The story of Princess Ida is of particular interest in so far as it is, to the best of our current knowledge, the only Gilbert libretto which is a deliberate reworking of an external source. Gilbert made no bones at all about its origin, basing it on his earlier play The Princess, itself a "respectable perversion" of Tennyson's poem of the same name. In fact, as John Killham in Tennyson and the Princess (1958) has shown, the story is very old indeed, and has the same origin as that of Turandot, that other icy princess who had renounced the male sex but was subsequently persuaded to succumb to the attractions of love. (The spelling of the name Turandot and of several others in the stories has varied through various versions, and these variations are here preserved).

The story of Turandot is often erroneously stated to have come from the Arabian Nights; in fact it comes from a similar but quite distinct collection called "The Persian Tales or The Thousand and One Days". This collection became more popular in France than the Arabian Nights, but not nearly so popular in England. The origin of the Persian Tales does not seem to be known, and the earliest extant version of the story which gave rise to Princess Ida and Turandot is as follows:

Prince Calaf is the son of Timurtasch, Khan of the Nogais Tartars, defeated in battle by the wicked Sultan of Carisma. Timurtasch, Calaf and Queen Elmase are forced to flee, and, reduced to the status of beggars, take refuge with Alinguer, Khan of Berlas. On learning of their identity Alinguer generously gives them the status of Royal refugees, and Calaf, dressed and fitted like a Prince once more, decides to travel. He reaches Peking [Beijing] and takes lodgings with an old widow near the city gate. From her he learns that Princess Tourandot, daughter of King Altoun–Khan, has decreed that she refuses to marry any man save he who can solve her enigmas; all unsuccessful applicants shall be beheaded. No reason is given for her decree, other than that she considers all men to be contemptible. That very day the latest suitor is to be executed, and Calaf witnesses the death of the Prince of Samarcand. The latter's tutor shows Calaf a portrait of Tourandot, which causes the Prince to fall in love with her himself, and he rushes to the palace to present himself as a suitor. Altoun–Khan is a powerful presence, not the senile octogenarian depicted in later versions of the story. (According to Sir Henry Yule's edition of Marco Polo's travels, Altun Kaan is the Mongol name for the dynasty known by the Chinese as the Tai–Kin or "Golden" Tartars, who ruled north China from about 1127–1234 AD). Altoun–Khan is much struck by Calaf. After vainly counselling him to renounce his suicidal course of action, he insists that Calaf have 24 hours to consider, and installs him in the palace with every comfort. Next day, Calaf successfully solves the three enigmas, but the Princess now perversely protests that she wishes to ask more questions the following day. The King is angry and orders her to marry forthwith, but Calaf, moved by her sorrow, offers to renounce his claim if she can guess his name within 24 hours.

That night Calaf finds a beautiful lady in his bedroom; she tells him that she is the Princess Adelmuc, whose father was defeated and killed by Altoun–Khan; she alone of the family survived and was taken into slavery. She is one of Tourandot's trusted handmaidens, and thus in a position to warn him of a plot of Tourandot to have him assassinated. She tells Calaf that she is a relative of Alinguer, and offers to assist him if he will elope with her. He refuses, but in the course of conversation lets slip his identity. Adelmuc sweeps out in high dudgeon, but needless to say, next day Tourandot correctly "guesses" Calaf's name. Having thus gained her moral victory, she then announces that she is willing to be his wife. She admits that she did not guess the name, but that one of her slaves had loyally gone to Calaf to obtain the secret from him. Adelmuc then steps forward and says that this was not her intention, she had actually gone to persuade Calaf to elope with her, and when he refused she had told the Princess his name in the hope that she could subsequently press her suit. Having lost all, she stabs herself. Calaf and Tourandot marry, Timurtasch and Elmase travel to Peking for the wedding, and the armies of Alinguer and Altoun–Khan together defeat the Sultan of Carisma, placing Timurtasch once more upon his throne.

In many ways this story is unsatisfactory. There are a number of coincidences, and several incidents are never properly explained. Most noticeable are Tourandot's unstated reason for hating men, and her subsequent unmotivated change of heart. Indeed, although this appears to be the oldest extant version of the story, it does bear some marks of being a garbled version of an even older story, now lost. The setting of the Persian Tales seems to confirm that there were other versions of the story around at that time. The tales were told to Princess Farruknaz by her nurse to try to make her trust men. She had persuaded her father never to oblige her to marry against her will, as she was haunted by a dream of a doe who had rescued a buck from a hunter, but was deserted by him when she was herself entrapped. The tale of Tourandot (or Tourandocte) is the tale for Day 63, and as will be realised, it strikingly parallels Princess Farruknaz's own case.

The story of Turandot was just the sort of tale to appeal to Gaspard Gozzi (1715–86) and his brother Carlo (1720–1808) and it was the latter, with his fascination for the exotic, who may have been largely responsible for the story finding a permanent place in western literature. Richard Garnett (A History of Italian Literature, 1898) tells us that Carlo Gozzi:

would merit an honourable place among Italian writers merely on the strength of his entertaining memoirs, translated by Symonds. His real significance in literary history, however, is confined to four brilliant years in which he carried all before him on the Venetian stage by his feabe or dramatised fairy tales, composed in the spirit of the commedia dell' arte.

This last comment is highly significant, for the commedia dell' arte element of the story remains an important aspect of the two most important operas based on Gozzi's play, those by Puccini and Busoni, and may have had some influence on Gilbert. Versions of the story proliferated at that period, there were apparently at least five operas based on it between 1810 and 1888, of these I have been able to trace three with the title of Turandot; by Blumenrder (1810), by Reissiger (1835) and by J. Hoven (1839). Gozzi's Turandot (1762) is the play for which he is best remembered, though other successes included The Blue Monster, The Green Bird and his greatest success at the time, Three Oranges. This last–named, although it has not survived complete, formed the basis for Prokofiev's opera The Love for Three Oranges. The story of Gozzi's Turandot as given by an anonymous translation into English by "a lady" and entitled Calaf, strips away the earlier scenes of the original story, commencing the action before the gates of Peking.

Outside the city, Calaf meets Barak, his former tutor, who is now living under the name of Hassan, his previous identity known to none, not even to his wife with whom Calaf happens to be lodging. On finding a portrait of Turandocte dropped by the Prince of Samarkand's tutor, Calaf goes to the palace. Here Gozzi introduces to the story several stock commedia dell' arte characters in the persons of the court officials. Truffaldin (the chief eunuch) and Cublon (commander of the palace guard) complain of the continuing death of princes. The court assembles and Usbec (Secretary of State) and Nevian (the high Chancellor) comfort the Emperor Altoun Khan who also laments on the continuing slaughter. The Princess is struck with Calaf and feels herself drawn to him. Adelma (Adelmuc) recognises him as someone she had once met and fallen in love with, but it is never explained when or where. This is a serious defect of this version of the story, (but Puccini was later to get considerable mileage out of it). After Calaf solves the three enigmas Tourandocte laments in her apartments, while Adelma and Barak's stepdaughter Zelima (who is a maid in the palace) plot with her to obtain the stranger's name. Zelima tells Turandocte that Calaf is lodging with their family. Guards are therefore sent to Barak's house where Barak, his wife Fatima, Calaf and Timur (Timurtasch) are found, and brought to the palace where Turandocte questions Barak and Fatima about Calaf's name. Timur announces that he alone knows the name, that he is a king and Calaf is his son. Turandocte is impressed and treats Timur very courteously, but puts Barak into the dungeon, forcing Fatima and Zelima to help her discover Calaf's name, Barak's life being hostage. The Emperor receives a letter informing him of Calaf's identity, and of the death of the Sultan of Carazan, so Timur's lands are restored to him. He offers to reveal the name to Turandocte if she will promise to marry Calaf, but she refuses. That night, Fatima and Zelima separately enter Calaf's bedroom and each unsuccessfully tries to persuade him to reveal the name. Then Adelma enters. She reveals that her brother was one of Turandocte's suitors, and as a result her father Prince Cheicobad (this name may be a corruption of Kaikobad, one of the middle eastern heroes) attacked Altoun Khan and was defeated, the whole family except Adelma being massacred. She tells Calaf that she has been sent to murder him, but that she will save him if he will elope with her. Calaf of course refuses, insisting that he would rather die than live without Turandocte. Inadvertently he reveals his name, in an episode as unconvincing in Gozzi's play as it is in the original story. Next day, Turandocte "guesses" the name and orders Calaf to leave the city. Calaf's answer is to draw a dagger to kill himself, but is prevented by Turandocte who reveals by this action that she really loves him. Adelma, seeing all her hopes shattered, tries to kill herself, but is prevented by Calaf. Moved by her anguish, the Emperor agrees to send her back to rule as Queen over her father's kingdom. He then reveals the death of the Sultan and that Timur is once more King of Astracan. Calaf and Turandocte are happily married.

As can be seen Gozzi's play tidies up some of the inconsistencies of the original story, but introduces some rather unnecessary embellishments of its own. An adaptation of Gozzi's play by Schiller is, according to Garnett "known wherever German literature extends" and it was translated into English in 1836 by A.E. Gurney. It clears up one or two points previously left vague; for instance in his early discussion with Barak, Calaf recounts the meeting with Adelma which occurred when he had been for a time a labourer in his father's garden, before the disastrous war her father had had with Altoun. Fatima becomes known as Skirina, and Zelima is her sister not her daughter. The commedia dell' arte masks have their names altered to Tartaglia, Pantalon, Truffaldin and Brigella, and they are rather more interesting tattlers than the faceless characters presented by Gozzi. Schiller adds an episode in the last act to get round the problem of Turandot's vacillation. She had sworn an oath before heaven that she would never marry, it was a secret oath known only to herself and her former tutor, Dinarbos. But this creates complications, for after Turandot has admitted that she loves Calaf, she has to admit this oath of chastity which she cannot break. The problem is solved by the much too convenient arrival of Dinarbos (who had been thought killed by pirates) and he explains that the oath had had a clause in small print, unknown to the princess, that it became null and void if she ever genuinely fell in love!

Busoni's opera follows Gozzi's story more closely than that of Puccini, who introduces some innovations of his own. The commedia dell'arte masks are reduced from four to three, Ping, Pang and Pong, and they more closely resemble the characters in Schiller's version of the drama. Barak, Fatima and Zelima are deleted altogether, and Adelma is replaced by the very Puccinian character of Liu, a slave–girl companion to Timur in his travels, who stabs herself to death when Turandot tries to force her to reveal Calaf's name. The Emperor Altoum becomes in Puccini's drama a very minor character, almost a cipher, but is saved from utter insipidity by being made excessively ancient and decrepit.

Turning now to the aspect of the story of Turandot which became transformed into the Ida story; Jonathan Scott's Bahr Danush or the Garden of Knowledge (1799) and Henry W. Weber's Tales of the East (1812) both contain a story of one Prince Ferokh–Faul. This is significantly different from the story of Turandot but has elements which suggest that it was probably derived from the same source.

At Prince Ferokh–Faul's birth a prophecy is made by the astrologers that as a result of a portrait, he will be in danger of suffering much from love. His father the Sultan commands the servants that the Prince must never be allowed to see a portrait, but of course he eventually does find one and falls madly in love with the beautiful woman depicted. The Prince insists on setting out in search of his fancy, accompanied by the visier's son, Jaffeir, his trusted friend. They reach a great city and take refuge in the temple. A band of robbers enter and address the idol to the effect that they will capture the princess of the city and sacrifice her before it. They bring back the princess asleep, but the Prince, by ventriloquising his voice as that of the idol, succeeds in tricking them into entering the sanctuary one by one, where he kills them and thus saves the princess's life. He then awakes her and carries her back to the palace. He is here discovered by her father's guards and the nasir (or eunuch) who not unreasonably assume that the princess has been dishonoured when they discover a man in her room. They tie up the Prince and the nasir goes to the Sultan, who commands that the Prince be executed. However, the princess manages to explain just in time, and the Sultan apologises, offering the Prince his daughter's hand. But Ferokh–Faul declines, as he is still in love with the woman in the portrait, and he and Jaffeir continue on their journey. They reach another city where they learn that the portrait represents the Queen of Shunguldeep, a kingdom inhabited only by women. (One wonders how was "posterity to be provided"). The Queen is an Amazon who detests mankind, and is as valorus as Rustum. Jaffeir finds some female garments for the prince and himself to disguise themselves as singing girls.

They cross a wilderness where they find a tree in which a simurgh has built her nest. (The simurgh is the bird more often referred to as the Chinese Phoenix). A huge black snake is threatening the brood, but the Prince kills it, and he and Jaffeir settle down to sleep. At sunset the simurgh returns laden with delicate fruit, and seeing the two men thinks them to be enemies. She is about to kill them when the nestlings cry out and explain the situation. The now grateful simurgh gently awakens the two men and gives them fruit to eat, telling the prince that she will adopt him as her son and give him every assistance. They explain their mission, and the simurgh warns them of danger, but promises to help. She carries them on her back to Shunguldeep, and gives them a feather, telling the prince that if he casts a small piece of it into a fire she will come at once to his aid. The two men then put on their female disguises and meet a party of young girls. The beauty of their voices reaches the ears of a court lady named Sunnobir who commands them to appear before the Queen, who is equally impressed and commands them to sing for her twice a week. After residing in the city for some little while they venture to ask Sunnobir the cause of the Queen's disgust with mankind. She explains that in a previous incarnation the Queen was a bird whose nest was consumed by fire, her cowardly mate refusing to assist her take the nestlings to safety, and so she sacrificed herself with them. (q.v. the dream of Princess Farruknaz and the similarity of her name to that of Ferrok–Faul). The Prince and Jaffeir then leave the city, discard their female clothes, and with the simurgh's help find a band of trusty men with whom they return to the city at night, the simurgh carrying them all on her back and setting them down in the garden. The next morning they kill all the Queen's attendants except one whom they send back with a message to the effect that he, the Prince, is a man who hates women and has determined to put the whole country to the sword. The Queen, alarmed, asks if he has any good reason for hating women. He tells her the story of the birds, but naturally reverses the role of the sexes. The Queen is astounded, and agrees to marry him, while Sunnobir (just to keep the story tidy) is prevailed upon to marry Jaffeir.

Now elements of this story and the earlier Turandot tale are certainly present in Tennyson's The Princess, and Killham assures us that both stories were in print at the time, and that Tennyson could have read them. Other versions of the story were around at this time, too. In The Bee and the Orange Tree (1848) an extravaganza by J.R. Planch, an author known to have influenced Gilbert, we see several striking parallels with the story of Prince Ferokh–Faul, particularly the theme of the chaste Princess.

A Prince is shipwrecked and cast upon a shore where he meets Princess Amy (who later turns out to be his cousin) languishing in slavery to an Ogre. She lives a Cinderella–like existence, but is taken with the prince whom she determines to hide from the Ogre lest the latter eat him. However, the Prince is discovered, and is only saved from the pot by the fact that Amy just happens to find a magic wishing wand which will grant four wishes. With these they manage to escape from the Ogre, and find themselves at the court of Princess Linda, where the Prince inadvertently wishes himself into an orange tree, and Amy becomes a bee so as to protect him. Princess Linda shuns men, and lives entirely surrounded by women. She attempts to pluck a blossom off the orange tree, and is stung by the bee. In retaliation, she calls the women to wage war on the beehive. However, while they are off donning their armour, the Ogre arrives and the bees chase him away, so when Linda and the Amazons return they find the beehive empty. Linda now cuts at a branch of the tree to get a wreath of blossom; the tree groans and starts to bleed. Horrified, Linda summons a Fairy of her acquaintance (conveniently available, and who incidentally arrives by train!); she turns tree and bee back into Prince and Amy. The Ogre returns, in restoration costume, announcing that he has given up being an Ogre ("Ogres are out, we've all embraced professions") and they all live happily ever after.

As well as looking back to earlier versions, this delightfully silly story looks forward in the person of Princess Linda, who is an almost too good to be true prototype for Gilbert's Ida. It may be quite coincidental that Ida's name is Linda with two letters removed. Or again, it may not. At one point, Linda says:

Let me have no intruders; above all
Keep suitors from my sight. If any call,
Tell them they needn't give themselves the trouble
To call again. I find men all so double,
That I have made my mind up to live single
And never with the false he–creatures mingle
Save in affairs of state, and rarely then;
Women make better counsellors than men.
I'll form at once a new administration
Of all the female talent in the nation,
And they shall be a young and handsome set!
If an old woman should amongst them get
By accident – the world can scarcely flout one,
Few cabinets have ever been without one.
And then my household, – female every soul.
You Lady Steward; you Groom of the Stole;
You shall be Lady Chamberlain ... &c.

This speech, if rewritten in Gilbertian language, might almost do for Ida, and at the same time there is a good deal of Turandot about it. But there is one important difference between Linda and Ida. Linda is never wooed, her female regime is never threatened, and the question as to how her posterity is to be provided is neither asked nor answered. In this respect, indeed, she bears some resemblance to the female regime of Iolanthe, where the fairies are all female, but forbidden to marry mortal men. (One might with good reason ask whom these fairies were permitted to marry).

This brings us to Tennyson's long poem, which was of necessity greatly condensed by Gilbert into a manageable length for an opera. It is not really possible to believe that Tennyson did not know the story of Prince Ferokh–Faul, for the elements of the cold princess and the men disguising themselves as women so as to gain admittance to her presence, are very striking. Tennyson's story is told by Hilarion in the first person.

"A prince I was, blue eyed and fair of face". A curse has been placed on the family by a sorcerer who had been burned at the stake "because he cast no shadow"; he had decreed that the family should confuse shadow with substance, and that one should fight with shadows and fall. This element is a very minor one in Tennyson's story, but it may derive from the astrologer's prophecy in the story of Prince Ferokh–Faul. (There are also parallels here with the Ruddigore curse, and the "shadow" aspect is hinted at in the story of Princess Farruknaz, which has certain pre–echoes of Hugo von Hoffmansthal's text for Richard Strauss's opera Der Frau ohne Schatten. It would be interesting to know whether Hoffmansthal was aware of the various versions of the Turandot story). In the poem Hilarion's mother is alive (Gilbert does not make it clear whether she is or not) and his father the king is unnamed. Gilbert's Hildebrand seems to have no particular connection with any of the historical or legendary characters of that name, and it is likely that the name merely signifies a peppery or irrascible person. Tennyson's Hilarion and Ida were betrothed when Ida was eight years old, Hilarion's age is unclear. When the time for the wedding arrives, Hilarion's father sends ambassadors with gifts, these return with other gifts and a vague reply from King Gama. Hilarion's father flies into a towering rage, determines to storm Ida in her lair and bring her back by force. He flatly refuses to allow Hilarion to go to her as a peaceful ambassador and try to win her heart. However, Hilarion decides to steal out at night, and accompanied by Cyril and Florian, flies to the frontier, where the three of them seek out Gama in his palace. Gama is quite unlike the character in Gilbert's version of the story, being mild, gentle and inoffensive:

His name was Gama; cracked and small his voice
But bland the smile that like a wrinkling wind
On glassy water, drove his cheek in lines;
A little dry old man without a star,
Not like a king ...

Gama explains that he wishes the marriage between Hilarion and Ida to take place, but that he cannot directly control his daughter, who begged from him a summer palace where she has founded a university. To this palace she permits no men, not even her brothers. Arac is the eldest brother, the other two (unnamed by Tennyson), are twins. Gama consents to give Hilarion letters of introduction, but warns that his chances of success are negligible.

Hilarion and his friends set out, stopping overnight at an inn, where they persuade the innkeeper to provide them with female garments. It is the innkeeper who makes the comment about all the animals Ida owns being female. The three men travel on, reach the castle, and ask to be enrolled as Lady Psyche's pupils. The next day they have an audience with the Princess. She is a strikingly tall and beautiful woman seated on her throne with books and papers round her, and with two tame leopards (presumably female) at her feet. When she learns that the three are from the court, and therefore know Hilarion, she is at once on the defensive, and says that she "thinks not of him" and that when she set herself to her "great work" she vowed never to marry. She counsels the three that they would do well not to marry either – but it is clear that marriage is not actually forbidden, as it is in Gilbert's version. This makes the status of Blanche, a widow, rather more comprehensible. The Princess makes them sign the statutes:– "Not for three years to correspond with home ... not for three years to speak with any man ..." (which seems to have come straight from Shakespeare's Love's Labours Lost). They join the class of Psyche who seems also to be a widow, for she has a baby girl, Aglaia. Psyche recognises Florian as her brother, and, alarmed, makes the three promise to slip away at the first opportunity, otherwise she will expose them. The subsequent conversation is interrupted by Melissa, who, as in Gilbert, is intrigued by the three men and promises not to betray them. They then sit in on the lectures, and hear Blanche holding forth. Cyril's subsequent musings are evidently what inspired "They intend to send a wire to the moon" – although in Tennyson it makes more sense, since at the point at which the song occurs in the opera, the three men have not yet entered the college, and Cyril could know nothing of what happens within.

The following morning, Melissa urges the three to flee because her mother has guessed their secret, confirmed by Melissa's guilty blushing. This scene is only reported in Tennyson, Gilbert shows us the scene, the only instance where he expands rather than contracts. Melissa also explains that Blanche is jealous of Psyche, because the latter is Ida's "right hand" and Blanche is only the "left hand". Melissa never knew her father, but Blanche maintains that he was a fool, and she brought up the princess since the death of the Queen (Gama's wife).

When Melissa has left, Florian admits that he loves her. Cyril goes to Blanche and admits all, laying on the fact that she is only second or third, who should be first, and promising to set her up as head of another university of women if she help them to gain the Princess's hand for Hilarion. That afternoon, Ida rides out to make geological observations on a hill to the north, and the three men, Psyche and Melissa go with her. Hilarion speaks to her of "Hilarion's love", and she is filled with a sort of scornful pity for the Prince. They camp on the hill for dinner in a tent of satin. Over the meal, a singer entertains them, and Hilarion is then asked to sing:–

Now while I sang, and maidenlike as far,
As I could ape their treble, did I sing –

which sounds hysterically funny, but Tennyson (who probably had no sense of humour) treats it with the utmost seriousness. (And remember Prince Ferokh–Faul and his friend singing before the Queen of Shunguldeep). Then Cyril, becoming tipsy, sings a tavern song of Moll and Meg, "and strange experiences unmeet for ladies". Enraged, Hilarion strikes him on the breast, and the Princess in fright orders the company to mount and ride back to the castle. She misses her footing and falls into the river. This episode too is far more convincing here than it is in Gilbert. Hilarion rescues Ida, and the maidens take her home, using Hilarion's horse because her own had been lost. Hilarion returns alone on foot and has to climb over the gate to get in. He meets Florian who explains that the women are all out looking for them, and "out so late is out of rules" (Here Tennyson's narrative is thoroughly unsatisfactory). Florian had ridden back at the end of the column and once inside had hidden. Cyril and Psyche had fled away together; Melissa, questioned, admitted that she knew the three students were men, but refused to admit whether or not Blanche and Psyche knew. Blanche was sent for, but Florian had not stayed to hear the outcome and had slipped away. He has just finished recounting this to Hilarion when they are both caught and brought before the Princess. Ida is seated in the hall, flanked by eight Daughters of the Plough, "stronger than men, huge women blowzed with health, and wind and rain". Aglaia is lying in front of her, Melissa is weeping, and Blanche is speaking her mind and grievances very forcefully. The Princess is unmoved and dismisses her from the University. However, she decides to take Psyche's child herself. At this point, a messenger arrives with two letters, one from Gama, and one from Hilarion's father. In essence they indicate that Gama is kept prisoner for Hilarion's surety, and his father demands his safe return. Hilarion pours out his love to Ida, and she scorns him. Suddenly there is a great clamour, the maids crying fearfully that the army has arrived and will destroy them all. Ida shows herself a feminist leader and defies them. She turns to Hilarion and proves herself a woman of stature too. She thanks Hilarion for saving her life, and spares his life in return, but scorns his love, the lies with which he gained entrance to the castle, &c, &c, and throws the two men out. One has to admit that she does have a point, and in Tennyson's story she is a much more dignified person than Gilbert's rather spoilt brat. It is, incidentally, she who makes the comment:– "and you look well too in your women's dress" which Gilbert transferred to Gama.

Hilarion and Florian make their way to the encampment which is just outside the castle. They find the royal tent where the two kings burst into laughter at the sight of Hilarion and Florian in women's clothes. Hilarion's father tells Gama he is free since Hilarion is now returned. He explains that Cyril and Psyche have arrived safely and told the whole story. Psyche has taken her betrayal of Ida very hard and lies weeping. Florian tries to comfort her, the conflict of having to betray either her brother or her Princess was insoluble. A council is held to consider whether the issue will be decided by war or peace. Hilarion speaks for peace, he wishes to woo Ida and win her, rather than destroy her love by taking her by force. His father speaks for war; he is typical of the male chauvinist pig:

Man is the hunter, woman is his game;
The sleek and shining creatures of the chase,
We hunt them for the beauty of their skins;
They love us for it, and we ride them down,
Wheedling and siding with them ...

Hilarion still rufuses to agree and Gama sides with him, offering to take him to parly with Arac, whose word carries more weight with Ida. Arac (described as a "genial giant") deliberates, but, backed by his brothers, favours war – despite Gama's entreaties, and Hilarion, smarting under the taunt that he is as woman–hearted as his clothes, agrees.

They return to the camp to learn that Hilarion's father has sent three heralds to Ida, all of whom have been repulsed. Arac also sends to Ida, suggesting that the three brothers fight Hilarion, Cyril and Florian, and in her letter in reply to Arac she agrees to abide by the result of the combat – but she counsels Arac not to kill Hilarion, merely to vanquish him. In the fight Hilarion is knocked out, and falls. He lies on the field, apparently dead but actually able to see and hear what is going on. When the Princess sees him she is smitten with remorse:– "He saved my life: my brother slew him for it" (Gilbert's Ida has no such feelings). She feels his pulse, and realises that he is not dead. Hilarion and all the soldiers are taken into the castle to be cared for, and in the course of nursing Hilarion, Ida realises that she loves him.

Having read the synopses of the various versions of the story, parallels can fairly easily be seen, both in the stories and in the main characters. Ida/Turandot remains largely unaltered, chaste, refusing to marry, but finally succumbing to the persuasions of a lover. Ida herself differs little from the original Tourandot, except that the enigmas are eliminated. Calaf, too, becomes Hilarion with little change in character, merely of incident. He is always valiant, always a gentleman, but the most striking thing the two men have in common is their reluctance to use any sort of force on the lady, and their over–willingness to die in the event of failure. The lady's father is more complex. As Altoun–Khan he is just, kindly and authoritative, and yet unable to control his daughter. It is the last aspect of his character which becomes the over–riding characteristic of the senile Emperor Altoum and Tennyson's mild King Gama. Gilbert's Gama (one of his most remarkable creations) is transformed into an odious spiteful goblin, having no parallel in any other version of the tale. Timurtasch also becomes senile as Timur in later versions of the Turandot story, but as Hildebrand he inherits some of Altoun–Khan's authority and forthrightness. But he also acquires some less pleasant characters, becoming in Tennyson rather rough and uncouth, and in Gilbert, somewhat cantankerous. It is of interest that while Altoun–Khan/Gama has no queen living in any version of the story, Timurtasch/Hildebrand does have a queen in some versions, but she is never a character of significance. Adelmuc disappears altogether in the Ida story, and in some versions of the Turandot story (though she is retained in Busoni's opera), but she had already disappeared by the time of the Ferokh–Faul version, which introduces the other main element of the Ida story not found in the Turandot version – namely the dressing up as women by the hero and his friend(s). Barak or Jaffeir, the faithful henchman who is prepared to do anything for his master, becomes two, Cyril and Florian, in the Ida story. The four commedia dell'arte masks, introduced by Gozzi, become three in later versions of the Turandot story, and are probably the forerunners of Arac and his brothers, the three comical soldiers (they are comical in Gilbert if not in Tennyson). I know of several instances of critics referring to Princess Ida as a mini–Turandot, but it is doubtful if they realised just how right they were.

Thus we can see that if Gilbert's libretto for Princess Ida appears to contain elements that are now construed as anti–feminist, this is because the theme has become garbled over the centuries. The archetypal Ida/Turandot is not a feminist. She is a woman who has been betrayed by man, and as a consequence has shunned the male sex. Calaf/Hilarion's successful wooing heals this wound, and returns her to her true sphere of life. The theme of an independent woman finally succumbing to love is a very common one (it forms the basis for many films), and variations of it are to be found in a great many folk tales. In "The Hen who Sang: Swordbearing Women in Eastern European Fairytales", (Folklore, vol. 101, no. 2, p. 178–184), Jessica Hooker points out that most fairytales impress upon children of both sexes that a woman's place in the world is restricted and subordinated. Dr. Hooker cites fairytales from Armenia, Russia and Romania which depict women who dress and pretend to be men, performing great feats of arms, and killing many people. When their disguises are penetrated and they are wooed and won, they immediately lose their warlike attributes and become timid and docile. Dr. Hooker (a professor at the University of North Carolina), comes to the conclusion that the message of these stories is that "a woman left to her own devices is a menace on two levels: as a literal killer and as a symbolic threat to maleness".

Asimov (Annotated Gilbert and Sullivan) missed the point spectacularly in regard to Princess Ida. The play is not a satire on "feminism" – nor does it make fun of women. What it does do is to make fun of chauvinistic attitudes towards women. The message is that men and women belong together – in marriage. Hardly a very peculiar conclusion. Did Asimov really seriously believe that Ida's long speech is offensive? Did he really believe that it makes fun of women? The brilliance of this speech lies in the fact that Gilbert turns the whole situation on its head. He makes Ida praise women not in the way women see women, but by making her twist the male chauvinistic view of women, he makes us laugh not at women themselves, but at the male view of women. That is the joke – the joke which Asimov failed to see.

The key to understanding Gilbert's Ida lies in the earlier tales from which the opera derived, and Gilbert himself gives a number of clues. Turandot shuns men basically because she is afraid of them, not out of any noble motives. Ida's students have been taught that men are "hideous, idiotic and deformed". This description fits Gilbert's Gama. Evidently Ida is frightened of men because of some traumatic experience that happened to her when she was a young girl. When she is confronted by Hilarion, it is quite obvious that the students of Castle Adamant (specifically Melissa) are deeply impressed and begin to question what they have been taught. The sub–text is that Ida realises she loves Hilarion, but cannot admit it before all these students that she had trained. Only when she is defeated, has she a good excuse to submit. I have never been able to accept the idea (put forward a number of years ago by Phyllis Karr) that Ida is forced into marriage against her will. Her last words are: Indeed. I love thee, come. With joy abiding, together gliding ...

I submit that no woman who was not genuinely in love would say that.

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Web page created 6 September 1998