both of you been duped by childish lies! This tree is sacred to the founder of the one true religion,
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Zoroaster, who brought a shoot of the Tree of Life down from Paradise and planted it here!
Buddhist:
scornfully
You are a pair of superstitious sheep!
Christian:
You are a couple of idolatrous dogs!
Magian:
The two of your are blasphemous hogs!
They glare at each other insultingly, their hands on their daggers. Suddenly
they hear a noise from the left. Their eyes at once are turned in that direction
and, forgetting personal animosities, they give a startled exclamation at what
they see.
Buddhist:
They are pulling a chariot!
Christian:
They must be slaves. See how the driver lashes them!
Buddhist:
But what can that be on the wagonlike a coffin!
Christian:
It must be treasure!
Magian:
No. It is a coffin.
trembling
Ssst! I have a foreboding of evil.
They prostrate themselves, their faces to the ground. A moment later,
preceded by shouts, a cracking of whips, and the dull stamping of feet, a
doulbe file of thirty men of different ages, stripped to the waist, harnessed to
each other waisttowaist and to the long pole of a twowheeled wagon,
stagger in, straining forward under the lashes of two soldiers who run beside
them and the long whips of the Captain: and CORPORAL who are riding on the
wagon, the Captain driving. As they reach the middle of the shade they stop. Lashed on the
wagon is a coffin covered with a white pall.
Captain:
a brutal, determinedlooking man of forty, bellows
Halt!
the files of bleeding and sweating men collapse in panting, groaning heaps. The soldiers spraw down beside
them. The Captain springs off the wagon.
Phoo! This shade is grateful.
he looks at the treethen in an awed tone
This must be the Holy Tree which was once the staff of Mahomet and, passing down through generations,
was buried in the grave of Abu Abdallah where it struck root and grew by the will of Allah into this tree.
he makes obeisance and prays to the tree as do the soldiers. He gets up and takes a gulp of waterthen,
looking around, notices the three merchantswith startled surprise, drawing his sword.
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Ho! What are you? Get up!
they do so frightenedly. He stares at them and laughs coarsely with relief
By all the demons, you startled me! But you traders are like fleas, one finds you everywhere!
then with a scowl
Three dogs of unbelievers, too!
sharply
Give an account of yourselves!
Buddhist:
I was proceeding wastward on a business venture, good sir.
Magian:
And I to the northward.
Christian:
And I to the court of Ghazan Khan to present this letter to Queen Kukachin. But I hear she's dead.
He hands him the letter but the Captain backs away superstitiously.
Captain:
Allah forbid I touch what belongs to a corpse.
then with forced laughter
You need not journey farther. She is in there!
his voice has dropped, he points toward the coffin. The others stare at it, dumbfounded and awed. The
Captain goes on dryly
You cannot cheat her now, Christian!
then lowering his voice as if afraid he will be overheard
And yet, to look at her face you would think her only sleeping.
Christian:
astonished
What? Can you look at her?
Captain:
Her coffin is glass. Her body was anointed by Egyptians so that she preserves the appearance of life. This was
done by command of her grandfather Kublai, the Great Kaan. She is being taken home to Cathay for
burialand under penalty of torture I must transport her over the first stage by dark tonight!
suddenly lamenting
But Allah afflicted me! When I reached the last village with my camels foundering, I found the accursed
villagers had driven off their beasts to escape requisition. But the dogs could not balk me. I hitched them to
the pole instead.
he looks at the moaning figures with a cruel appraising eye
But will they last till night? Hi, there! Water to revive them!
The soldiers carry around jugs of water which the panting men reach out for
avidly, then sing back. But three of the more elderly men are too spent to
move.
Christian:
timorouslyanxious to change the subject
Was the Queen very beautiful?
Captain:
with bravado
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Would you care to see? You had a letter to her. It can do no harmand it is a very great wonder!
Christian:
reassuringly, because he is now extremely curious
Dead Queens in the West usually lie in state.
Captain:
You pull back the cloth then, since that is your custom.
The Christian goes to the wagon and gingerly pulls back the pall from the
head of the coffinthen retreats with an exclamation as KUKACHIN'S face,
that of a beautiful Tartar princess of twentythree, is revealed inside the
glass. Her calm expression seems to glow with the intense peace of a life
beyond death, the eyes are shut as if she were asleep. The men stare
fascinatedly.
Christian:
after a pausecrossing himself awedly
Are you certain she's dead?
Captain:
in an awed whisper
In the palace I commanded the company who guarded her coffin at night. I could not take my eyes from her
face. It seemed that any moment she must awake and speak!
While they have been speaking, unnoticed by them, it has grown dark. An
unearthly glow, like a halo, lights up the face of Kukachin. From the
branches of the tree comes a sound of sweet sad music as if the leaves were
tiny harps strummed by the wind. The face of Kukachin becomes more and
more living. Finally her lips part and her eyes open to look up at the tree.
Captain:
kneeling down to pray
Allah, be pitiful!
Buddhist:
Buddha, protect Thy servant!
Magian:
Mithra, AllPowerful One!
Christian:
Jesus, have mercy!
A voice which is Kukachin's and yet more musical than a human voice, comes
from the coffin as her lips are seen to move.
Kukachin:
Say this, I loved and died. Now I am love, and live. And living, have forgotten. And loving, can forgive.
Here her lips part in laughter, of an intoxicating, supernatural gaiety, comes
from her lips and is taken up in chorus in the branches of the tree as if every
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harpleaf were laughing in music with her. The laughter recedes
heavenward and dies as the halo of light about her face fades and noonday
rushes back in a blaze of baking plain. Everyone is prostrate, the harnessed
wretches in the exhausted attitudes of sleep, the others visibly trembling with
superstitious horror.
Christian:
the first to recoverbewilderedly
Venice! It must have been a message she wished me to take back to Marco Polo!
Captain:
his terror going and rage taking its place, leaps to his feet
It was the voice of some Christian devil you summoned! It bewitched even me until Allah drove it back to
hell!
he draws his sword
Cover her face, accursed sorcerer!
Christian:
pulls the covering over the head of the coffin with indecent haste
I pledge you my word, good Captain!
Captain:
to his soldiers
Attention! Kick them up! We must get away from here!
With blows and kicks the soldiers get their human beasts to their feet. There
are groans and curses and cries of pain. But three cannot be roused. The
Captain growles savagely at the Christian to keep up his courage.
Captain:
Pig of an infidel!
then glaring at hte Buddhist and Magian
You too! You were in league with him.
he grips his sword
All Three:
kneelingpitiably
Mercy! Spare us!
A Corporal:
comes up and salutes
We cannot get three of them up, sir.
Captain:
raging
Lash them!
Corporal:
They are dead, sir.
Captain:
glumly
Oh.
then an idea comeswith cruel satisfaction
Three, did you say? That is fortunate. Allah has provided! Cut them out and put these in their places!
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At a sign, the soldiers fall upon the three merchants, strip off their upper
clothes, untie the dead men, and hitch them in their places. All the time the
three set up miserable screams of protest, punctuated by the blows and kicks
they receive. The others look on with exhausted indifference.
Christian:
making himself heard above the tumult
My letter! It was to the Queen! When Polo Brothers hear of this outrage they'll get Kaan to flay you alive!
Captain:
taken aback a momentthen craftily
Show me your letter again!
Christian:
holding it out with frantic eagerness
Here! Now set me free!
Captain:
takes it and calmly tears it up
I cannot read but I think you are lying. At any rate, now you have no letter!
The Christian sets up a wailing cry and receives a blow. The Captain and
Corporals spring up on the wagon.
Captain:
cont
And now forward march!
With a great cracking of whips and shouts of pain the wagon is uplled swiftly
away. On the ground under the sacred tree three bodies lie in crumpled
heaps. The same sweet sad music comes from the tree again as if its spirit
were playing on the leaves a last lamenting farewell to the dead Princess. It
rises softly and as softly dies away until it is nothing but a faint sound of wind
rustling the leaves.
Curtain.
ACT I SCENE 1
Twentythree years earlier. A fresh boy's voice is heard singing in a subdued
tone. The light slowly reveals the exterior of DONATA'S home on a canal,
Venice. MARCO POLO, a boy of fifteen, youthfully handsome and well made,
is standing in a gondola beneath a barred window of the house, a guitar over
his shoulder. The song finished, he waits anxiously. A hand is thrust out to
him through the bars. He kisses it passionately. It is hurriedly withdrawn.
DONATA'S face appears pressed against the bars. She is a girl of twelve, her
face pale and pretty in the moonlight.
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Donata:coyly and tenderly
You mustn't, Mark.
Marco: There's no harm in thatjust kissing your hand!
Donata:demurely
It's a sin, I'm sure of it.
Marco:with a quick movement of his own hand, captures hers through the bars
Then I'll have to steal it, and that's a worse sin.
He pulls her willing hand down toward his lips.
Donata: You're hurting my fingers.
Marco:boldly now
Then I know how to cure them.
he kisses them one by one
There!
Donata:tenderly
You silly boy! Why do you do that?
Marco:very seriously
You know, Donata.
Donata: Know what?
softly
Go on and tell me, Mark.
Marco:blurts out gruffly
I love you, that's what. I've loved you ever since I can remember. And you've known it right along, too, so
there's no good pretending.
Donata:softly
I wasn't sure.
Marco:recklessly
And how about you? Do you love me? You've got to answer me that!
Donata: You knowwithout my saying it.
Marco: Please say it!
Donata:in a whisper
I love you. There, silly!
Marco: And you'll promise to marry me when I come back?
Donata: Yes, but you'll have to ask my parents.
Marco:easily
Don't worry about them. They'll be glad, and my folks, too. It'll bring the two firms into closer contact.
Donata:practically
Yes, I think so, too.
A pause. Songs and music come from near and faroff in the night about
them. Marco has gained possession of her two hands now and his face is
closer to the bars of her window.
Marco:with a sigh
It's beautiful tonight. I wish I didn't have to go away.
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Donata: I wish, too! Do you really have to?
Marco: Yes. And I want to, tooall but leaving you. I want to travel and see the world and all the different
people, and get to know their habits and needs from firsthand knowledge. You've got to do that if you want
to become really big and important. That's what Father saysand Uncle.
Donata: But won't this trip so very far away be full of danger?
Marco:boastfully
I can take care of myself. Uncle says taking chancesnecessary chances, of courseis the best schooling
for a real merchant and Father has a saying that where there's nothing risked, there's nothing gained. And they
ought to know, oughtn't they, after spending nine years at the court of the Great Kaan and traveling there and
back?
Donata: Is that where you're going?
Marco: Yes. He's the richest king in the world and Uncle and Father are personal friends of his. They did a
lot of work for him. I'll be on the right side of him from the start, and Father and Uncle both say there's
millions to be made in his service if you're not afraid of work and keep awake to opportunity.
Donata: I'm sure you'll succeed. But I wish you weren't going for so long.
Marco: I'll miss you as much as you miss me.
huskily
I hate to leave you, Donatabut I've got to make my own wayso we can marry
Donata:hurriedly
Yesof courseonly come back as soon as you can.
Marco: But you'll wait, won't you, no matter how long?
Donata:solemnly
Yes, I swear to, Mark.
Marco: And I swear to God I'll come back and marry you, and I'll always be true and never forget or do
anything
Donata:startled by a noise from within
Ssshh! There's someone moving inside. You'll have to go. Here.
she hands him a locket
It's a medallion of me painted by an artist who owed Father for spices and couldn't pay with money. Will you
keep looking at this all the time you're away and never forget me?
Marco:kissing it passionately
Every day!
Donata: And you'll write me?
Marco: I promise. Every chance I get.
Donata:hesitatingly
Will you write mea poem? I won't care how short it is if it's only a poem.
Marco: I'll try, Donata. I'll do my best.
Donata: I'll just love it to death, Mark!
startledly
Ssshh! I hear it again. It must be Father. I've got to sneak back.
Marco:desperately
Won't you kiss melet me really kiss youjust oncefor goodbye?
Donata: I mustn't
Marco: Just oncewhen I'm going so far away?
desperately
III'll die if you don't!
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Donata: Welljust once.
The moonlight fades into darkness as their lips meet. Then from the darkness
are their voices heard in hushed tones.
Donata:cont
Goodbye, Mark.
Marco: Goodbye, Donata.
The sentimental singing voices and guitars are heard from all corners of the
night in celebration of love. The sound gradually grows fainter and fainter,
receding into the distance, as if Marco were already leaving Venice behind
him.
Darkness.
ACT I SCENE 2
Six months later. The tolling of a church bell is first heard. Then the interior
of the Papal Legate's palace at Acre is revealeda combination of church
and government building.
The Legate, TEDALDO, a man of sixty with a strong, intelligent face, is
seated on a sort of throne placed against the rear wall. On his right stands a
warrior noble, a KNIGHTCRUSADER, in full armor, leaning on his sword.
On his left, a DOMINICAN MONK, his adviser. On the left of the room is an
altar with candles burning. On the right, an open portal with a sentry pacing
up and down, spear in hand.
The two elder Polos, NICOLO and MAFFEO, stand in attitudes of patient
servility before the throne. Marco's father, NICOLO, is a small thin
middleaged man, with a dry, shrewd face. Maffeo, Marco's uncle, is around
the same age, but he is tall and stout with a round, jovial face and small,
cunning eyes. There is a strong general resemblance between both of them
and Marco. Marco: is sitting on a stool in the foreground, his body all
screwed up into an awkward intensity, striving with all his might to compose
a poem to Donata, but constantly distracted in spite of himself.
Tedaldo:bored but tolerantly
What can I do except advise you to be patient? I'm sure the Conclave of Cardinals must soon select a Pope.
Nicolo: Two years in session!
then suddenlyconsoled
Well, it's a new world's record, anyway.
Maffeo:shaking his head
This uncertainty is bad for trade.
Tedaldo:with a bored yawn
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No doubt.
then rather impatiently
Then, when your business so evidently calls you to the East, why delay longer? Why not simply explain to
the Great Kaan, Kublai, that there was no Pope to whom you could deliver his message?
Nicolo: He mightn't understand. His instructions to us were pretty emphatic.
Maffeo: To request the Pope to send him a hundred wise men of the West
Tedaldo:dryly
This Kublai is an optimist!
Maffeo: to argue with his Buddhists and Taoists and Confucians which religion in the world is best.
MONK
outraged
Impudent ignoramus! Does he imagine the Church would stoop to such bickering?
Tedaldo:with a weary smile
I begin to think Kublai is a humorist, too.
Maffeo:craftily
It's pay to convert him. He's the richest king in the world. He rules over millions of subjects, his empire
covers millions of square miles of great undeveloped natural resources, his personal wealth in cash and jewels
and goods alone easily runs into millions of millions!
Marco:stares at his unclethen mutters fascinatedly
Millions!
then, shaking away this interruption, bends to his writing again.
Tedaldo:wearily
I am bored with your millions, Messrs. Polo. Even if they are true, it is too much effort to conceive them.
They bow humbly and retire backward. His eyes following them listlessly
Tedaldo sees Marco, who at this moment is scratching himself, twisting and
turning his legs and feet, tearing his hair in a perfect frenzy of balked
inspiration. Tedaldo smiles and addresses him in an affectionate, humorous
tone.
Tedaldo:cont
God's mercy on you, Master Marco! Are you suddenly possessed by a devilor is it only these infernal
Mahometan fleas the Almighty sends us for our sins?
Marco:coming out of his fitsheepishly
I'm only writing something.
Maffeo: Mark is surprisingly quick at figures.
Nicolo: But still heedless. A dreamer!
to Marco, with a condescending paternal air
What are you writing, son?
He and Maffeo draw near Marco.
Marco:more confused
Nothing, sirjustsomething.
He tries to hide it.
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Maffeo: Why are you so mysterious? Come, let's see.
Marco: Noplease, Uncle.
Maffeo:with a sudden cunning motion, he snatches it from Marco's hand, glances at it and bursts into
laughter
Look, Nicolo, look!
Marco:rebelliously
Give that back!
Nicolo:sternly
Behave yourself, Mark!
to Maffeo
What is it?
Maffeo: See for yourself.
he hands it to him
Did you know you'd hatched a nightengale?
He laughs coarsely. Nicolo reads, a scornful grin coming to his lips.
Tedaldo: Surely it cannot be a song he has written?
Nicolo:going to himlaughing
A rhyme! A love poem, no less!
Tedaldo:severely, as he takes the poem
Do not mock at him! Rather be grateful if a thistle can bring forth figs.
Marco remains sullenly apart, shamefaced and angry, his fists clenched.
Tedaldo readsfrownslaughsthen smiling to Nicolo.
Tedaldo:cont
Your fear that this is a poem ishumnexaggerated!
he reads amusedly as Marco squirms
"You are lovely as the gold in the sun
Your skin is like silver in the moon
Your eyes are black pearls I have won.
I kiss your ruby lips and you swoon,
Smiling your thanks as I promise you
A large fortune if you will be true,
While I am away earning gold
And silver so when we are old
I will have a million to my credit
And in the meantime can easily afford
A big wedding that will do us credit
And start having children, bless the Lord!"
There is a roar of laughter in which Tedaldo joins. Marco looks about for a
hole into which to crawl. Tedaldo addresses him amusedly but with kindness.
Tedaldo:cont
Come, Marco. Here is your poem. Your lady is a bit too mineral, your heaven of love a trifle monetarybut,
never mind, you will be happier as a Polo than as a poet. Here.
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He gives it to Marco. The latter fiercely crumples it up and throws it on the
floor and stamps on it.
Nicolo:approvingly
Sensibly done, my boy.
Tedaldo:looking searchingly at Marco's facegently
Perhaps I was too critical. Your poem had merits of its own. I am sure it would touch your lady's heart.
Marco:with a great bluster of manliness
Oh, I don't mind your making fun. I can take a joke. It was silly. Poetry's all stupid, anyway. I was only trying
it for fun, to see if I could. You won't catch me ever being such a fool again!
MONK
as a noise of shouting comes toward them
Ssstt! What's that?
The Knight hurries to the portal.
KNIGHT
Someone is running here, and a crowd behind. I hear them shouting "Pope."
MONK
Then the Conclave has chosen!
POLOS
joyfully
At last!
The cries of many voices. The Sentinel and Knight admit the MESSENGER
but push back the others.
MESSENGER
exhaustedfalls on his knees before Tedaldo, holding out a sealed paper
I come from the Conclave. You were chosen. Your Holiness
He falls fainting. The crowds cheer and sweep in.
Tedaldo:risingpale and trembling
What does he say?
MONK
has picked up the documentjoyfully
See! The official seal! You are the Pope!
he kneels humbly
Your Holiness, let me be the first
He kisses Tedaldo's hand. All are kneeling now, their heads bowed. The bell
of the churches begin to ring.
Tedaldo:raising his hands to heavendazedly
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Lord, I am not worthy!
then to those about himtremblingly
Leave me. I must pray to God for strengthfor guidance!
CROWD
in a clamor
Your blessing!
Tedaldo with a simple dignity and power, blesses them. They back out slowly,
the Monk and Knight last. The Polos group together in the foreground,
holding a whispered conference. Tedaldo kneels before the altar.
Maffeo: Not that he's the Pope, if we could get an answer from him, we could start right away.
Nicolo: We couldn't hope for better weather.
Maffeo: He seems to have taken a fancy to Mark. You speak to him, Mark.
Marco:unwillingly
He's praying.
Maffeo: He'll have time enough for that, but with us time is money.
giving the unwilling Marco a push
This will test your nerve, Mark! Don't shirk!
Marco:gritting his teeth
All right. I'll show you I'm not scared!
he advances boldly toward the altar, stands there for a moment awkwardly as Tedaldo remains
obliviousthen he falls on his kneeshumbly but insistently
Your Holiness. Forgive me, Your Holiness
Tedaldo:turns to him and springs to his feetimperiously
I wish to be alone!
then as Marco is shrinking backmore kindly
Well, what is it? I owe you a recompense, perhapsfor an injury.
Marco:stammeringly
You Holinessif you could give us some answer to deliver to the Great Kaanwe could start nowwith
such favorable weather
Tedaldo:amused in spite of himself
On the last day one of your seed will interrupt Gabriel to sell him another trumpet!
then sardonically to the elder Polos
I have no hundred wise mennor one! Tell the Great Kaan he must have been imposed upon by your
patriotic lies, or he could never make such a request.
POLOS
terrified
But, Your Holiness, we dare not repeat He'd have us killed!
Tedaldo: I will send him a monk or two. That is quite sufficient to convert a Tartar barbarian!
Maffeo: But, Your Holiness, he's not a barbarian! Why, every plate on his table is solid gold!
Tedaldo:smiling
And he has millions of plates, too?
then with a sudden whimsicality
But if the monks fail, Master Marco can be my missionary. Let him set an examlpe of virtuous Western
manhood amid all the levities of paganism, shun the frailty of poetry, have a million to his credit, as he so
beautifully phrased it, and I will wager a million of something or other myself that the Kaan will soon be
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driven to seek spiritual salvation somewhere! Mark my words, Marco will be worth a million wise menin
the cause of wisdom!
he laughs gaily, raising his hand over Marco's head
Go with my blessing! But what need have you for a blessing? You were born with success in your pocket!
With a last gesture he turns, going quickly out the door in rear.
Maffeo:as he goesapprovingly
Mark is making a good impression already!
Nicolo: Well, he's got a head on him!
Marco:beginning to swell out a bit matteroffactly
Never mind about me. When do we start?
POLOS
hurriedly
At once. Let's go and pack.
they go out left
Come, Mark! Hurry!
Marco: I'm coming.
he waits, looks after htem, picks up the crumpled poem, starts to hide it in his jacket, stops, mutters with a
brave selfcontempt
Aw! You damn fool!
He throws the poem down again, starts to go, hesitates, suddenly turns back,
picks it up, crams it into his doublet and runs wildly out the door. The scene
fades into darkness. For a times the church bells, which have never ceased
ringing, are heard acclaiming the new Pope; but the Polos proceed speedily
on their journey and the sound is soon behind them
Darkness.
ACT I SCENE 3
Light comes, gradually revealing the scene. In the rear is the front a Mahometan
mosque. Before the mosque, is a throne on which sits a MAHOMETAN RULER.
On the right, the inevitable warrior on his left, the inevitable priest the two
defenders of the State. At the ruler's feet his wives crouch like slaves. Everything
is jeweled, highcolored, gorgeous in this background. Squatted against the side
walls, forming a sort of semicircle with the throne at center, counting from left to
right consecutively, are a mother nursing baby, two children playing a game, a
young girl and a young man in a loving embrace, a middleaged couple, an aged
couple, a coffin. All these Mahometan figures remain motionless. Only their eyes
move, staring fixedly but indifferently at the POLOS, who are standing at center.
Marco is carrying in each hand bags which curiously resemble modern sample
cases. He sets these down and gazes around with a bewildered awe.
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Nicolo: (turning on him genially) Well, son, here we are in Islam.
Marco: (roundeyed) A man told me that Noah's Ark is still somewhere around here on top of a mountain.
(Eagerly) And he proved it to me, too. Look! (He shows them a piece of wood) He broke this off of the Ark.
See, it's got Noah's initials on it!
Maffeo: (grimly) How much did you pay him for it?
Nicolo: (dashing it out of Marco's hand bitterly) Muttonhead! Do you suppose Almighty God would allow
infidels to cut up Noah's Ark into souvenirs to sell to Christians?
Maffeo: (teasingly) Your son and your money are soon parted, Brother. (Then placatingly) But he's only a
boy. He'll learn. And before we go farther, Nicolo, we better read him from the notes we made on our last trip
all there is to remember about this corner of the world.
Nicolo: (they take out notebooks closely resembling a modern business man's datebook and read) We're
now passing through Kingdoms where they worship Mahomet.
Maffeo: There's one kingdom called Musul and in it a district of Baku where there's a great fountain of oil.
There's a growing demand for it. (Then speaking) Make a mental note of that.
Nicolo: Merchants make great profits. The people are simple creatures. It's very cold in winter. The women
wear cotton drawers. This they do to look large in the hips, for the men think that a great beauty. (The two
MAHOMETAN MERCHANTS enter from the left. Maffeo recognizes them immediately in a swift aside to
his brother).
Maffeo: There's those damned Ali brothers. They'll cut under our prices with their cheap junk as usual. (The
ALI brothers have seen the Polos and a whispered aside, evidently of the same nature, passes between them.
Then simultaneously the two firms advance to meet each other putting on expressions of the utmost
cordiality) Well, well. You folks are a welcome sight.
One Ali: My dear, dear friends! Praise be to Allah! (They embrace).
Maffeo: (with a cunning smirk) Selling a big bill of goods hereabouts, I'll wager, you old rascals?
The Older Ali: (airily) My dear friend, don't speak of business. But you, you are on a venture to the court
of the Great Kaan, we hear?
Maffeo: What lies get around! Nothing in it absolutely nothing!
Nicolo: For heaven's sake, let's not talk business! Let's have a nice friendly chat. (The four squat together in
a circle).
Maffeo: (with a wink) I'll tell you a good one an Armenian doilydealer told me down in Bagdad. (They all
bend their heads toward him with expectant grins. He looks around then begins in a cautious lowered tone)
Well, there was an old Jew named Ikey and he married a young girl named Rebecca (He goes on telling the
rest of the story with much exaggerated Jewish pantomime but in a voice too low to be heard. In the
meantime, Marco has slipped off, full of curiosity and wonder, to look at this strange life. He goes first to the
left, stops before the mother and baby, smiles down at it uncertainly, then bends down to take hold of its
hand).
Marco: Hello! (Then to the mother) He's fat as butter! (Both remain silent and motionless, staring at him
from a great distance with indifferent calm. Marco is rebuffed, grows embarrassed, turns away to the
children, who, frozen in the midst of their game of jackstraws, are looking at him. Marco adopts a lofty
condescending air) Humh! Do you still play that game here? I remember it when I was a kid. (They stare
silently. He mutters disgustedly) Thickheads! (And turns to the lovers who with their arms about each other,
cheek to cheek, stare at him. He looks at them, fascinated and stirred, and murmurs enviously) She's pretty. I
suppose they're engaged like Donata and me. (He fumbles and pulls out the locket which is hung around his
neck on a ribbon) Donata's prettier. (Then embarrassedly, he holds it out for them to see) Don't you think
she's pretty? She and I are going to be married some day. (They do not look except into his eyes. He turns
away, hurt and angry) Go to the devil, you infidels! (He stuffs the locket back stops before the throne tries
to stare insolently at the king but, awed in spite of himself, makes a grudging bow and passes on, stops before
the family group, sneers and passes on, stops before the old couple and cannot restrain his curiosity) Would
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you tell me how old you are? (He passes on, rebuffed again, stops fascinatedly before the coffin, leans out
and touches it with defiant daring, shudders superstitiously and shrinks away, going to the merchant group
who are roaring with laughter as Maffeo ends his story).
The Older Ali: (to Nicolo) Your Son?
Nicolo: yes, and a chip off the old block.
The Older Ali: Will he follow in your footsteps?
Nicolo: (jocosely) Yes, and you better look out then! He's as keen as a hawk already.
The Older Ali: (with a trace of a biting smile) He greatly resembles a youth I saw back on the road buying
a piece of Noah's Ark from a wayside sharper.
Maffeo: (hastily coming to the rescue as Nicolo cannot hide his chagrin boastfully) It wasn't Mark. Mark
would have sold him the lions of St. Mark's for good mousers! (The PROSTITUTE enters from the right. She
is painted, halfnaked, alluring in a brazen, sensual way. She smiles at Marco enticingly).
Marco: (with a gasp) Look! Who's that? (They all turn, and, recognizing her, laugh with coarse familiarity).
Maffeo: (jokingly) So here you are again. You're like a bad coin always turning up.
Prostitute: (smiling) Shut up. You can bet it isn't old fools like you that turn me.
Nicolo: (with a lecherous grin at her) No? But it's the old who have the money.
Prostitute: Money isn't everything, not always. Now I wouldn't ask money from him. (She points to
Marco).
Nicolo: (crossly and jealously) Leave him alone, you filth!
Maffeo: (broadmindedly) Come, come, Nicolo. Let the boy have his fling.
Prostitute: (her eyes on Marco) Hello, Handsome.
Marco: (bewilderedly) You've learned our language?
Prostitute: I sell to all nations.
Marco: what do you sell?
Prostitute: (mockingly) A precious jewel. Myself. (Then desirously) But for you I'm a gift. (Putting her
hands on his shoulder and lifting her lips) Why don't you kiss me?
Marco: (terribly confused strugglingly) I I don't know I mean, I'm sorry but you see I promised someone
I'd never (Suddenly freeing himself frightenedly) Leave go! I don't want your kisses. (A roar of coarse
taunting laughter from the men. Marco runs away, off left).
Nicolo: (between his teeth). What a dolt!
Maffeo: (slapping the prostitute on the bare shoulder) Better luck next time. He'll learn!
Prostitute: (trying to hide her pique forcing a cynical smile) Oh, yes, but I won't be a gift then. I'll make
him pay, just to show him! (She laughs harshly and goes out left. A pause. All four squat again in silence).
The Older Ali: (suddenly) Many wonders have come to pass in these regions. They relate that in old times
three kings from this country went to worship a Prophet that was born and they carried with them three
manner of offerings Gold and Frankincense and Myrrh and when they had come to the place where the
Child was born, they marveled and knelt before him.
Maffeo: That's written in the Bible. The child was Jesus Christ, our Lord. (He blesses himself, Nicolo does
likewise).
Nicolo: (defiantly) He was the Son of God!
Both Alis: (stubbornly) There is no God but Allah! (A strained pause. A dervish of the desert runs in
shrieking and begins to whirl. No one is surprised except the two Polos who get up to gape at him with the
thrilled appreciation inspired by a freak in a sideshow. Marco comes back and joins them).
Maffeo: (with appreciation) If we had him in Venice we could make a mint of money exhibiting him.
(Nicolo nods).
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Marco: I'll have to write Donata all about this. (Wonderingly) Is he crazy?
Maffeo: (in a low aside to him ) My boy, all Mahometans are crazy. That's the only charitable way to look
at it. (Suddenly the call to prayer sounds from Muezzins in the minarets of the mosque. The dervish falls on
his face. Everyone sinks into the attitude of prayer except the Polos who stand embarrassedly, not knowing
what to do).
Marco: Are they praying?
Nicolo: Yes, they call it that. Much good it does them!
Maffeo: Ssshh! Come! This is a good time to move on again. Marco! Wake up! (They go quickly out right,
Marco following with the sample cases. The scene fades quickly into darkness as the call of the Muezzins is
heard again).
DARKNESS
ACT I SCENE 4
The slowlyrising light reveals an Indian snakecharmer squatted on his haunches
at center. A snake is starting to crawl from the basket in front of him, swaying its
head to the thin, shrill whine of a gourd. Otherwise, the scene, in the placing of its
people and the characters and types represented, is the exact duplicate of the last
except that here the locale is Indian. The background for the ruler's throne is now
a Buddhist temple instead of a mosque. The motionless staring figures are all
Indians. Looming directly above and in back of the ruler's throne is an immense
Buddha. The Polos stand at center as before, Marco still lugging the sample
cases. He is seventeen now. Some of the freshness of youth has worn off.
They stare at the snakecharmer, the two older men cynically. Marco gasps with
enthralled horror.
Marco: Look at that deadly snake!
Maffeo: (cynically) He's a fake, like everything else here. His fangs have been pulled out.
Marco: (disillusioned) Oh! (He turns away. The snakecharmer glares at them, stops
playing, pushes his snake back into the box and carries it off, after spitting on the ground at
their feet with angry disgust. Marco sits on one of the cases and glances about with a
forced scorn; looks finally at the Buddha in a smartAleck tone) So that is Buddha!
Nicolo: (begins to read from his notebook) These people are idolaters. The climate is
so hot if you put an egg in their rivers it will be boiled.
Maffeo: (taking up the reading from his book in the same tone) The merchants make great profits.
Ginger, pepper, and indigo. Largest sheep in the world. Diamonds of great size. The Kings have five
hundred wives apiece.
Marco: (disgustedly) It's too darn hot here!
Maffeo: (warningly) Sshhh! Don't let the natives hear you. Remember any climate is healthy where
trade is brisk.
Marco: (walks sullenly off to left. At the same moment two merchants, this time Buddhists, come in. The
same interplay goes on with them as with the Ali Brothers in the previous scene, only this time it is all done
in pantomime until the loud laughter at the end of Maffeo's story. As Maffeo tells the story, Marco is
looking at the people but this time he assumes the casual, indifferent attitude of the worldlywise. He makes
a silly gesture to attract the baby's attention, passes by the two children with only a contemptuous glance, but
stops and stares impudently at the lovers finally spits with exaggerated scorn) Where do you think you
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are home with the light out? Why don't you charge admission? (He stalks on pauses before the
middleaged couple who have a bowl of rice between them in astonishment as though this evidence of a
humanity common with his struck him as strange) Real rice! (He ignores the throne, passes quickly by the
old people with a glance of aversion and very obviously averts his head from the coffin. As he returns to the
group at center, Maffeo has just finished his story. There is a roar of laughter).
Marco: (grinning eagerly) What was it, Uncle?
Maffeo: (grinning teasingly) You're too young.
Marco: (boastfully) Is that so?
Nicolo (severely) Mark! (The Prostitute, the same but now in Indian garb, has entered from
left and comes up behind Marco).
Prostitute: A chip of the old block, Nicolo!
Nicolo: (angrily) You again!
Marco: (pleased to see her embarrassedly) Why, hello.
Prostitute: (cynically) I knew you'd want to see me. (She raises her lips) Will you kiss me know? (as he
hesitates) Forget your promise. You know you want to.
Maffeo: (grinning) There's no spirit in the youngsters nowadays. I'll bet he won't.
Prostitute: (her eyes on Marco's) How much will you bet?
Maffeo: Ten (Marco suddenly kisses her).
Prostitute: (turning to Maffeo) I win, Uncle.
Marco: (with a grin) No. I kissed you before he said ten what.
Maffeo: That's right! Good boy, Mark!
Prostitute: (turning to Marco cynically) You're learning, aren't you? You're becoming shrewd even about
kisses. You need only me now to make you into a real man for ten pieces of gold.
Marco: (genuinely overcome by a sudden shame) No, please. I I didn't mean it. It was only in fun.
Prostitute: (with a sure smile) Later, then when we meet again. (She walks off left).
Marco: (looks after her. As she evidently turns to look back at him, he waves his hand and grins then
abashed) She's pretty. It's to bad she's what she is.
Maffeo: Don't waste pity. Her kind are necessary evils. All of us are human. (A long pause).
The Older Buddhist Merchant: (suddenly) The Buddha taught that one's lovingkindness should
embrace all forms of life, that one's compassion should suffer with the suffering, that one's sympathy should
understand all things, and last that one's judgment should regard all persons and things as of equal
importance.
Nicolo: (harshly) Who was this Buddha?
The Older Buddhist Merchant: The Incarnation of God.
Nicolo: You mean Jesus?
The Older Buddhist Merchant: (unheedingly) He was immaculately conceived. The Light passed into
the womb of Maya, and she bore a son who, when he came to manhood, renounced wife and child, riches and
power, and went out as a beggar on the roads to seek the supreme enlightenment which would conquer birth
and death; and at last he attained the wisdom where all desire has ended and experienced the heaven of peace,
Nirvana. And when he died he became a God again. (The temple bells begin to ring in chorus. All except the
Polos prostrate themselves before the Buddha).
Marco: (to his uncle in a whispered chuckle) Died and became a God? So that's what they believe about
that stone statue, is it?
Maffeo: They're all crazy, like the Mahometans. They're not responsible.
Marco: (suddenly) I saw two of them with a bowl of rice
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Maffeo: Oh, yes. They eat the same as we do. (Then abruptly) Come on! This is our chance to make a start.
Don't forget our cases, Mark. (They go out left followed by Marco with the sample cases. The scene fades
into darkness. The clamor of the temple bells slowly dies out in the distance).
DARKNESS.
ACT I SCENE 5
From the darkness comes the sound of a small Tartar kettledrum, its beats
marking the rhythm for a crooning, nasal voice, rising and falling in a wordless
chant.
The darkness gradually lifts. In the rear is a section of the Great Wall of China with an
enormous shut gate. It is late afternoon, just before sunset. Immediately before the gate is a
rude throne on which sits a Mongol ruler with warrior and sorcerer to right and left of him.
At the sides are Mongol circular huts. The motionless figures sit before these. The
MINSTREL, squatting at center, is the only one whose body moves. In the back of the
throne and above it is a small idol made of felt and cloth. The clothes of the ruler and his
court are of rich silk stuffs, lined with costly furs. The squatting figures of the people are
clothed in rough robes.
The Polos stand at center, Marco still lugging the battered sample cases. He is now nearly
eighteen, a brash, selfconfident young man, assertive and talky. All the Polos are weary
and their clothes shabby and travelworn.
Marco: (setting down the bags with a thump and staring about with an appraising contempt) Welcome to
that dear old Motherland, Mongolia!
Maffeo: (wearily takes out his guidebook and begins to read in the monotone of a boring formula)
Flocks goats horses cattle. The women do all the buying and selling. Business is all in cattle and crops. In
short, the people live like beasts.
Nicolo: (reading from his book) They have two Gods a God of Heaven to whom they pray for health of
mind, and a God of Earth, who watches over their earthly goods. They pray to him also and do many other
stupid things.
Marco: (boredly) Well let them! (He walks away and makes the circuit of the figures, but now he hardly
glances at them. The TWO TARTAR MERCHANTS enter and there is the same pantomime of greeting
between them and the Polos as with the buddhist merchants in the previous scene. Marco joins them. It is
apparent the whole company is extremely weary. They yawn and prepare to lie down).
Maffeo: We'll have time to steal a nap before they open the Gate.
Marco: (with an assertive importance) Just a moment! I've got a good one an idolpolisher told me in Tibet.
This is the funniest story you ever heard! It seems an Irishman got drunk in Tangut and wandered into a
temple where he mistook one of the female statues for a real woman and (He goes on, laughing and
chuckling to himself, with endless comic pantomime. The two tartar merchants fall asleep. Nicolo stares at
his son bitterly, Maffeo with contemptuous pity. Finally Marco finishes to his own uproarious amusement).
Nicolo: (bitterly) Dolt!
Maffeo: (mockingly. With a yawn) Youth will have its laugh! (Marco stops openmouthed and stares from
one to the other).
Marco: (faintly) What's the matter?
Nicolo: (pettishly) Unless your jokes improve you'll never sell anything.
Maffeo: I'll have to give Marco some lessons in how to tell a short story. (Warningly) And until I
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pronounce you graduated, mum's the word, understand! The people on the other side of that wall may look
simple but they're not. (The PROSTITUTE enters dressed now as a Tartar. She comes and puts her hand on
Marco's head).
Prostitute: What has this bad boy been doing now?
Maffeo: He's getting too witty! (He rests his head on his arms and goes to sleep).
Prostitute: Shall I expect you again tonight?
Marco: No. You've got all my money. (Suddenly gets to his feet and faces her disgustedly) And I'm
through with you, anyway.
Prostitute: (with a scornful smile) And I with you now that you're a man. (She turns away).
Marco: (angrily) Listen here! Give me back what you stole! I know I had it on a ribbon around my neck last
night and this morning it was gone. (Threateningly) Give it to me, you, or I'll make trouble!
Prostitute: (takes a crumpled paper from her bosom) Do you mean this?
Marco: (tries to snatch it) No!
Prostitute: (she unfolds it and reads)
"I'll have a million to my credit
And in the meantime can easily afford
A big wedding that will do us credit
And start having children, Bless the Lord!"
(She laughs) Are you a poet, too?
Marco: (abashed and furious) I didn't write that.
Prostitute: You're lying. You must have. Why deny it? Don't sell your soul for nothing. That's bad business.
(She laughs, waving the poem in her upraised hand, staring mockingly) Going! Going! Gone! (She lets it fall
and grinds it under her feet into the earth laughing) Your soul! Dead and buried! You strong man! (She
laughs).
Marco: (threateningly) Give me what was wrapped up in that, d'you hear!
Prostitute: (scornfully. Takes the miniature from her bosom) You mean this? I was bringing it back to you.
D'you think I want her ugly face around? Here! (She throws it at his feet. He leans down and picks it up,
polishing it on his sleeve remorsefully. The prostitute walking away, calls back over her shoulder) I kissed it
so you'd remember my kiss whenever you kiss her! (She laughs. Marco starts as if to run after her angrily.
Suddenly a shout rises from the lips of all the Tartars, the minstrel and his drum become silent, and with one
accord they raise their arms and eyes to the sky. Then the minstrel chants).
Minstrel: God of the Heaven, be in our souls! (Then they all prostrate themselves on the ground as he
chants) God of the Earth, be in our bodies! (The Tartars sit up. The minstrel begins again his drum beat,
crooning in a low monotone. The Polos rise and stretch sleepily).
Marco: (inquisitively) Two Gods? Are they in one Person like our Holy Trinity?
Maffeo: (shocked) Don't be impious! These are degraded pagans or crazy, that's a more charitable way to
(From behind the wall comes the sound of martial Chinese music. The gate opens. The blinding glare of the
setting sun floods in from beyond. A file of soldiers, accompanying a richlydressed COURT MESSENGER,
come through. He walks directly up to the Polos and bows deeply).
Messenger: The Great Kaan, Lord of the World, sent me (He looks around) But where are the hundred
wise men of the West?
Nicolo: (confusedly) We had two monks to start with but they left us and went back.
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Maffeo: (warningly) Ssst!
Messenger: (indifferently) You will explain to the Kaan. I was ordered to arrange a welcome for them.
Maffeo: (claps him on the back) Well, here we are and hungry as hunters! So your welcome will be
welcome, Brother. (The messenger bows, starts back, the Polos following him, Maffeo calling) Get on the
job, Mark! (They pass through the gate).
Marco: (wearily picks up the cases then goading himself on) Giddap! Cathay or bust! (He struggles
through the gate. For a second he is framed in it, outlined against the brilliant sky, tugging a sample case in
each hand. Then the gate shuts, the light fades out. The drum beat and the chanting recede into the distance).
DARKNESS
ACT I SCENE 6
Music from full Chinese and Tartar bands crashes up to a tremendous blaring
crescendo of drums, gongs, and the piercing shrilling of flutes. The light slowly
comes to a pitch of blinding brightness. Then, as light and sound attain their
highest point, there is a sudden dead silence. The scene is revealed as the Grand
Throne Room in the palace of Kublai, the Great Kaan, in the city of Cambaluc,
Cathay an immense octagonal room, the lofty walls adorned in gold and silver. In
the far rear wall, within a deep recess like the shrine of an idol, is the throne of the
Great Kaan. It rises in three tiers, three steps to a tier. On golden cushions at the
top KUBLAI sits dressed in his heavy gold robes of state. He is a man of sixty but
still in the full prime of his powers, his face proud and noble, his expression tinged
with an ironic humor and bitterness yet full of a sympathetic humanity. In his
person are combined the conquering indomitable force of a descendant of
Chinghiz with the humanizing culture of the conquered Chinese who have already
begun to absorb their conquerors.
On the level of the throne below Kublai are: on his right a Mongol warrior in full armor with shield
and spear, his face grim, cruel and fierce. On his left CHUYIN, the Cathayan sage and adviser to the Kaan,
a venerable old man with white hair, dressed in a simple black robe. On the main floor, grouped close to the
throne, are: on the right, the sons of the Kaan. Farther away, the nobles and warriors of all degrees with their
wives behind them. On the left, the wives and concubines of the Kaan, then the courtiers, officers, poets,
scholars, etc. all the nonmilitary officials and hangerson of government, with their women beside them.
Marco stands, a sample case in each hand, bewildered and dazzled, gawking about him on every side. His
father and uncle, bowing, walk to the foot of the throne and kneel before the Kaan. They make frantic signals
to Marco to do likewise but he is too dazed to notice. All the people in the room are staring at him. The Kaan
is looking at the two brothers with a stern air. An usher of the palace comes quietly to Marco and makes
violent gestures to him to kneel down.
Marco: (misunderstanding him gratefully) Thank you, Brother. (He sits down on one of the sample cases to
the gasping horror of all the Court. The Kaan is still looking frowningly at the two Polos as he listens to the
report of their Messenger escort. He does not notice. An outraged Chamberlain rushes over to Marco and
motions him to kneel down).
Marco: (bewilderedly) What's the trouble now?
Kublai: (dismissing the messenger, having heard his report addresses the Polos coldly) I bid you welcome,
Messrs. Polo. But where are the hundred wise men of the West who were to dispute with my wise men of the
sacred teachings of LaoTseu and Confucius and the Buddha and Christ?
Maffeo: (hurriedly) There was no Pope elected until just before
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Nicolo: And he had no wise men, anyway. (The Kaan now sees Marco and a puzzled expression of interest
comes over his face).
Kublai: Is he with you?
Nicolo: (hesitantly) My son, Marco, your Majesty still young and graceless.
Kublai: Come here, Marco Polo. (Marco comes forward, trying feebly to assume a bold, confident air).
Maffeo: (in a loud, furious aside) Kneel, you ass! (Marco flounders to his knees).
Kublai: (with a smile) I bid you welcome, Master Marco.
Marco: Thank you, sir 1 mean, your Lordship your (then suddenly) Before I forget the Pope gave me a
message for you, sir.
Kublai: (smiling) Are you his hundred wise men?
Marco: (contentedly) Well almost. He sent me in their place. He said I'd be worth a million wise men to
you.
Nicolo: (hastily) His Holiness meant that Marco, by leading an upright life not neglecting the practical
side, of course might set an example that would illustrate, better than wise words, the flesh and blood
product of our Christian civilization.
Kublai: (with a quiet smile) I shall study this apotheosis with unwearied interest, I foresee it.
Marco: (suddenly with a confidential air) Wasn't that just a joke, your asking for the wise men? His
Holiness thought you must have a sense of humor. Or that you must be an optimist.
Kublai: (with a smile of appreciation) I am afraid your Holy Pope is a most unholy cynic. (Trying to solve a
riddle in his own mind musingly) Could he believe this youth possesses that thing called soul the West
dreams lives after death and might reveal it to me? (Suddenly to Marco) Have you an immortal soul?
Marco: (in surprise) Of course! Any fool knows that.
Kublai: (humbly) But I am not a fool. Can you prove it to me!
Marco: Why, if you didn't have a soul, what would happen when you die?
Kublai: What, indeed?
Marco: Why, nothing. You'd be dead just like an animal.
Kublai: Your logic is irrefutable.
Marco: Well, I'm not an animal, am I? That's certainly plain enough. (Then proudly) No, sir! I'm a man
made by Almighty God in His Own Image for His greater glory!
Kublai: (staring at him for a long moment with appalled appreciation ecstatically) So you are the Image of
God! There is certainly something about you, something complete and unanswerable but wait a test! (He
claps his hands, pointing to Marco. Soldiers with drawn swords leap forward and seize him, trussing him up
his hands behind his back).
Maffeo: (groveling) Mercy! He is only a boy!
Nicolo: (groveling) Mercy! He is only a fool!
Kublai: (sternly) Silence! (To Marco, with inhuman calm) Since you possess eternal life, it can do you no
harm to cut off your head. (He makes a sign to a soldier who flourishes his sword).
Marco: (trying to conceal his fear under a quavering, joking tone ) I might catch cold!
Kublai: You jest, but your voice trembles. What! Are you afraid to die, immortal youth? Well, then, if you
will confess that your soul is a stupid invention of your fear and that when you die you will be dead as a dead
dog is dead
Marco: (with sudden fury) You're a heathen liar! (He glares defiantly. His father and uncle moan with
horror).
Kublai: (laughs and claps his hands. Marco is freed. The Kaan studies his sullen but relieved face with
amusement) Your pardon, Marco! I suspected a flaw but you are perfect. You cannot imagine your death.
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You are a born hero. I must keep you near me. You shall tell me about your soul and I will listen as to a
hundred wise men from the West! Is it agreed?
Marco: (hesitatingly) I know it's a great honor, sir but forgetting the soul side of it, I've got to eat.
Kublai: (astonished ) To eat?
Marco: I mean, I'm ambitious. I've got to succeed, and (Suddenly blurts out) What can you pay me?
Kublai: Ha! Well, you will find me a practical man, too. I can start you upon any career you wish. What is
your choice?
Maffeo: (interposing eagerly) If I might speak to the boy in private a minute give him my humble
advice he is so young (Maffeo and Nicolo hurriedly lead Marco down to the foreground).
Maffeo: You've made a favorable impression God knows why but strike while the iron is hot, you ninny!
Ask to be appointed a Second Class government commissionagent.
Marco: (offendedly) No! I'll be firstclass or nothing!
Maffeo: Don't be a fool! A First Class agent is all brass buttons and no opportunities. A Second Class
travels around, is allowed his expenses, gets friendly with all the dealers, scares them into letting him in on
everything and gets what's rightfully coming to him! (Then with a crafty look and a nudge in the ribs) And,
being always in the secret, you'll be able to whisper to us in time to take advantage
Marco: (a bit flustered with bluff assertion) I don't know. The Kaan's been square with me. After all,
honesty's the best policy, isn't it?
Maffeo: (looking him over scathingly) You'd think I was advising you to steal I, Maffeo Polo, whose
conservatism is unquestioned!
Marco: (awed) I didn't mean
Maffeo: (solemnly) Do you imagine the Kaan is such a Nero as to expect you to live on your salary?
Marco: (uncertainly) No, I suppose not. (He suddenly looks at Maffeo with a crafty wink) When I do give
you a tip, what do I get from Polo Brothers?
Maffeo: (between appreciation and dismay) Ha! You learn quickly, don't you? (Then hastily) Why,
we we've already thought of that trust us to look after your best interests and decided to to make you a
junior partner in the firm eh, Nick? Polo Brothers and Son doesn't that sound solid, eh?
Marco: (with a sly grin) It's a great honor a very great honor. (Then meaningly) But as neither of you are
Neros, naturally you'll also offer me
Maffeo: (grinning in spite of himself) Hmm! Hmm! You Judas!
Marco: A fair commission
Nicolo: (blustering but his eyes beaming with paternal pride) You young scamp!
Maffeo: (laughing) Haha! Good boy, Mark! Polos will be Polos! (They all embrace laughingly. Kublai,
who has been observing them intently, turns to ChuYin and they both smile).
Kublai: Did their Pope mean that a fool is a wiser study for a ruler of fools than a hundred wise men could
be? This Marco touches me, as a child might, but at the same time there is something warped, deformed Tell
me, what shall I do with him?
ChuYin: Let him develop according to his own inclination and give him also every opportunity for true
growth if he so desires. And let us observe him. At least, if he cannot learn, we shall.
Kublai: (smilingly) Yes. And be amused. (He calls commandingly) Marco Polo! (Marco turns rather
frightenedly and comes to the throne and kneels) Have you decided?
Marco: (promptly) I'd like to be appointed a commissionagent of the Second Class.
Kublai: (somewhat taken aback, puzzledly) You are modest enough!
Marco: (manfullly) I want to start at the bottom!
Kublai: (with mocking grandeur) Arise then, Second Class Marco! You will receive your agent's
commission at once. (Then with a twinkle in his eye) But each time you return from a journey you must relate
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to me all the observations and comments of your soul on the East. Be warned and never fail me in this!
Marco: (confused but cocksuredly) I won't. I'll take copious notes. (Then meaningly) And I can memorize
any little humorous incidents
Maffeo: (apprehensively) Blessed Savior! (He gives a violent fit of coughing).
Marco: (looks around at him questioningly) Hum? (Misinterpreting his signal) And may I announce to your
Majesty that a signal honor has just been conferred on me? My father and uncle have taken me into the firm.
It will be Polo Brothers and Son from now on, and any way we can serve your Majesty
Kublai: (a light coming over his face) Aha! I begin to smell all the rats in Cathay! (The two elder Polos are
bowed to the ground, trembling with apprehension. Kublai laughs quietly) Well, I am sure you wish to
celebrate this family triumph together, so you may go. And accept my congratulations, Marco!
Marco: Thank you, your Majesty. You will never regret it. I will always serve your best interests, so help
me God! (He goes grandly, preceded hurriedly by the trembling Nicolo and Maffeo. Kublai laughs and turns
to ChuYin who is smiling).
CURTAIN
ACT II SCENE 1
The Little Throne Room in the bamboo summer palace of the Kaan at Xanadu, the
City of Peace smaller, more intimate than the one at Cambalac, but possessing
an atmosphere of aloof dignity and simplicity fitting to the philosopher ruler who
retreats here to contemplate in peace the vanity of his authority.
About fifteen years have elapsed. It is a beautiful sunlit morning in late June. The Kaan
reclines comfortably on his cushioned bamboo throne. His face has aged greatly. The
expression has grown masklike, full of philosophic calm. He has the detached air of an
idol. Kukachin, a beautiful young girl of twenty, pale and delicate, is sitting at his feet. Her
air is griefstricken. A flute player in the garden is playing a melancholy air. Kukachin
recites in a low tone:
Kukachin:
My thoughts in this autumn are lonely and sad,
A chill wind from the mountain blows in the garden.
The sky is gray, a snowflake falls, the last chrysanthemum
Withers beside the deserted summerhouse.
I walk along the path in which weeds have grown.
My heart is bitter and tears blur my eyes.
I grieve for the days when we lingered together
In this same garden, along these paths between flowers.
In the spring we sang of love and laughed with youth
But now we are parted by many leagues and years,
And I weep that never again shall I see your face.
(She finishes and relapses into her attitude of broken resignation. The flute player
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ceases his playing. Kublai looks down at her tenderly).
Kublai: (musingly) Sing while you can. When the voice fails, listen to song. When the heart fails, be sung
asleep. (Chidingly) That is a sad poem, Little Flower. Are you sad because you must soon become Queen of
Persia? But Arghun is a great hero, a Khan of the blood of Chinghiz. You will be blessed with strong sons
able to dare the proud destiny of our blood.
Kukachin: (dully) Your will is my law.
Kublai: Not my will. The will of life to continue the strong. (Forcing a consoling tone) Come, Little Flower.
You have been fading here. See how pale you have grown! Your eyes are listless! Your lips droop even in
smiling! But life at the Court of Persia is gay. There will be feasts, celebrations, diverting pleasures. You will
be their Queen of Beauty.
Kukachin: (with a sigh ) A Queen may be only a woman who is unhappy.
Kublai: (teasingly) What despair! You talk like the ladies in poems who have lost their lovers! (Kukachin
gives a violent start which he does not notice and a spasm of pain comes over her face) But, never mind,
Arghun of Persia is a hero no woman could fail to love.
Kukachin: (starting to her feet desperately) No! I can bear his children, but you cannot force me to (She
breaks down, weeping).
Kublai: (astonished gazing at her searchingly) Have I ever forced you to anything? (Then resuming his
tone of tender teasing) I would say, rather, that ever since you were old enough to talk, the Ruler of Earth, as
they innocently call your grandfather, has been little better than your slave.
Kukachin: (taking his hand and kissing it) Forgive me. (Then smiling at him) Have I been so bad as that?
Has my love for you who have been both father and mother to me, brought you no happiness?
Kublai: (with deep emotion) You have been a golden bird singing beside a black river. You took your
mother's place in my heart when she died. I was younger then. The river was not so black the river of man's
life so deep and silent flowing with an insane obsession whither? and why? (Then suddenly forcing a
smile) Your poem has made me melancholy. And I am too old, if not too wise, to afford anything but
optimism! (Then sadly) But now you in your turn must leave me, the river seems black indeed! (Then after a
pause tenderly) If it will make you unhappy, you need not marry Arghun Khan.
Kukachin: (recovering herself resolutely) No. Your refusal would insult him. It might mean war.
(Resignedly) And Arghun is as acceptable as any other. Forgive my weakness. You once told me a Princess
must never weep. (She forces a smile) It makes no difference whether I stay or go, except that I shall be
homesick for you. (She kisses his hand again).
Kublai: (gratefully) My little one. (He strokes her hair. After a pause during which he looks at her
thoughtfully tenderly) We have never had secrets from each other, you and I. Tell me, can you have fallen in
love?
Kukachin: (after a pause tremblingly) You must not ask that if you respect my pride! (With a pitiful
smile) You see he does not even know (She is blushing and hanging her head with confusion. ChuYin
enters hurriedly from the right. He is very old but still upright. He is a bit breathless from haste but his face is
wreathed in smile).
ChuYin: (making an obeisance) Your Majesty, do you hear that martial music? His Honor, Marco Polo,
Mayor of YangChau, seems about to visit you in state! (The strains of a distant band can be heard).
Kublai: (still looking at Kukachin who has started violently at the mention of Marco's name worriedly)
Impossible! In love? . . . (Then to ChuYin preoccupiedly) Eh? Marco? I have given no orders for him to
return.
ChuYin: (ironically) No doubt he comes to refresh your humor with new copious
notes on his exploits. Our Marco has made an active mayor. YangChau,
according to the petition for mercy you have received from its inhabitants, is the
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most governed of all your cities. I talked recently with a poet who had fled from
there in horror. YangChau used to have a soul, he said. Now it has a brand new
Court House. And another, a man of wide culture, told me, our Christian mayor is
exterminating our pleasures and our rats as if they were twin breeds of vermin!
Kublai: (irritably) He is beginning to weary me with his grotesque antics. A jester inspires mirth only so
long as his deformity does not revolt one. Marco's spiritual hump begins to disgust me. He has not even a
mortal soul, he has only an acquisitive instinct. We have given him every opportunity to learn. He has
memorized everything and learned nothing. He has looked at everything and seen nothing. He has lusted for
everything and loved nothing. He is only a shrewd and crafty greed. I shall send him home to his native
wallow.
ChuYin: (in mock alarm) What? Must we lose our clown?
Kukachin: (who has been listening with growing indignation) How dare you call him a clown? Just because
he is not a dull philosopher you think
Kublai: (astounded admonishingly) Princess!
Kukachin: (turns to him on the verge of tears rebelliously) Why are you both so unjust? Has he not done
well everything he was ever appointed to do? Has he not always succeeded where others failed? Has he not
by his willpower and determination risen to the highest rank in your service? (Then her anger dying more
falteringly) He is strange, perhaps, to people who do not understand him, but that is because he is so different
from other men, so much stronger! And he has a soul! I know he has!
Kublai: (whose eyes have been searching her face aghast) Kukachin! (She sees he has guessed her secret
and at first she quails and shrinks away, then stiffens regally and returns his gaze unflinchingly. ChuYin
looks from one to the other comprehendingly. Finally Kublai addresses her sternly) So, because I have
allowed this fool a jester's latitude, because I permitted him to amuse you when you were a little girl, and
since then, on his returns, to speak with you a Princess! (Then brusquely) I shall inform the ambassadors
you will be ready to sail for Persia within ten days. You may retire. (She bows with a proud humility and
walks off left. Kublai sits in a somber study, frowning and biting his lips. The blaring of Marco's band grows
steadily nearer).
ChuYin: (gently) Is intolerance wisdom? (A pause. Then he goes on) I have suspected her love for him
for a long time.
Kublai: Why didn't you warn me?
ChuYin: Love is to wisdom what wisdom seems to love a folly. I reasoned, love comes like the breath of
wind on water and is gone leaving calm and reflection. I reasoned, but this is an enchanted moment for her
and it will remain a poignant memory to recompense her when she is no longer a girl but merely a Queen.
And I reasoned, who knows but some day this Marco may see into her eyes and his soul may be born and that
will make a very interesting study for Kukachin, and her grandfather, the Son of Heaven and Ruler of the
World! (He bows mockingly) And for the old fool who is I!
Kublai: (bewilderedly) I cannot believe it! Why, since she was a little girl, she has only talked to him once
or twice every two years or so!
ChuYin: That was unwise, for thus he has remained a strange, mysterious dreamknight from the exotic
West, an enigma with something about him of a likable boy who brought her home each time a humble,
foolish, touching little gift! And also remember that on each occasion he returned in triumph, having
accomplished a task a victor, more or less, acting the hero. (The band has crashed and dinned its way into
the courtyard) As now! Listen! (He goes to the window and looks down with ironical but intense
amusement) Ah! He wears over his Mayor's uniform, the regalia of Cock of Paradise in his secret fraternal
order of the Mystic Knights of Confucius! The band of the Xanadu lodge is with him as well as his own! He
is riding on a very fat white horse. He dismounts, aided by the steps of your Imperial Palace! He slaps a
policeman on the back and asks his name! He chucks a baby under the chin and asks the mother its name. She
lies and says "Marco" although the baby is a girl. He smiles. He is talking loudly so everyone can overhear.
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He gives the baby one yen to start a savings account and encourage its thrift. The mother looks savagely
disappointed. The crowd cheers. He keeps his smile frozen as he notices an artist sketching him. He shakes
hands with a onelegged veteran of the Manzi campaign and asks his name. The veteran is touched. Tears
come to his eyes. He tells him but the Polo forgets his name even as he turns to address the crowd. He waves
one hand for silence. The band stops. It is the hand on which he wears five large jade rings. The other hand
rests upon and pats the head of a bronze dragon, our ancient symbol of Yang, the celestial, male principle of
the Cosmos. He clears his throat, the crowd stands petrified, he is about to draw a deep breath and open his
mouth carefully in position one of the five phonetic exercises (Here ChuYin chuckles) But I am an old
man full of malice and venom and it embitters me to see others unreasonably happy so (Here just as Marco
is heard starting to speak, he throws open the window and calls in a loud, commanding tone) Messer Polo,
His Imperial Majesty commands that you stop talking, dismiss your followers, and repair to his presence at
once!
Marco's voice: (very faint and crest fallen) Oh all right I'll be right there.
Kublai: (cannot control a laugh in spite of himself helplessly) How can one deal seriously with such a
childactor?
ChuYin: (coming back from the window ironically) Most women, including Kukachin, love
children and all women must take acting seriously in order to love at all. (Just as he finishes speaking,
Kukachin enters from the left. She is terribly alarmed. She throws herself at Kublai's feet).
Kukachin: Why did you summon him? I told you he does not know. It is all my fault! Punish me, if you
will! But promise me you will not harm him!
Kublai: (looking down at her sadly). Is it my custom to take vengeance? (Then as people are heard
approaching quickly) Compose yourself! Remember again, Princesses may not weep! (She springs to her
feet, turns away for a moment, then turns back, her face rigidly calm and emotionless. Kublai nods with
appreciation of her control) Good. You will make a Queen. (She bows and retires backward to the left side of
the throne. At the same moment, Nicolo and Maffeo Polo enter ceremoniously from the right. They wear the
regalia of officers in the Mystic Knights of Confucius over their rich merchants' robes. (This costume is a
queer jumble of stunning effects that recall the parade uniforms of our modern Knights Templar, of
Columbus, of Pythias, Mystic Shriners, the Klan, etc. ) They are absurdly conscious and proud of this
getup like two old men in a children's play. Kublai and ChuYin regard them with amused astonishment.
Even Kukachin cannot restrain a smile. They prostrate themselves at the foot of the throne. Then just at the
right moment, preceded by a conscious cough, Marco Polo makes his entrance. Over his gorgeous uniform of
Mayor, he wears his childishly fantastic regalia as chief of the Mystic Knights of Confucius. As he steps on,
he takes off his gilded, laced hat with its Bird of Paradise plumes and bows with a mechanical dignity on all
sides. He has the manner and appearance of a successful movie star at a masquerade ball, disguised so that no
one can fail to recognize him. His regular, goodlooking, wellgroomed face is carefully arranged into the
grave responsible expression of a Senator from the South of the United States of America about to propose an
amendment to the Constitution restricting the migration of nonNordic birds into Texas, or prohibiting the
practice of the laws of biology within the twelvemile limit. He moves in stately fashion to the throne and
prostrates himself before the Kaan. Kukachin stares at him with boundless admiration, hoping to catch his
eye. The Kaan looks from her to him and his face grows stern. ChuYin is enjoying himself ).
Kublai: Rise. (Marco does so. Kublai continues dryly) To what do I owe the honor of this unexpected visit?
Marco: (hastily, but with full confidence) Well, I was sending in to your treasury the taxes of YangChau
for the fiscal year, and I knew you'd be so astonished at the unprecedented amount I had sweated out of them
that you'd want to know how I did it so here I am. (An awkward pause. Marco is disconcerted at the Kaan's
steady impersonal stare. He glances about sees the princess welcomes this opportunity for diverting
attention. Bowing with humble respect) Pardon me, Princess. I didn't recognize you before, you've gotten so
grown up. (Flatteringly) You look like a Queen.
Kukachin: (falteringly) I bid you welcome, Your Honor.
Kublai: (as a warning to Kukachin to control her emotion) The Princess will soon be Queen of Persia.
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Marco: (flustered and awed, bowing to her again flatteringly) Then Your Majesty if I may be humbly
permitted (Bowing to Kublai) to offer my congratulations and before I settle down to discussing
business if her Highness Majesty will accept a small token of my esteem (Here he stamps his foot. An
African slave, dressed in a pink livery with green hat and shoes and stockings and carrying a golden wicker
basket, enters. He kneels, presents the basket to Marco, who lifts the cover and pulls out a small chow puppy
with a pink ribbon tied around its neck. He steps forward and offers this to the princess, with a boyish grin) A
contribution to your zoo from your most humble servant!
Kukachin: (taking it flushing with pleasure) Oh, what a little darling! (She cuddles the puppy in her arms).
Marco: (Boastfully) He's a genuine, pedigreed pup. I procured him at great cost I mean he's extra
wellbred.
Kukachin: Oh, thank you so much, Marco Polo! (Stammering) I mean, Your Honor.
Kublai: (warningly) His Honor wishes to talk business, Princess.
Kukachin: (controlling herself) I ask pardon. (She bows and retires to left, rear, where she stands fondling
the puppy and watching Marco).
Marco: (plunging in confidently on what he thinks is a sure point of attack) My tax scheme, Your Majesty,
that got such wonderful results is simplicity itself. I simply reversed the old system. For one thing I found
they had a high tax on excess profits. Imagine a profit being excess! Why, it isn't humanly possible! I
repealed it. And I repealed the tax on luxuries. I found out the great majority in YangChau couldn't afford
luxuries. The tax wasn't democratic enough to make it pay! I crossed it off and I wrote on the statute books a
law that taxes every necessity in life, a law that hits every man's pocket equally, be he beggar or banker!
And I got results!
ChuYin: (gravely) In beggars?
Kublai: (with a chilling air) I have received a petition from the inhabitants of YangChau enumerating over
three thousand cases of your gross abuse of power!
Marco: (abashed only for a moment). Oh, so they've sent that vile slander to you, have they? That's the
work of a mere handful of radicals
Kublai: (dryly) Five hundred thousand names are signed to it. (Still more dryly) Half a million citizens
accuse you of endeavoring to stamp out their ancient culture!
Marco: What! Why, I even had a law passed that anyone caught interfering with culture would be subject
to a fine! It was Section One of a blanket statute that every citizen must be happy or go to jail. I found it
was the unhappy ones who were always making trouble and getting discontented. You see, here's the way I
figure it; if a man's good, he's happy and if he isn't happy, it's a sure sign he's no good to himself or anyone
else and he better be put where he can't do harm.
Kublai: (a bit helplessly now) They complain that you have entirely prohibited all free expression of
opinion.
Marco: (feelingly) Well, when they go to the extreme of circulating such treasonable opinions against me,
isn't it time to protect your sovereignty by strong measures? (Kublai stares at this effrontery with
amazement. Marco watches this impression and hurries on with an injured dignity) I can't believe, Your
Majesty, that this minority of malcontents can have alienated your longstanding high regard for me!
Kublai: (conquered suddenly overpowered by a great smile) Not so! You are the marvel of mankind!
And I would be lost without you!
Marco: (flattered but at the same time nonplused) I thank you! (Hesitatingly) But, to tell the truth, I
want to resign anyhow. I've done all I could. I've appointed five hundred committees to carry on my work
and I retire confident that with the system I've instituted everything will go on automatically and brains are no
longer needed. (He adds as a bitter afterthought) And it's lucky they're not or YangChau would soon be a
ruin!
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Kublai: (with mock seriousness) In behalf of the population of YangChau I accept your resignation, with
deep regret for the loss of your unique and extraordinary services. (Then suddenly in a strange voice) Do
you still possess your immortal soul, Marco Polo?
Marco: (flustered) Haha! Yes, of course at least I hope so. But I ssee the joke. You mean that
YangChau used to be a good place to lose one. Well, you wouldn't know the old town now. Sin is
practically unseen. (Hurrying on to another subject boisterously). But however much I may have
accomplished there, it's nothing to the big surprise I've got in reserve for you. May I demonstrate?
(Without waiting for permission, takes a piece of printed paper like a dollar bill from his pocket) What is
it? Paper. Correct! What is it worth? Nothing. That's where you're mistaken. It's worth ten yen.
No, I'm not a liar! See ten yen written on it, don't you? Well, I'll tell you the secret. This is money,
legally valued at ten yens' worth of anything you wish to buy, by order of His Imperial Majesty, the Great
Kaan! Do you see my point? Its advantages over gold and sliver coin are obvious. It's light, easy to
carry, (Here he gives a prodigious wink) wears out quickly, can be made at very slight expense and yields
enormous profit. Think of getting ten yen for this piece of paper. Yet it can be done. If you make the
people believe it's worth it, it is! After all, when you stop to think, who was it first told them gold was
money? I'll bet anything it was some quickthinker who'd just discovered a gold mine! (Kublai and
ChuYin stare at him in petrified incredulity. He mistakes it for admiration and is flattered. Bows and lays
his paper money on the Kaan's knee) You're stunned, I can see that. It's so simple and yet, who ever
thought of it before me? I was amazed myself. Think it over, Your Majesty, and let the endless
possibilities dawn on you! And now I want to show another little aid to government that I thought out. (He
makes a sign to his uncle and father. The former takes a mechanical contrivance out of a box and sets it up
on the floor. It is a working model of a clumsy cannon. Nicolo, meanwhile, takes children's blocks out of his
box and builds them into a fortress wall. Marco is talking. His manner and voice have become grave and
portentous) It all came to me, like an inspiration, last Easter Sunday when Father and Uncle and I were
holding a little service. Uncle read a prayer which spoke of Our Lord as the Prince of Peace. Somehow, that
took hold of me. I thought to myself, well, it's funny, there always have been wars and there always will be, I
suppose, because I've never read much in any history about heroes who waged peace. Still, that's wrong. War
is a waste of money which eats into the profits of life like thunder! Then why war, I asked myself? But how
are you going to end it? Then the flash came! There's only one workable way and that's to conquer everybody
else in the world so they'll never dare fight you again! An impossible task, you object? Not any more! This
invention you see before you makes conquering easy. Let me demonstrate with these models. On our right,
you see the fortress wall of a hostile capital. Under your present system with battering rams, to make an
effective breach in this wall would cost you the lives of ten thousand men. Valuing each life conservatively at
ten yen, this amounts to one hundred thousand yen! This makes the cost of breaching prohibitive. But all of
this waste can be saved. How? Just keep your eyes on your right and permit my exclusive invention to solve
this problem. (He addresses the fortress in a matteroffact tone) So you won't surrender, eh? (Then in a
mockheroic falsetto, answering himself like a ventriloquist) We die but we never surrender! (Then
matteroffactly) Well, Brother, those heroic sentiments do you a lot of credit, but this is war and not a
tragedy. You're up against new methods this time, and you better give in and avoid wasteful bloodshed.
(Answering himself) No! Victory or Death! (Then again) All right, Brother, don't blame me. Fire! (His uncle
fires the gun. There is a bang, and a leaden ball is shot out which knocks a big breach in the wall of blocks.
Marco beams. Kukachin gives a scream of fright, then a gasp of delight, and claps her hands. Marco bows to
her the more gratefully as Kublai and ChuYin are staring at him with a queer appalled wonder that puzzles
him although he cannot imagine it is not admiration) I see you are stunned again. What made it do that, you're
wondering? This! (He takes a little package out of his pocket and pours some black powder out of it on his
palm) It's the same powder they've been using here in children's fire works. They've had it under their noses
for years without a single soul ever having creative imagination enough to visualize the enormous
possibilities. But you can bet I did! It was a lad crying with a finger half blown off where he held a
firecracker too long that first opened my eyes. I learned the formula, improved on it, experimented in secret,
and here's the gratifying result! (He takes the cannon ball from his father who has retrieved it) You see? Now
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just picture this little ball magnified into one weighing twenty pounds or so and then you'll really grasp my
idea. The destruction of property and loss of life would be tremendous! No one could resist you!
Kublai: (after a pause musingly) I am interested in the hero of that city who preferred death to defeat. Did
you conquer his immortal soul?
Marco: (with frankness) Well, you can't consider souls when you're dealing with soldiers, can you? (He
takes his model and places it on the Kaan's knee with the paper money) When you have time, I wish you'd
look this over. In fact and this is the big idea I've been saving for the last consider these two inventions of
mine in combination. You conquer the world with this (He pats the cannonmodel) and you pay for it with
this. (He pats the paper money rhetorically) You become the bringer of peace on earth and goodwill to
men, and it doesn't cost you a yen hardly. Your initial expense my price is as low as I can possibly make it
out of my deep affection for your Majesty only a million yen.
Kublai: (quickly) In paper?
Marco: (with a grin and a wink) No. I'd prefer gold, if you don't mind.
(Silence. Marco goes on meaningly) Of course, I don't want to force them on you. I'm
confident there's a ready market for them elsewhere.
Kublai: (grimly smiling) Oh, I quite realize that in selfprotection I've got to buy them or kill you!
Marco: (briskly) Then it's a bargain? But I've still got one provisio that you give us permission to go
home. (Kukachin gives a little gasp. Marco goes on feelingly) We're homesick, Your Majesty. We've
served you faithfully, and frankly now that we've made our fortune we want to go home and enjoy it. There's
no place like home, Your Majesty! I'm sure even a King in his palace appreciates that.
Kublai: (with smiling mockery) But who can play your part? And your mission your example? What will
your Pope say when you tell him I'm still unconverted?
Marco: (confidently) Oh, you will be on your deathbed, if not before a man of your common sense.
Kublai: (ironically) Courtier! (Then solemnly) But my last objection is insurmountable. You haven't yet
proved you have an immortal soul!
Marco: It doesn't need proving.
Kublai: If you could only bring forward one reliable witness.
Marco: My Father and Uncle can swear
Kublai: They think it is a family trait. Their evidence is prejudiced.
Marco: (worried now looks at ChuYin hopefully) Mr. ChuYin ought to be wise enough to acknowledge
ChuYin: (smiling) But I believe that what can be proven cannot be true. (Marco stands puzzled, irritated,
looking stubborn, frightened and foolish. His eyes wander about the room, finally resting appealingly on
Kukachin).
Kukachin: (suddenly steps forward flushed but proudly) I will bear witness he has a soul. (Kublai looks at
her with a sad wonderment, ChuYin smilingly, Marco with gratitude, Nicolo and Maffeo exchange a glance
of congratulation).
Kublai: How can you know, Princess?
Kukachin: Because I have seen it once, when he bound up my dog's leg, once when he played with a
slave's baby, once when he listened to music over water and I heard him sigh, once when he looked at
sunrise, another time at sunset, another at the stars, another at the moon, and each time he said that Nature
was wonderful. And all the while, whenever he has been with me I have always felt something strange and
different and that something must be His Honor's soul, must it not?
Kublai: (with wondering bitterness) The eye sees only its own sight.
ChuYin: But a woman may feel life in the unborn.
Kublai: (mockingly but sadly) I cannot contest the profound intuitions of virgins and mystics. Go home,
Your Honor, Immortal Marco, and live forever! (With forced gaiety) And tell your Pope your example has
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done much to convert me to wisdom if I could find the true one!
Marco: (jubilantly) I'll be only too glad! (Tuning to the princess) It'll be a great pleasure! (Then briskly)
And have we your permission to trade in the ports along the way?
Kukachin: (to Marco embarrassedly) As you please, Your Honor.
Marco: (bowing low) I'll promise it won't disturb you. It's really a scheme to while away the hours, for I
warn you in advance this is liable to be a mighty long trip.
Kukachin: (impulsively) I do not care how long (She stops in confusion).
Marco: Now if I had the kind of ships we build in Venice to work with I could promise you a record
passage, but with your tubby junks it's just as well to expect the worst and you'll never be disappointed.
(Familiarly) And the trouble with any ship, for a man of action, is that there's so little you can do. I hate
idleness where there's nothing to occupy your mind but thinking. I've been so used to being out, overcoming
obstacles, getting things done, creating results where there weren't any before, going after the
impossible well (Here he gives a little deprecating laugh) all play and no work makes Jack a dull boy. I'm
sure I'd make a pretty dull person to have around if there wasn't plenty to do. You might not believe it, but
when I'm idle I actually get gloomy sometimes!
Kukachin: (eagerly) But we shall have dancers on the ship and actors who will entertain us with plays
Marco: (heartily) That'll be grand. There's nothing better than to sit down in a good seat at a good play after
a good day's work in which you know you've accomplished something, and after you've had a good dinner,
and just take it easy and enjoy a good wholesome thrill or a good laugh and get your mind off serious things
until it's time to go to bed.
Kukachin: (vaguely) Yes. (Then eager to have him pleased) And there will be poets to recite their poems
Marco: (not exactly overjoyed) That'll be nice. (Then very confidentially in a humorous whisper) I'll tell
you a good joke on me, Your Highness. I once wrote a poem myself; would you ever believe it to look at me?
Kukachin: (smiling at him as at a boy teasingly) No?
Marco: (smiling back like a boy) Yes, I did too, when I was young and foolish. It wasn't bad stuff either,
considering I'd had no practice. (Prawning with concentration) Wait! Let me see if I can remember any oh,
yes "You are lovely as the gold in the sun." (He hesitates).
Kukachin: (thrilled) That is beautiful!
Marco: That's only the first line. (Then jokingly) You can consider yourself lucky. I don't remember the
rest.
Kukachin: (dropping her eyes softly) Perhaps on the voyage you may be inspired to write another.
Kublai: (who has been staring at them with weary amazement) Life is so stupid, it is mysterious!
DARKNESS
ACT II SCENE 2
The wharves of the Imperial Fleet at the seaport of Zayton several weeks later.
At the left, stern to, is an enormous junk, the flagship. The wharf extends out, rear,
to the right of her. At the right is a warehouse, from a door in which a line of
halfnaked slaves, their necks, waists, and right ankles linked up by chains, form
an endless chain which revolves mechanically, as it were, on sprocket wheels in
the interiors of the shed and the junk. As each individual link passes out of the
shed it carries a bale on its head, moves with mechanical precision across the
wharf, disappears into the junk, and reappears a moment later having dumped its
load and moves back into the shed. The whole process is a manpower original of
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the modern devices with bucket scoops that dredge, load coal, sand, etc. By the
side of the shed, a foreman sits with a drum and gong with which he marks a
perfect time for the slaves, a four beat rhythm, three beats of the drum, the fourth
a bang on the gong as one slave at each end loads and unloads. The effect is like
the noise of a machine. A bamboo stair leads up to the high poop of the junk from
front, left. It is just getting dawn. A forest of masts, spars, sails of woven bamboo
laths, shuts out all view of the harbor at the end of the wharf. At the foot of the
stairs, ChuYin stands like a sentinel. Above on top of the poop, the figures of
Kublai and Kukachin are outlined against the lightening sky.
Kublai: (brokenly) I must go. (He takes her in his arms) We have said all we can say. Little Daughter,
all rare things are secrets which cannot be revealed to anyone. That is why life must be so lonely. But I
love you mre dearly than anything on earth. And I know you love me. So perhaps we do not need to
understand. (Rebelliously) Yet I wish some Power could give me assurance that in granting your desire I
am acting for your happiness, and for your eventual deliverance from sorrow to acceptance and peace. (He
notices she is weeping in self reproach) Old fool! I have made you weep again! I am death advising life
how to live! Be deaf to me! Strive after what your heart desires! Who can ever know which are the
mistakes we make? One should be either sad or joyful. Contentment is a warm sty for the eaters and
sleepers! (Impulsively) Do not weep! Even now I can refuse your hand to Arghun. Let it mean war!
Kukachin: (looking up and controlling herself with a sad futility) You do not understand. I wish to take
this voyage.
Kublai: (desperately) But I could keep Polo here. (With impotent anger) He shall pray for his soul on
his knees before you!
Kukachin: (what calm sadness) Do I want a slave? (Dreamily) I desire a captain of my ship on a long
voyage in dangerous, enchanted seas.
Kublai: (with a fierce defiance of fate) I am the Great Kaan! I shall have him killed! (a pause).
ChuYin: (from below, recites in a calm, soothing tone) The noble man ignores self. The wise man
ignores action. His truth acts without deeds. His knowledge venerates the unknowable. To him birth is
not the beginning, nor is death the end. (Kublai's head bends in submission. ChuYin continues tenderly)
I feel there are tears in your eyes. The Great Kaan, Ruler of the World, may not weep.
Kublai: (brokenly) Ruler? I am my slave! (Then controlling himself forcing an amused teasing tone)
Marco will soon be here, wearing the selfassurance of an immortal soul and his new admiral's uniform! I
must fly in retreat from what I can neither laugh away nor kill. Write when you reach Persia. Tell me all
you can tell particularly what his immortal soul is like! (Then tenderly) Farewell, Little Flower! Live.
There is no other advice possible from one human being to another.
Kukachin: Live and love!
Kublai: (trying to renew his joking tone) One's ancestors, particularly one's grandfather. Do not forget
me!
Kukachin: Never! (They embrace.)
Kublai: (chokingly) Farewell. (He hurries down the ladder to ChuYin) You rmain see him bring me
word (He turns his head up to Kukachin) For the last time, farewell, Little Flower of my life! May you
know happiness! (He turns quickly and goes).
Kukachin: Farewell! (She bows her head on the rail and weeps).
ChuYin: (after a pause) You are tired, Princess. Your eyes are red from weeping and your nose is red.
You look old a little homely, even. The Admiral Polo will not recognize you. (Kukachin dries her eyes
hastily.)
Kukachin: (halfsmiling and halfweeping at his teasing) I thinkyou are a very horrid old man!
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ChuYin: A little sleep, Princess, and you will be beautiful. The old dream passes. Sleep and awake in
the new. Life is perhaps most wisely regarded as a bad dream between two awakenings, and every day is a
life in miniature.
Kukachin: (wearily and drowsily) Your wisdom makes me sleep. (Her head sinks back on her arms and
she is soon asleep).
ChuYin: (after a pause softly) Kukachin! (He sees she is asleep chuckles) I have won a convert.
(Then speculatively) Youth needs so much sleep and old age so little. Is that not a proof that from birth to
death one grows steadily closer to complete life? Hum. (He ponders on this. From the distance comes the
sound of Polo's band playing the same martial air as in the previous scene. ChuYin starts then smiles.
The music quickly grows louder. The Princess awakes with a start).
Kukachin: (startedly) ChuYin! Is that the Admiral coming?
ChuYin: (dryly) I suspect so. It is like him not to neglect a person in the city when saying goodbye.
Kukachin: (flurriedly) I must go to my cabin for a moment. (She hurries back).
ChuYin: (listens with a pleased, ironical smile as the band gets rapidly nearer. Finally it seems to turn a
corner nearby, and a moment later, to a deafening clangor, Marco enters, dressed in a gorgeous Admiral's
uniform. Two paces behind, side by side, walk Maffeo and Nicolo, dressed only a trifle less gorgeously as
Commodores. Behind them comes the band. Marco halts as he sees ChuYin, salutes condescendingly, and
signals the band to be silent. ChuYin bows gravely and remarks as if answering an argument in his own
mind) Still, even though they cannot be housebroken, I prefer monkeys because they are so much less noisy.
Marco: (with a condescending grin) What's that more philosophy? (Clapping him on the back) Well, I like
your determination. (He wipes his brow with a handkerchief) Phew! I'll certainly be glad to get back home
where I can hear some music that I can keep step to. My feet just won't give in to your tunes. (With a grin)
And look at the Old Man and Uncle. They're knockkneed for life. (Confidentially) Still, I thought the band
was a good idea to sort of cheer up the Princess, and let people know she's leaving at the same time. (As
people begin to come in and stare at the poop of the ship) See the crowd gather? I got them out of bed, too!
ChuYin: (ironically) You also woke up the Princess. You sail at sunrise?
Marco: (briskly taking operations in hand) Thank you for reminding me. I've got to hurry. (To his father
and uncle) You two better get aboard your ships and be ready to cast off when I signal. (They go off. He
suddenly bawls to someone in the ship) Much more cargo to load?
A Voice: Less than a hundred bales, sir.
Marco: Good. Call all hands on deck and stand by to put sail on her.
A Voice: Ayeaye, sir.
Marco: And look lively, damn your lazy souls! (To ChuYin complacently) You've got to impose rigid
discipline on shipboard.
ChuYin: (inquisitively) I suppose you feel your heavy responsibility as escort to the future Queen of
Persia?
Marco: (soberly) Yes, I do. I'll confess I do. If she were a million yen's worth of silk or spices, I wouldn't
worry an instant, but a Queen, that's a different matter. However, when you give my last word to His Majesty,
you can tell him that I've always done my duty by him and I won't fail him this time. As long as I've a breath
in me, I'll take care of her!
ChuYin: (with genuine appreciation) That is bravely spoken.
Marco: I don't know anything about brave speaking. I'm by nature a silent man, and I let my actions do the
talking. But, as I've proved to you people in Cathay time and again, when I say I'll do a thing, I do it!
ChuYin: (suddenly with a sly smile to himself) I was forgetting. His Majesty gave me some secret last
instructions for you. You are, at some time every day of the voyage, to look carefully and deeply into the
Princess's eyes and note what you see there.
Marco: What for? (Then brightly) Oh, he's afraid she'll get fever in the tropics. Well, you tell him I'll see to
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it she keeps in good condition. I'll do what's right by her without considering fear or favor. (Then practically)
Then, of course, if her husband thinks at the end of the voyage that my work deserves a bonus why, that's up
to him. (Inquisitively) She's never seen him, has she?
ChuYin: No.
Marco: (with an air of an independent thinker) Well, I believe in love matches myself, even for Kings and
Queens. (With a grin) Come to think of it, I'll be getting married to Donata myself when I get home.
ChuYin: Donata?
Marco: (proudly) The best little girl in the world! She's there waiting for me.
ChuYin: You have heard from her?
Marco: I don't need to hear. I can trust her. And I've been true to her, too. I haven't ever thought of loving
anyone else. Of course, I don't mean I've been any hevirgin. I've played with concubines at odd moments
when my mind needed relaxation but that's only human nature. (His eyes glistening reminiscently) Some of
them were beauties, too! (With a sigh) Well, I've had my fun and I suppose it's about time I settled down.
ChuYin: Poor Princess!
Marco: What's that? Oh, I see, yes, I sympathize with her, too going into a harem. If there's one thing more
than another that proves you in the East aren't responsible, it's that harem notion. (With a grin) Now in the
West we've learned by experience that one at a time is trouble enough.
ChuYin: (dryly) Be sure and converse on love and marriage often with the Princess. I am certain you
will cure her.
Marco: (mystified) Cure her?
ChuYin: Cure her mind of any unreasonable imaginings.
Marco: (easily) Oh, I'll guarantee she'll be contented, if that's what you mean. (The human chain in back
finishes its labors and disappears into the shed. The crowd of people has been steadily augmented by new
arrivals, until a small multitude is gathered standing in silence staring up at the poop. Marco says with
satisfaction) Well, cargo's all aboard, before schedule, too. We killed six slaves but, by God, we did it! And
look at the crowd we've drawn, thanks to my band!
ChuYin: (disgustedly) They would have come without noise. They love their Princess.
Marco: (cynically) Maybe, but they love their sleep, too. I know 'em! (A cry of adoration goes up from the
crowd. With one movement they prostrate themselves as the princess comes from the cabin dressed in a robe
of silver and stands at the rail looking down).
The Crowd: (in a long, ululating whisper) Farewell farewell farewell farewell!
Kukachin: (silences them with a motion of her hand)
I shall know the long sorrow of an exile
As I sail over the green water and the blue water
Alone under a strange sky amid alien flowers and faces.
My eyes shall be ever red with weeping, my heart bleeding,
While I long for the land of my birth and my childhood
Remembering with love the love of my people.
(A sound of low weeping comes from the crowd) Farewell!
The Crowd: Farewell farewell farewell farewell!
Marco: (feeling foolish because he is moved) Damn it! Reciting always makes me want to cry about
something. Poetry acts worse on me than wine that way. (He calls up very respectfully) Princess! We'll be
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sailing at once. Would you mind retiring to your cabin? I'm afraid you're going to catch cold standing
bareheaded in the night air.
Kukachin: (tremulously grateful for his solicitude) I am in your charge, Admiral. I am grateful that you
should think of my health, and I obey. (She turns and goes back into her cabin. The crowd silently filters
away, leaving only the band).
Marco: (proudly and fussily) You can't have women around when you're trying to get something done. I can
see where I'll have to be telling her what to do every second. Well, I hope she'll take it in good part and not
forget I'm acting in her husband's interests, not my own. (Very confidentially) You know, apart from her
being a Princess, I've always respected her a lot. She's not haughty and she's well, human, that's what I mean.
I'd do anything I could for her, Princess or not! Yes, sir!
ChuYin: (wonderingly) There may be hope after all.
Marco: What's that?
ChuYin: Nothing. Enigma!
Marco: There's always hope! Don't be a damned pessimist! (Clapping him on the back) Enigma, eh? Well,
if that isn't like a philosopher to start in on riddles just at the last moment! (He ascends halfway up the
ladder to the poop, then turns back to ChuYin with a chuckle) Take a fool's advice and don't think so much
or you'll get old before your time! (More oratorically) If you look before you leap, you'll decide to sit down.
Keep on going ahead and you can't help being right! You're bound to get somewhere! (He suddenly breaks
into a grin again) There! Don't ever say I never gave you good advice! (He springs swiftly to the top deck and
bellows) Cast off there amidships! Where the hell are you asleep? Set that foresail! Hop, you kidneyfooted
gang of thumbfingered infidels! (He turns with a sudden fierceness on the band who are standing stolidly,
awaiting orders) Hey you! Didn't I tell you to strike up when I set foot on the deck? What do you think I paid
you in advance for to wave me goodby? (The band plunges madly into it. A frenzied cataract of sound
results. ChuYin covers his ears and moves away, shaking his head, as Marco leans over the rail and bawls
after him) And tell the Kaan anything he wants write me just Venice they all know me there and if they
don't, by God, they're going to!
ACT II SCENE 3
Poop deck of the royal junk of the princess Kukachin at anchor in the harbor of
Hormuz, Persia a moonlight night some two years later. On a silver throne at
center Kukachin is sitting dressed in a gorgeous golden robe of ceremony. Her
beauty has grown more intense, her face has undergone a change, it is the face of
a woman who has known real sorrow and suffering. In the shadow of the highest
deck in rear her womeninwaiting are in a group, sitting on cushions. On the
highest deck in rear sailors lower and furl the sail of the mizzenmast, every
movement being carried out in unison with a machinelike rhythm. The bulwarks
of the junk are battered and splintered, the sail is frayed and full of jagged holes
and patches. In the foreground (the port side of deck) the two elder Polos are
squatting. Each has a bag of money before him from which they are carefully
counting gold coins and packing stacks of these into a chest that stands between
them.
Marco: (his voice, hoarse and domineering, comes from the left just before the curtain rises) Let
go that anchor! (A meek "AyeAye, sir," is heard replying and then a great splash and a long
rattling of chains. The curtain then rises discovering the scene as above. Marco's voice is again
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heard, "Lower that mizzensail! Look lively now!")
Boatswain: (with the sailors) Ayeaye, sir! (They lower the sail, and begin to tie it up trimly).
Maffeo: (looking up and straightening his cramped back with a relieved sigh) Here's Persia! I'll be
glad to get on dry land again. Two years on this foreign tub are too much.
Nicolo: (with a grunt, intent on the money) Keep counting if you want to finish before we go
ashore. It's nine hundred thousand now in our money, isn't it?
Maffeo: (nods counting again) This lot will bring it to a million. (He begins stacking and packing
again).
Boatswain: (chanting as his men work)
Great were the waves
Volcanoes of foam
Ridge after ridge
To the rim of the world!
Chorus of sailors: Great were the waves!
Boatswain:
Fierce were the winds!
Demons screamed!
Their claws rended
Sails into rags,
Fierce were the winds!
Chorus: Fierce were the winds!
Boatswain:
Fire was the sun!
Boiled the blood black,
Our veins hummed
Like bronze kettles.
Fire was the sun!
Chorus: Fire was the sun!
Boatswain:
Long was the voyage!
Life drifted becalmed,
A dead whale awash
In the toil of tides.
Long was the voyage!
Chorus: Long was the voyage!
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Boatswain:
Many have died!
Sleep in green water.
Wan faces at home
Pray to the sea.
Many have died!
Chorus: Many have died.
Kukachin: (chants the last line after them sadly) Many have died! (After a brooding pause she
rises and chants in a low voice)
If I were asleep in green water,
No pang could be added to my sorrow,
Old grief would be forgotten,
I would know peace.
Sailors:
There is peace deep in the sea
But the surface is sorrow.
Women:
Kukachin will be a Queen!
A Queen may not sorrow
Save for her King!
Kukachin:
When love is not loved it loves death.
When I sank drowning, I loved Death.
When the pirate's knife gleamed, I loved Death.
When fever burned me I loved Death.
But the man I love saved me.
Sailors: Death lives in a silent sea,
Gray and cold under cold gray sky,
Where there is neither sun nor wind
Nor joy nor sorrow!
Women:
Kukachin will be a wife
A wife must not sorrow
Save for her man.
Kukachin:
A hero is merciful to women.
Why could not this man see or feel or know?
Then he would have let me die.
Sailors:
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There are harbors at every voyageend
Where we rest from the sorrows of the sea.
Women:
Kukachin will be a mother
A mother may not sorrow
Save for her son.
Kukachin: (bows her head in resignation. A pause of silence) (Marco Polo enters briskly from
below on the left. He is dressed in full uniform, looking spick and span and selfconscious. His face
wears an expression of humorous scorn. He bows ceremoniously to the princess, his attitude a
queer mixture of familiarity and an uncertain awe).
Marco: Your Highness (Then ingratiatingly) or I suppose I'd better say Majesty now that we've
reached Persia I've got queer news for you. A boat just came from the shore with an official
notification that your intended husband, Arghun Khan, is dead and I'm to hand you over to his son,
Ghazan, to marry. (He hands her a sealed paper) See!
Kukachin: (letting the paper slip from her hand without a glance dully) What does it matter?
Marco: (admiringly as he picks it up) I must say you take it coolly. Of course, come to think of it,
never having seen either, one's as good as another. (He winds up philosophically) And you'll be
Queen just the same, that's the main thing.
Kukachin: (with bitter irony) So you think that is happiness? (Then as Marco stares at her
uncertainly, she turns away and looks out over the sea with a sigh after a pause) There, where I
see the lights, is that Hormuz?
Marco: Yes. and I was forgetting, the messenger said Ghazan Khan would come to take you
ashore tonight.
Kukachin: (with sudden fear) So soon? Tonight? (Then rebelliously) Is the granddaughter of the
Great Kublai no better than a slave? I will not go until it pleases me!
Marco: Good for you! That's the spirit! (Then alarmed at his own temerity hastily) But don't be
rash! The Khan probably meant whenever you were willing. And don't mind what I just said.
Kukachin: (looks at him with a sudden dawning of hope gently) Why should you be afraid of
what you said?
Marco: (offended) I'm not afraid of anything when it comes to the point!
Kukachin: What point?
Marco: (nonplussed) Why well when I feel someone's trying to steal what's rightfully mine, for
instance.
Kukachin: And now here you do not feel that?
Marco: (with a forced laugh, thinking she is joking) Ha! Well (Uncertainly) That is I don't catch
your meaning (Then changing the subject abruptly) But here's something I want to ask you. Your
grandfather entrusted you to my care. He relied on me to prove equal to the task of bringing you
safe and sound to your husband. Now I want to ask you frankly if you yourself won't be the first to
acknowledge that in spite of typhoons, shipwrecks, pirates and every other known form of bad luck,
I've brought you through in good shape?
Kukachin: (with an irony almost hysterical) More than anyone in the world, I can appreciate your
devotion to duty! You have been a prodigy of heroic accomplishment! In the typhoon when a wave
swept me from the deck, was it not you who swam to me as I was drowning?
Marco: (modestly) It was easy. Venetians make the best swimmers in the world.
Kukachin: (even more ironically) When the pirates attacked us, was it not your brave sword that
warded off their curved knives from my breast and struck them dead at my feet?
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Marco: I was out of practice, too. I used to be one of the crack swordsmen of Venice and they're
the world's foremost, as everyone knows.
Kukachin: (with a sudden change softly) And when the frightful fever wasted me, was it not you
who tended me night and day, watching by my bedside like a gentle nurse, even brewing yourself
the medicines that brought me back to life?
Marco: (with sentimental solemnity) My mother's recipes. Simple home remedies from the best
friend I ever had!
Kukachin: (a trifle wildly) Oh, yes, you have been a model guardian, Admiral Polo!
Marco: (quickly) Thank you, Princess. If I have satisfied you then if I might ask you a favor, that
you put in writing all you've just said in your first letter to the Great Kaan, and also tell your
husband?
Kukachin; (suddenly wildly bitter) I will assuredly! I will tell them both of your heroic
cruelty in saving me from death! (Intensely) Why could you not let me die?
Marco: (confusedly) You're joking. You certainly didn't want to die, did you?
Kukachin: (slowly and intensely) Yes!
Marco: (puzzled and severe) Hum! You shouldn't talk that way.
Kukachin: (longingly) I would be asleep in green water!
Marco: (worriedly, suddenly reaches out and takes her hand) Here now, young lady! Don't start
getting morbid!
Kukachin: (with a thrill of love) Marco!
Marco: I believe you're feverish. Let me feel your pulse!
Kukachin: (violently) No! (She draws her hand from his as if she had been stung).
Marco: (worriedly) Please don't be unreasonable. There'd be the devil to pay if you should suffer a
relapse of that fever after I sweated blood to pull you through once already! Do you feel hot?
Kukachin: (wildly) No! Yes! On fire!
Marco: Are your feet cold?
Kukachin: No! Yes! I don't know! (Gravely Marco kneels, removes a slipper, and feels the sole of
her foot then pats her foot playfully).
Marco: No. They're all right. (He gets up professionally) Any cramps?
Kukachin: You fool! No! Yes! My heart feels as if it were bursting!
Marco: It burns?
Kukachin: Like a red ember flaring up for the last time before it chills into gray ash forever!
Marco: Then something must have disagreed with you. Will you let me see your tongue?
Kukachin: (in a queer hysterical state where she delights in selfhumiliation) Yes! Yes! Anything!
I am a Princess of the Imperial blood of Chinghiz and you are a dog! Anything! (She sticks out her
tongue, the tears streaming down her face as he looks at it).
Marco: (shakes his head) No sign of biliousness. There's nothing seriously wrong. If you would
only try to sleep a while
Kukachin: O celestial God of the Heavens! What have I done that Thou shouldst torture me?
(Then wildly to Marco) I wished to sleep in the depths of the sea. Why did you awaken me?
Marco: (worried again) Perhaps it's brain fever. Does your head ache?
Kukachin: No! Does your immortal soul?
Marco; Don't blaspheme! You're talking as if you were delirious! (Then pleadingly)
For Heaven's sake, try and be calm, Princess! What if your husband, Ghazan
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Khan, should find you in such a state?
Kukachin: (calming herself with difficulty after a pause, bitterly) I suppose you are relieved to get
me here alive and deliver me like a cow!
Marco: (injuredly) I've only carried out your own grandfather's orders!
Kukachin: (forcing a smile) Won't you miss being my guardian? (Striving pitifully to arouse his
jealousy) When you think of Ghazan protecting me and nursing me when I am sick and and loving
me? Yes! I will compel him to love me, even though I never love him! He shall look into my
eyes and see that I am a woman and beautiful!
Marco: That's a husband's privilege.
Kukachin: Or a man's a man who has a soul! (Mockingly but intensely) And that reminds me,
Admiral Polo! You are taking advantage of this being the last day to shirk your duty!
Marco: Shirk! No one can ever say !
Kukachin: It was my grandfather's special command, given to you by ChuYin, you told me, that
every day you should look into my eyes.
Marco: (resignedly) Well, it isn't too late yet, is it? (He moves toward her with a sigh of
halfimpatience with her whims).
Kukachin: Wait. This is the one part of your duty in which I shall have to report you incompetent.
Marco: (hurt) I've done my best. I never could discover anything out of the way.
Kukachin: There must be something he wished you to find. I myself feel there is something,
something I cannot understand, something you must interpret for me! And remember this is your
last chance! There is nothing in life I would not give nothing I would not do even now it is not too
late! See my eyes as those of a woman and not a Princess! Look deeply! I will die if you do not see
what is there! (She finishes hysterically and beseechingly).
Marco: (worried soothingly) There! There! Certainly, Princess! Of course, I'll look. And will you
promise me that afterwards you'll lie down?
Kukachin: Look! See! (She throws her head back, her arms outstretched. He bends over and
looks into her eyes. She raises her hands slowly above his head as if she were going to pull it down
to hers. Her lips part, her whole being strains out to him. He looks for a moment critically, then he
grows tense, his face moves hypnotically toward hers, their lips seem about to meet in a kiss. She
murmurs) Marco!
Marco: (his voice thrilling for this second with oblivious passion) Kukachin!
Maffeo: (suddenly slapping a stack of coins into the chest with a resounding clank) One million!
Marco: (with a start, comes to himself and backs away from the princess in terror) What, Uncle?
Did you call?
Maffeo: One million in God's money! (He and Nicolo lock and fasten the box jubilantly).
Kukachin: (in despair) Marco!
Marco: (flusteredly) Yes, Princess. I saw something queer! It made me feel feverish too!
(Recovering a bit with a sickly smile) Oh, there's trouble there, all right! You must be delirious! I
advise you to go to sleep.
Kukachin: (with wild despair pulls out a small dagger from the bosom of her dress) I obey! I shall
sleep forever! (But Marco, the man of action, springs forward and wresting the dagger from her
hand, flings it over the side. She confronts him defiantly, her eyes wild with grief and rage. He
stares at her, dumbfounded and bewildered).
Marco: (bewilderedly) I never believed people sane people ever seriously tried
Kukachin: (intensely) I implored an ox to see my soul! I no longer can endure the shame of living!
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Marco: (sheepishly) You mean it was a terrible insult when I called you by your name?
Kukachin: (bursting into hysterical laughter) Yes! How dared you!
Marco: (hastily) I ask pardon, Princess! Please forgive me! My only excuse is, I forgot myself. I
guess I'll have to stop overworking or I'll suffer a nervous breakdown. I felt like one of those figures
in a puppet show with someone jerking the wires. It wasn't me, you understand. My lips spoke
without me saying a word. And here's the funniest part of it all, and what'll explain matters in full, if
you can believe it. It wasn't you I was seeing and talking to, not a Princess at all, you'd changed
into someone else, someone I've got a good right to just a girl
Kukachin: (again clutching at hope) A girl a woman you saw in me?
Marco: (enthusiastically, groping in his shirt front) Yes. Here she is! (He jerks the locket out of an
underpocket and presents it to her proudly) The future Mrs. Marco Polo! (The princess takes it
mechanically and stares at it in a stupor as Marco rambles on) You may believe it or not but like a
flash she was standing there in your place and I was talking to her, not you at all!
Kukachin: (dully) But it was my name you spoke.
Marco: (confused) I meant to say Donata. That's her name. We're going to be married as soon as
I get home. (Then as she stares at the miniature proudly) Pretty, isn't she?
Kukachin: (dully) She may have married another.
Marco: (confidently) No. Her family needs an alliance with our house.
Kukachin: She may have had lovers.
Marco: (simply) Oh, no. She's not that kind.
Kukachin: (staring at the picture) She will be middleaged fat and stupid!
Marco: (with a grin) Well, I don't mind a wife being a bit plump and who wants a great thinker
around the house? Sound common sense and a home where everything runs smooth, that's what
I'm after.
Kukachin: (looks from him to the miniature). There is no soul even in your love, which is no
better than a mating of swine! And I ! (A spasm of pain covers her face then with hatred and
disdain) Pig of a Christian! Will you return to this sow and boast that a Princess and a Queen ?
(With rage) Shall I ask as my first wedding present from Ghazan Khan that he have you flayed and
thrown into the street to be devoured by dogs?
Maffeo and Nicolo: (who have pricked up their ears at this last, rush to the princess, dragging
their box between them and prostrate themselves at her feet) Mercy! Mercy! (She seems not to
hear or to see them but stares ahead stonily. Marco beckons Maffeo to one side).
Marco: (in a whisper) Don't be afraid. She doesn't mean a word of it. She's hysterical. Listen, I just
noticed the royal barge coming. I'll go and meet the Khan. You keep her from doing anything rash
until he gets here.
Maffeo: Yes. (He goes back and crouches again before the princess, keeping a wary eye on her,
but she seems turned to stone. Marco comes down and goes off left. There is the blare of a
trumpet, the reflections of lanterns and torches, the sound of running about on deck and Marco's
voice giving commands. The women come out to attend the princess. She remains rigid, giving no
sign).
Women: (in chorus)
The lover comes,
Who becomes a husband,
Who becomes a son,
Who becomes a father
In this contemplation lives the woman.
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Kukachin: (her face now a fatalistic mask of acceptance)
I am not.
Life is.
A cloud hides the sun.
A life is lived.
The sun shines again.
Nothing has changed.
Centuries wither into tired dust.
A new dew freshens the grass.
Somewhere this dream is being dreamed.
(From the left Marco comes escorting GHAZAN KHAN, attended by a train of
nobles and slaves with lights. He can be heard saying: "She is a little feverish the
excitement " All are magnificently dressed, glittering with jewels. Ghazan is a young man, not
handsome but noble and manly looking. He comes forward and bows low before her, his
attendants likewise. Then he looks into her face and stands fascinated by her beauty. She looks
back at him with a calm indifference).
Ghazan: (after a pause his voice thrilling with admiration) If it were possible for a son who loved
a noble father to rejoice at that father's death, then I should be that guilty son! (As she makes no
reply) You have heard? Arghun Khan is dead. You must bear the humiliation of accepting his son
for husband, a crow to replace an eagle! Forgive me. But with your eyes to watch I may become at
least a shadow of his greatness.
Kukachin: (calmly) What am I? I shall obey the eternal will which governs your destiny and mine.
Ghazan: (impetuously) You are more beautiful than I had dared to dream! It shall not be I who
rules, but you! I shall be your slave! Persia shall be your conquest and everywhere where songs
are sung they shall be in praise of your beauty! You shall be Queen of Love !
Kukachin: (sharply with pain) No! (She drops the locket on the floor and grinds it into pieces
under her foot).
Marco: (excitedly) Princess! Look out! You're stepping on (She kicks it away from her. Marco
stoops on his knees and begins picking up the wreckage in his handkerchief. Kukachin turns to
Ghazan and points to Marco) My first request of you, my Lord, is that you reward this Christian who
has brought me here in safety. I ask, as a fitting tribute to his character, that you give an immense
feast in his honor. Let there be food in tremendous amounts! He is an exquisite judge of quantity.
Let him be urged to eat and drink until he can hold no more, until he becomes his own ideal figure,
an idol of stuffed selfsatisfaction! Will you do this? (She is a trifle hectic now and her manner has
grown wilder).
Ghazan: Your wish is my will!
Kukachin: (pointing to a magnificent lion in diamonds on his breast) What is that wonderful
glittering beast?
Ghazan: It is the emblem of the Order of the Lion which only great heroes and kings of men may
wear.
Kukachin: (gives a laugh of wild irony) Great heroes kings of men? (Then eagerly) Will you give
it to me? I implore you! (Ghazan, fascinated, yet with a wondering glance, unpins it and hands it to
her without a word. She prods Marco, who is still collecting the pieces of the locket with her foot)
Arise! Let me give you the noble Order of the Lion! (She pins the blazing diamond figure on the
breast of the stunned Marco, laughing with bitter mockery) How well it is set off on the bosom of a
sheep! (She laughs more wildly) Kneel again! Bring me a chest of gold! (Ghazan makes a sign.
Two slaves bring a chest of gold coins to her. She takes handfuls and throws them over the
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kneeling forms of the Polos, laughing) Here! Guzzle! Grunt! Wallow for our amusement! (The two
elder are surreptitiously snatching at the coins but Marco jumps to his feet, his face flushing).
Marco: (in a hurt tone) I don't see why you're trying to insult me just at the last moment. What
have I done? (Then suddenly forcing a smile) But I realize you're not yourself.
Ghazan: (sensing something) Has this man offended you? Shall he be killed?
Kukachin: (wearily) No. He has amused me. Let him be fed. Stuff him with food and gold and
send him home. And you, My Lord, may I ask that this first night I be allowed to remain on board
alone with my women? I am weary!
Ghazan: Again your wish is my will, even though I will not live until I see you again!
Kukachin: (exhaustedly) I am humbly grateful. Good night, My Lord. (She bows. Ghazan and the
Court bow before her. They retire toward the left, Marco talking earnestly to the oblivious Ghazan
whose eyes are riveted on the princess, who has turned away from them. The two elder Polos,
carrying their chest, their pockets stuffed, trudge along last).
Marco: The close confinement of a long voyage. I think probably her spleen is out of order. (They
are gone from sight. Kukachin's shoulders quiver as, her head bowed in her hands, she sobs
quietly. The ship can be heard making off).
Women:
Weep, Princess of the Wounded Heart,
Weeping heals the wounds of sorrow
Till only the scars remain
And the heart forgets.
Kukachin: (suddenly runs up to the upper deck and stands outlined against the sky, her arms
outstretched in a voice which is a final, complete renunciation, calls) Farewell, Marco Polo!
Marco: (his voice comes from over the water cheery and relived) Goodbye, Your Majesty and all
best wishes for long life and happiness! (The princess sinks to her knees, her face hidden in her
arms on the bulwark).
CURTAIN
ACT III SCENE 1
One year later.
The Grand Throne Room in the Imperial palace at Cambaluc. Kublai squats on his throne, aged and sad,
listening with an impassive face to general Bayan, dressed in the full military uniform and armor of the
CommanderinChief explaining earnestly with several maps in his hand. On Kublai s left stands ChuYin,
who is reading. Behind Bayan are grouped at attention all the generals of his army with a multitude of young
staff officers, all gorgeously uniformed and armored. From the room on the right, the ballroom, a sound of
dance music and laughter comes through the closed doors.
Bayan: (impressively pointing to the map) Here, Your Majesty, is the line of the river Danube which marks
the Western boundary of your Empire. Beyond it, lies the West. Our spies report their many petty states are
always quarreling. So great is their envy of each other that we could crush each singly and the rest would
rejoice. We can mobilize one million horsemen on the Danube within a month. (Proudly) We would ride their
armies down into the sea! Your Empire would extend from ocean to ocean!
Kublai: (wearily) It is much too large already. Why do you want to conquer the West? It must be a pitiful
land, poor in spirit and material wealth. We have everything to lose by contact with its greedy hypocrisy. The
conqueror acquires first of all the vices of the conquered. Let the West devour itself.
Bayan: (helplessly) But everywhere in the East there is peace!
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Kublai: (with hopeless irony) Ah! And you are becoming restless?
Bayan: (proudly) I am a Mongol a man of action!
Kublai: (looking at him with musing irony) Hum! You have already conquered the West, I think.
Bayan: (puzzled) What, Your Majesty? (Then persuasively) The West may not be strong but it is crafty.
Remember how that Christian, Polo, invented the engine to batter down walls? It would be better to wipe out
their cunning now before they make too many engines to weaken the power of men. (Then with a sudden
inspiration) And it would be a righteous war! We would tear down their Christian Idols and set up the image
of the Buddha!
Kublai: Buddha, the Prince of Peace?
Bayan: (bowing his head as do all his retinue) The Gentle One, The Good, The Kind, The Pitiful, The
Merciful, The Wise, The Eternal Contemplative One!
Kublai: In His Name?
Bayan: (fiercely) Death to those who deny Him!
All: (with a great fierce shout and a clanking of swords) Death!
Kublai: (looks up at the ceiling quizzically) A thunderbolt? (Waits) No? Then there is no God! (Then to
Bayan with a cynical bitter smile) August Commander, if you must have war, let it be one without fine
phrases a practical war of few words, as that Polo you admire would say. Leave the West alone. Our
interests do not conflict yet. But there is a group of islands whose silk industry is beginning to threaten the
supremacy of our own. Lead your gallant million there and see to it your war leaves me in peace!
Bayan: I hear and I obey! (He turns to his staff exultantly) His Majesty has declared war!
All: (with a fierce cheer) Down with the West!
Bayan: (hastily) No. Not yet. Down with Japan! (They cheer with equal enthusiasm then he harangues
them with the air of a patriotic exhorter) His Majesty s benevolence and patience have been exhausted by the
continued outrages against our silk nationals perpetrated by unscrupulous Japanese tradepirates who, in
spite of his protests, are breeding and maintaining silkworms for purposes of aggression! We fight in the
cause of moral justice, that our silkmakers may preserve their share of the eternal sunlight! (A long cheer).
Kublai: (smiling distractedly) War without rhetoric, please! Polo has infected you with cant! The West
already invades us! Throw open the doors! Music! (The doors are thrown open. The dance music sounds
loudly) Go in and dance, everyone! You, too, General! I revoke my declaration of war unless you learn to
dance and be silent! (They all go into the ballroom, Bayan stalking majestically with an injured mien) But
dancing makes me remember Kukachin whose little dancing feet ! Shut the doors! Music brings back her
voice singing! (Turning to ChuYin harshly) Wisdom! No, do not read! What good are wise writings to
fight stupidity? One must have stupid writings that men can understand. In order to live even wisdom must be
stupid!
A Chamberlain: (enters hurriedly and prostrates himself ) A Courier from Persia!
Kublai: (excitedly) From Kukachin! Bring him here! (The chamberlain dashes to the door and a moment
later the Courier enters, travelstained and weary. He sinks into a heap before the throne. Kublai shouts at
him impatiently).
Kublai: Have you a letter?
Courier: (with a great effort holds out a letter) Here! (He collapses. ChuYin hands the letter up to Kublai
who takes it eagerly from him. He begins to read at once. The chamberlain comes back with a cup of wine.
The Courier is revived and gets to his knees, waiting humbly).
ChuYin: (goes back to Kublai who has finished reading the short note and is staring somberly before him)
And did the Little Flower save his Immortal Soul? (Kublai does not look at him but mutely hands him the
letter. ChuYin becomes grave. He reads aloud) "Arghun had died. I am the wife of his son, Ghazan. It does
not matter. He is kind but I miss my home and you. I doubt if I shall be blessed with a son. I do not care. I
have lost my love of life. My heart beats more and more wearily. Death wooes me. You must not grieve. You
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wish me to be happy, do you not? And my body may resist Death for a long time yet. Too long. My soul he
has already possessed. I wish to commend the unremitting attention to his duty of Admiral Polo. He saved my
life three times at the risk of his own. He delivered me to Ghazan. Send him another million. You were right
about his soul. What I had mistaken for one I discovered to be a fat woman with a patient virtue. By the time
you receive this they will be married in Venice. I do not blame him. But I cannot forgive myself nor
forget nor believe again in any beauty in the world. I love you the best in life. And tell ChuYin I love him
too." (He lets the letter in his hand drop to his side, his eyes filling, his voice grown husky. Kublai stares
bleakly ahead of him).
Kublai: (at last rouses himself harshly to the Courier) Did the Queen give you this in person?
Courier: Yes, your Majesty with a generous gift.
Kublai: I can be generous too. Did she appear ill?
Courier: Yes. I could scarcely hear her voice.
Kublai: You brought no other word?
Courier: Not from the Queen. I came privately from her. But Admiral Polo suspected my departure and
gave me a verbal message which he caused me to memorize.
Kublai: (harshly his eyes beginning to gleam with anger) Ha! Go on! Repeat!
Courier: (stopping for a moment to freshen his memory) He said, tell the Great Kaan that "in spite of perils
too numerous to relate, I have delivered my charge safely to Ghazan Khan. In general, she gave but little
trouble on the voyage, for although flighty in temper and of a passionate disposition, she never refused to
heed my advice for her welfare and as I informed His Majesty, King Ghazan, the responsibilities of marriage
and the duties of motherhood will sober her spirit and she will settle down as a sensible wife should. This
much I further add, that in humble obedience to your final instructions given me by Mr. ChuYin, I looked
daily into her eyes."
Kublai: (bewilderedly to ChuYin) What? Did you ?
ChuYin: (miserably) Forgive an old fool! I meant it partly in jest as a last chance to cure her or to
awaken him.
Courier: (continuing) "But I have never noted any unnatural change in them except toward the termination
of our trip, particularly on the last day, when I noticed a rather strained expression, but this I took to be fever
due to her Highness s spleen being sluggish after the long confinement on shipboard."
Kublai: (choking with wrath) O God of the Somber Heavens!
Courier: And he gave me no money for delivering the message but he promised that you would reward me
nobly.
Kublai: (with wild laughter) Hahaha! Stop! Do you dare to madden me? (Then suddenly raging) Out of
my sight, dog, before I have you impaled! (The terrorstricken Courier scrambles out like a flash. Kublai
stands up with flashing eyes revengefully). I have reconsidered! I shall conquer the West! I shall lead my
armies in person! I shall not leave one temple standing nor one Christian alive who is not enslaved! Their
cities shall vanish in flame, their fields shall be wasted! Famine shall finish what I leave undone! And of the
city of Venice not one vestige shall remain! And of the body of Marco Polo there shall not be a fragment of
bone nor an atom of flesh which will not have shrieked through ten days torture before it died!
ChuYin: Master! (He throws himself on his face at Kublai s feet) Do not torture yourself! Is this
Wisdom? Is this the peace of the soul?
Kublai: (distractedly) To revenge oneself that brings a kind of peace!
ChuYin: To revenge equally the wrong of an equal perhaps, but this ? Can you confess yourself weaker
than his stupidity?
Kublai: He has murdered her!
ChuYin: She does not accuse him. What would be her wish?
Kublai: (his anger passing wearily and bitterly, after a pause) Rise, my old friend, it is I who should be at
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your feet, not you at mine! (He sinks dejectedly on his throne again. After a pause, sadly) She will die. Why
is this? What purpose can it serve? My hideous suspicion is that God is only an infinite, insane energy which
creates and destroys without other purpose than to pass eternity in avoiding thought. Then the stupid man
becomes the Perfect Incarnation of Omnipotence and the Polos are the true children of God! (He laughs
bitterly) Ha! How long before we shall be permitted to die, my friend? I begin to resent life as the insult of an
ignoble inferior with whom it is a degradation to fight! (Broodingly after a pause) I have had a foreboding
she would die. Lately, to while away time, I experimented with the crystal. I do not believe the magic
nonsense about it but I do consider that, given a focus, the will can perhaps overcome the limits of the senses.
Whatever the explanation be, I looked into the crystal and willed to see Kukachin in Persia and she appeared,
sitting alone in a garden, beautiful and sad, apart from life, waiting (Brokenly) My eyes filled with tears. I
cried out to her and she was gone! (Then suddenly to the chamberlain) Bring me the crystal! (To ChuYin
as the chamberlain goes) Marco, the true ruler of the world, will have come to Venice by this time. My
loathing grows so intense I feel he must jump into the crystal at my bidding. And in the cause of wisdom,
say we must see what he is doing now. (The chamberlain returns with the crystal. Kublai takes it eagerly
from his hand and stares fixedly into it).
ChuYin: (protestingly) Why do you wish to hurt yourself further?
Kublai: (staring fixedly) I shall observe dispassionately. It is a test of myself I want to make as a penalty for
my weakness a moment ago. (He sees something) Ah it begins. (A pause. The light grows dimmer and
dimmer on the stage proper as it begins to come up on the extreme foreground) I see a city whose streets are
canals it is evening a house. I begin to see through the walls Ah! (The lights come up again on the back
stage as the forestage is fully revealed. The Kaan on his throne and ChuYin are seen dimly, behind and
above, like beings on another plane. At the center of the forestage is a great banquet table garishly set with an
ornate gold service. A tall majordomo in a gorgeous uniform enters and stands at attention as the procession
begins. First come the Guests, male and female, a crowd of good substantial bourgeois, who stare about with
awe and envy and are greatly impressed by the gold plate).
A Man: They ve laid out a pile of money here!
A Woman: Is that gold service really gold?
Another: absolutely. I can tell without biting it.
A Man: They must have cash, whoever they are.
A Woman: Do you think they re really the Polos?
Another: They looked like greasy Tartars to me.
Another: That was their queer clothes.
A Man: And remember they ve been gone twentyodd years.
Another: In spite of that, I thought I could recognize Maffeo
A Woman: Will Donata know Marco, I wonder?
A Man: What s more to her point, will he recognize her?
A Woman: Imagine her waiting all this time!
Another: How romantic! He must be terribly rich if it s really him.
A Man: We ll soon know. That s why we were invited.
A Woman: Ssshh! Here comes Donata now. How old she s getting to look!
Another: And how fat in the hips!
A Man: (jokingly) That s the way I like em, and perhaps Marco (Donata enters on the arm of her father, a
crafty, wizened old man. She has grown into a stout middleage but her face is unlined and still pretty in a
bovine, goodnatured way. All bow and they return this salutation).
All: Congratulations, Donata! (She blushes and turns aside in an incongruous girlish confusion).
Father: (proud but pretending querulousness) Don t tease her now! The girl s nervous enough already.
And it may not be Marco after all but only a joke someone s put up on us.
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All: (suddenly with a great gasp) Oh, listen! (An orchestra vigorously begins a flowery, sentimental Italian
tune. This grows into quite a blare as the musicians enter from the right, six in number, in brilliant uniforms)
Oh, look! (The musicians form a line, three on each side by the stairs on right) Oh, see! (A procession of
servants begins to file one by one through the ranks of musicians, each carrying on his head or upraised hand
an enormous platter on which are whole pigs, fowl of all varieties, roasts, vegetables, salads, fruits, nuts,
dozens of bottles of wine. The servants arrange these on the table, in symmetrical groups, with the trained eye
for display of windowdressers, until the table, with the bright light flooding down on it, closely resembles
the front of a pretentious delicatessen store. Meanwhile) See! What a turkey! Such a goose! The fattest pig I
ever saw! What ducks! What vegetables! Look at the wine! A feast for the Gods! And all those servants! An
army! And the orchestra! What expense! Lavish! They must be worth millions! (The three Polos make their
grand entrance from the stairs on right, walking with bursting selfimportance between the files of musicians
who now blare out a triumphant march. The two elder precede Marco. All three are dressed in long robes of
embroidered crimson satin reaching almost to the ground. The guests give a new united gasp of astonishment)
Is it they? Is that old Nicolo? That s Maffeo s nose! No! It isn t them at all! Well, if it s a joke, I don t see
the point. But such robes! Such hand embroidery! Such material! They must be worth millions.
Donata: (falteringly) Is that him, father? I can t tell. (She calls faintly) Marco! (But he pretends not to hear.
He gives a sign at which the three take off their robes and hand them to the servants. They have even more
gorgeous blue ones underneath. Marco addresses the servants in a false voice).
Marco: My good men, you may sell these rich robes and divide the proceeds among yourselves! And here is
a little something extra. (He tosses a handful of gold to the servants and another to the musicians. A mad
scramble results. The guests gasp. They seem inclined to join in the scramble).
Guests: How generous! What prodigality! What indifference to money! They throw it away like dirt. They
must be worth millions!
Marco: (in the same false voice) Our guests look thirsty. Pass around the wine. (The servants do so. The
guests gaze, smell, taste).
All: What a vintage! What flavor! What bouquet! How aged! It must have cost twenty lire a bottle! (At
another signal the three Polos take off their blue robes).
Marco: (regally) Give those to the musicians! (They are revealed now in their old dirty, loose Tartar
traveling dress and look quite shabby. The guests gape uncertainly. Then Marco declares grandly) You look
astonished, good people, but this is a moral lesson to teach you not to put too much faith in appearances, for
behold! (He slits up the wide sleeves of his own robe, as do his father and uncle, and now the three, standing
beside a big empty space which has been purposely left at the very center of the table at the front, lower their
opened sleeves, and, as the musicians, obeying this signal, start up a great blare, let pour from them a perfect
stream of precious stones which forms a glittering multicolored heap. This is the final blow. The guests stare
popeyed, openmouthed, speechless for a second. Then their pentup admiration breaks forth).
All: Extraordinary! Jewels! Gems! Rubies! Emeralds! Diamonds! Pearls! A king s ransom! Millions!
Marco: (suddenly with his hailfellowwellmet joviality) Well folks, are you all tonguetied? Isn t one
of you going to say welcome home? And Miss Donata, don t I get a kiss? I m still a bachelor! (Immediately
with mad shouts of "Bravo!" "Welcome home!" "Hurrah for the Polos!" etc., etc., the guests bear down on
them in a flood. There is a confused whirl of embraces, kisses, backslaps, handshakes and loud greetings of
all sorts. Marco manages to get separated and pulls Donata down front to the foreground).
Donata: (half swooning). Marco!
Marco: (moved) My old girl! (They kiss, then he pushes her away) Here! Let me get a good look at you!
Why, you re still as pretty as a picture and you don t look a day older!
Donata: (exaltedly) My beloved prince!
Marco: (jokingly) No, if I was a prince I d never have remained single all these years in the East! I m a
hero, that s what! And all the twentyodd years I kept thinking of you, and I was always intending to write
(He pulls the pieces of the miniature wrapped in the handkerchief out of his pocket) Here s proof for you!
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Look at yourself! You re a bit smashed but that was done in a handtohand fight with pirates. Now don t
I deserve another kiss?
Donata: (giving it) My hero! (Then jealously) But I know all the heathen women must have fallen in love
with you.
Marco: Oh, maybe one or two or so but I didn t have time to waste on females. I kept my nose to the
grindstone every minute. (Proudly) And I got results. I don t mind telling you, Donata, I m worth over
two millions! How s that for keeping my promise? Worth while your waiting, eh? (He slaps her on the
back).
Donata: Yes, my wonder boy! (Then worriedly) You said there were one or two women? But you were
true in spite of them, weren t you?
Marco: I tell you I wouldn t have married the prettiest girl in Cathay! (This with emphasis. Then
abruptly) But never mind any other girl. (He chucks her under the chin) What I want to know is when
this girl is going to marry me?
Donata: (softly) Any time! (They hug. The guests group about them kittenishly, pointing and murmuring,
"What a romance! What a romance!").
Donata s Father: (seizing the opportunity) Friends, I takes this opportunity to publicly announce the
betrothal of my daughter, Donata, to Marco Polo of this City! (Another wild round of congratulations,
kisses, etc.).
Marco: (his voice sounding above the hubbub) Let s eat, friends! (They swirl to their places behind the
long table. When they stand their faces can be seen above the piles of food but when they sit they are out of
sight) No ceremony among friends. Just pick your chair. All ready? Let s sit down then! (with one
motion they disappear).
Voice of Donata s Father: But, first, before we regale ourselves with your cheer, won t you address a
few words to your old firends and neighbors who have gathered here on this happy occasion? (Applause.
Marco is heard espostulating but finally he gives in).
Marco: All right, if you ll promise to go ahead and eat and not wait for me. (His head appears, his
expression full of importance. Servants flit about noisly. He coughs and begins with dramatic feeling)
My friends and neighbors of old, your generous and wholehearted welcome touches me profoundly. I would
I had the gift of oratory to thank you fittingly, but I am a simple man, an ordinary man, I might almost say, a
man of affairs used to dealing in the hard facts of life, a silent man given to deeds not words (Here he falters
fittingly) And so now forgive my emotion words fail me (Here he clears his throat with an important
cough and bursts forth into a memorized speech in the grand Chamber of Commerce style) But I ll be glad
to let you have a few instructive facts about the silk industry as we observed it in the Far East, laying especial
emphasis upon the keystone of the whole silk business I refer to the breeding of worms! (A few hungry
guests start to eat. Knives and forks and spoons rattle against plates. Soup is heard. Marco strikes a good
listening attitude so he will be sure not to miess a word his voice utters and warms to his work) Now, to
begin with, there are millions upon millions of capital invested in this industry, millions of contented slaves
labor unremittingly millions of hours per annum to obtain the best results in the weaving and dyeing of the
finished product, but I don t hesitate to state that all this activity is relatively unimportant beside the
astounding fact that in the production of the raw material there are constantly employed millions upon
millions upon millions upon millions of worms!
One Voice: (rather muffled by roast pig) Hear! (But the rest are all absorbed in eating and a perfect clamor
of knives and forks resounds. Marco begins again but this time the clamor is too great, his words are lost,
only the one he lays such emphasis upon can be distinguished).
Marco: Millions!...millions!...millions!...millions!
Kublai: (who from the height of his golden throne, crystal in hand, has watched all this with fascinated
disgust while ChuYin has sat down to read again, now turns away with a shudder of loathing and, in spite
of himself, a shadow of a smile and lets the crystal fall from his hand and shatter into bits with a loud
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report. Instantly there is darkness and from high up in the darkness Kublai s voice speaking with a pitying
scorn.) The Word became their flesh, they say. Now all is flesh! And can their flesh become the Word
again?
DARKNESS
ACT III SCENE 2
Grand Throne Room in the Imperial Palace at Cambaluc, about two years later. The walls tower majestically
in shadow, their elaborate detail blurred into a background of halfdarkness.
Kublai sits at the top of his throne, crosslegged in the posture of an idol, motionless,
wrapped in contemplation. He wears a simple white robe without adornment of any sort. A
brilliant light floods down upon him in one concentrated ray. His eyes are fixed on a
catafalque, draped in heavy white silk, which stands in the center of the room, emphasized
by another downpouring shaft of light.
ChuYin stands on the level below, on Kublai s left. On the main floor are the nobles and
people of the court, grouped as in Act One, Scene Six.
There is a long pause clamorous with the pealing of the thousands of bells in the city, big
and little, near and far. Every figure in the room is as motionless as the Kaan himself. Their
eyes are kept on him with the ardent humility and respect of worship. Behind their
impassive faces, one senses a tense expectancy of some sign from the throne. At last,
Kublai makes a slight but imperious motion of command with his right hand. Immediately
the women all turn with arms outstretched toward the catafalque. Their voices rise together
in a long, rhythmic wail of mourning; their arms with one motion move slowly up; their
voices attain a prolonged note of unbearable poignancy; their heads are thrown back, their
arms appeal to Heaven in one agonized gesture of despair. Here the Kaan makes the same
barely perceptible sign of command again. The voices are instantly silenced. With one
motion, the women throw themselves prostrate on the floor. The bells, except for one slow
deeptoned one in the palace itself, are almost instantly hushed. At the same instant, from
outside, at first faint, but growing momentarily in volume, comes the sound of funeral
music. A moment later the funeral procession enters. The men sink to the crosslegged
position of prayer, their heads bowed.
First come the musicians, nine in number, men in robes of bright red. They are followed by
the chorus of nine singers, five men and four women, all of them aged, with bent bodies,
their thin, cracked voices accompanying the music in queer, breaking waves of
lamentation. These are masked, the men with a male mask of grief, the women with a
female. All are dressed in deep black with white edging to their robes. After them comes a
troupe of young girls and boys, dressed in white with black edging, moving slowly
backward in a gliding, interweaving dance pattern. Their faces are not masked but are fixed
in a disciplined, traditional expression of bewildered, uncomprehending grief that is like a
mask. They carry silver censers which they swing in unison toward the corpse of the
princess Kukachin, carried on a bier directly behind them on the shoulders of eight princes
of the blood in black armor.
Accompanying the bier, one at each corner, are four priests the foremost two, a Confucian
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and a Taoist, the latter two, a Buddhist and a Moslem. Each walks with bent head reading
aloud to himself from his Holy Book.
The princes lift the bier of Kukachin to the top of the catafalque. Her body is wrapped in a
winding sheet of deep blue, a jeweled golden headdress is on her black hair, her face is
white and clear as a statue s. The young boys and girls place their smoking censers about
the catafalque, the incense ascending in clouds about the Princess as if it were bearing her
soul with it. The music and the singing cease as the dancers, singers, and musicians form
on each side, and to the rear, of the catafalque and sink into attitudes of prayer.
Kublai speaks to the priests in a voice of command in which is weariness and disbelief.
Kublai: Peace! She does not need your prayers. She was a prayer! (With one motion they shut their books,
raise their heads and stare before them in silence. Kublai continues sadly) Can words recall life to her
beauty? (To the priest of Tao) Priest of Tao, will you conquer death by your mystic Way?
Priest of Tao: (bowing his head in submission fatalistically) Which is the greater evil, to possess or to be
without? Death is.
Chorus: (in an echo of vast sadness) Death is.
Kublai: (to the Confucian) Follower of Confucius, the Wise, have you this wisdom?
Priest of Confucius: (slowly) Before we know life, how can we know death? (Then as the Taoist,
submissively) Death is.
Chorus: (as before) Death is.
Kublai: (to the Buddhist priest) Worshiper of Buddha, can your selfovercoming overcome that greatest
overcomer of self?
Buddhist priest: This is a thing which no god can bring about: That what is subject to death should not die.
(Then as the others, submissively) Death is.
Chorus: (as before) Death is.
Kublai: (wearily) And your answer, priest of Islam?
Priest of Islam: It is the will of Allah! (Submissively) Death is.
Chorus: Death is. Death is. Death is. (Their voices die away).
Kublai: (after a pause) What is death? (A long pause. His eyes rest in loving contemplation on the body of
Kukachin: Finally he speaks tenderly to her with a sad smile) Girl whom we call dead, whose beauty is even
in death more living than we, smile with infinite silence upon our speech, smile with infinite forbearance
upon our wisdom, smile with infinite remoteness upon our sorrow, smile as a star smiles! (His voice appears
about to break. A muffled sound of sobbing comes from the prostrate women. Kublai regains control over his
weakness and rises to his feet with angry selfcontempt) No more! That is for poets! (With overstressed
arrogance assertively) I am the Great Kaan! (Everyone in the room rises with one motion of assertion).
Chorus: (accompanied by a clangor of brass from the musicians recite with discordant vigor)
Greatest of the Great!
Son of Heaven!
Lord of Earth!
Sovereign of the World!
Ruler over Life and Death!
Kublai: (silences them by an imperious gesture and now even the great palace bell is stilled halfmockingly
but assertively) The Son of Heaven? Then I should know a prayer. Sovereign of the World? Then I command
the World to pray! (With one motion all sink to the position of prayer) In silence! Prayer is beyond words!
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Contemplate the eternal life of Life! Pray thus! (He himself sinks to the position of prayer a pause then
slowly) In silence for one concentrated moment be proud of life! Know in your heart that the living of life
can be noble! Know that the dying of death can be noble! Be exalted by life! Be inspired by death! Be
humbly proud! Be proudly grateful! Be immortal because life is immortal. Contain the harmony of womb and
grave within you! Possess life as a lover then sleep requited in the arms of death! If you awake, love again!
If you sleep on, rest in peace! Who knows which? What does it matter? It is nobler not to know! (A pause of
silence. He rises to his feet. With one motion all do likewise. Kublai sits back on his cushions again,
withdrawing into contemplation. The Mongol chronicler comes forward to fulfill his function of chanting the
official lament for the dead. He declaims in a high wailing voice accompanied by the musicians and by the
chorus who sway rhythmically and hum a rising and falling mourning accompaniment).
Chronicler: We lament the shortness of life. Life at its longest is brief enough.
Too brief for the wisdom of joy, too long for the knowledge of sorrow.
Sorrow becomes despair when death comes to the young, untimely.
Oh, that her beauty could live again, that her youth could be born anew.
Our Princess was young as Spring, she was beautiful as a bird or flower.
Cruel when Spring is smitten by Winter, when birds are struck dead in full song, when the
budding blossom is blighted!
Alas that our Princess is dead, she was the song of songs, the perfume of perfumes, the
perfect one!
Our sobs stifle us, our tears wet the ground, our lamentations sadden the wind from the
West. (Bows submissively speaks)
Yet we must bow humbly before the Omnipotent.
Chorus: We must be humble.
Chronicler: Against Death all Gods are powerless.
Chorus: All Gods are powerless. (Their voices die into silence).
Kublai: (after a pause wearily) Leave her in peace. Go. (The Court leaves silently at his command in a
formal, expressionless order. The four priests go first, beginning to pray silently again. They are followed by
the nobles and officials with their women coming after. Finally the young boys and girls take up their censers
and dance their pattern out backward, preceded by the musicians. Only the chorus remain, grouped in a
semicircle behind the catafalque, motionless, and ChuYin who stays at the left hand of Kublai. The music
fades away. Kublai takes his eyes from the dead girl with a sigh of bitter irony). Kublai: oh, ChuYin, my
Wise Friend, was the prayer I taught them wisdom?
ChuYin: It was the wisdom of pride. It was thy wisdom.
Chorus: (echoing sadly) Thy wisdom.
Kublai: Was it not truth?
ChuYin: It was the truth of power. It was thy truth.
Chorus: (as before) Thy truth.
Kublai: My pride, my power? My wisdom, my truth? For me there remains only her truth! (Then after
staring at Kukachin for a second, bitterly) Her truth! She died for love of a fool!
ChuYin: No. She loved love. She died for beauty.
Kublai: your words are hollow echoes of the brain. Do not wound me with wisdom. Speak to my heart!
(Sadly his eyes again on Kukachin) Her little feet danced away the stamp of armies. Her smile made me
forget the servile grin on the face of the World. In her eyes mirror I watched myself live protected from life
by her affection a simple old man dying contentedly a little, day after pleasant day.
ChuYin: (bowing compassionately) Then weep, old man. Be humble and weep for your child. The old
should cherish sorrow. (He bows again and goes out silently).
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Kublai: (after a pause, gets up and descending from his throne, slowly approaches the catafalque, speaking
to the dead girl softly as he does so with a trembling smile) I think you are hiding your eyes, Kukachin. You
are a little girl again. You are playing hide and seek. You are pretending. Did we not once play such games
together, you and I? You have made your face still, you have made your face cold, you have set your lips in a
smile so remote you are pretending even that you are dead! (He is very near her now. His voice breaks more
and more intensely) Let us stop playing! It is late. It is time you were asleep. Open your eyes and laugh!
Laugh now that the game is over. Take the blindfold from my dim eyes. Whisper your secret in my ear. I I
am dead and you are living! Weep for me, Kukachin! Weep for the dead! (He stretches his arms out to her
beseechingly pauses, standing beside the body, staring down at her; then, after a moment, he passes his hand
over her face tremblingly with a beautiful tenderness of grief) So, little Kukachin so, Little Flower you
have come back they could not keep you you were too homesick you wanted to return to gladden my last
days (He no longer tries to control his grief. He sobs like a simple old man, bending and kissing his
granddaughter on the forehead with heartbreaking playfulness) I bid you welcome home, Little Flower! I
bid you welcome home! (He weeps, his tears falling on her calm white face).
CURTAIN
EPILOGUE
The play is over. The lights come up brilliantly in the theatre. In an aisle seat in the first row a man rises,
conceals a yawn in his palm, stretches his legs as if they had become cramped by too long an evening, takes
his hat from under the seat and starts to go out slowly with the others in the audience. But although there is
nothing out of the ordinary in his actions, his appearance excites general comment and surprise for he is
dressed as a Venetian merchant of the later Thirteenth Century. In fact, it is none other than Marco Polo
himself, looking a bit sleepy, a trifle puzzled, and not a little irritated as his thoughts, in spite of himself, cling
for a passing moment to the play just ended. He appears quite unaware of being unusual and walks in the
crowd without selfconsciousness, very much as one of them. Arrived in the lobby his face begins to clear of
all disturbing memories of what had happened on the stage. The noise, the lights of the streets, recall him at
once to himself. Impatiently he waits for his car, casting a glance here and there at faces in the groups around
him, his eyes impersonally speculative, his bearing stolid with the dignity of one who is sure of his place in
the world. His car, a luxurious limousine, draws up at the curb. He gets in briskly, the door is slammed, the
car edges away into the traffic and Marco Polo, with a satisfied sigh at the sheer comfort of it all, resumes his
life.
THE END
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Bookmarks
1. Table of Contents, page = 3
2. Marco Millions, page = 4