Act III   
    
Scene II   
    
That makes one free, emancipates us all.  [Exeunt severally.
    
A retired part of the forest—brooks dashing in spray over the rocks.

Enter BERTHA in a hunting dress. Immediately afterwards RUDENZ

  Berth.  He follows me. Now, then, to speak my mind!      
    
  Rud.  (entering hastily).      
At length, dear lady, we have met alone      
In this wild dell, with rocks on every side,      
No jealous eye can watch our interview.           5   
Now let my heart throw off this weary silence.      
    
  Berth.  But are you sure they will not follow us?      
    
  Rud.  See, yonder goes the chase! Now, then, or never!      
I must avail me of this precious chance,—      
Must hear my doom decided by thy lips,           10   
Though it should part me from thy side forever.      
Oh, do not arm that gentle face of thine      
With looks so stern and harsh! Who—who am I,      
That dare aspire so high, as unto thee?      
Fame hath not stamp’d me yet; nor may I take           15   
My place amid the courtly throng of knights,      
That, crown’d with glory’s lustre, woo thy smiles.      
Nothing have I to offer, but a heart      
That overflows with truth and love for thee.      
    
  Berth.  (sternly and with severity). And dare you speak to me of love—of truth?           20   
You, that are faithless to your nearest ties!      
You, that are Austria’s slave-bartered and sold      
To her—an alien, and your country’s tyrant!      
    
  Rud.  How! This reproach from thee! Whom do I seek,      
On Austria’s side, my own beloved, but thee?           25   
    
  Berth.  Think you to find me in the traitor’s ranks?      
Now, as I live, I’d rather give my hand      
To Gessler’s self, all despot though he be,      
Than to the Switzer who forgets his birth,      
And stoops to be a tyrant’s servile tool.           30   
    
  Rud.  Oh Heaven, what words are these?      
    
  Berth.        Say! What can lie      
Nearer the good man’s heart than friends and kindred?      
What dearer duty to a noble soul,      
Than to protect weak, suffering innocence,           35   
And vindicate the rights of the oppress’d?      
My very soul bleeds for your countrymen.      
I suffer with them, for I needs must love them;      
They are so gentle, yet so full of power;      
They draw my whole heart to them. Every day           40   
I look upon them with increased esteem.      
But you, whom nature and your knightly vow,      
Have given them as their natural protector,      
Yet who desert them and abet their foes      
In forging shackles for your native land,           45   
You—you incense and wound me to the core.      
It tries me to the utmost not to hate you.      
    
  Rud.  Is not my country’s welfare all my wish?      
What seek I for her, but to purchase peace      
’Neath Austria’s potent sceptre?           50   
    
  Berth.        Bondage, rather!      
You would drive Freedom from the last stronghold      
That yet remains for her upon the earth.      
The people know their own true int’rests better:      
Their simple natures are not warp’d by show.           55   
But round your head a tangling net is wound.      
    
  Rud.  Bertha, you hate me—you despise me!      
    
  Berth.        Nay!      
And if I did, ’twere better for my peace.      
But to see him despised and despicable,—           60   
The man whom one might love—      
    
  Rud.        Oh Bertha! You      
Show me the pinnacle of heavenly bliss,      
Then, in a moment, hurl me to despair!      
    
  Berth.  No, no! the noble is not all extinct           65   
Within you. It but slumbers,—I will rouse it.      
It must have cost you many a fiery struggle      
To crush the virtues of your race within you.      
But, Heaven be praised, ’tis mightier than yourself,      
And you are noble in your own despite!           70   
    
  Rud.  You trust me, then? Oh, Bertha, with thy love      
What might I not become!      
    
  Berth.        Be only that      
For which your own high nature destin’d you.      
Fill the position you were born to fill;—           75   
Stand by your people and your native land—      
And battle for your sacred rights!      
    
  Rud.        Alas!      
How can I win you—how can you be mine,      
If I take arms against the Emperor?           80   
Will not your potent kinsmen interpose,      
To dictate the disposal of your hand?      
    
  Berth.  All my estates lie in the Forest Cantons;      
And I am free, when Switzerland is free.      
    
  Rud.  Oh! what a prospect, Bertha, hast thou shown me!           85   
    
  Berth.  Hope not to win my hand by Austria’s grace;      
Fain would they lay their grasp on my estates,      
To swell the vast domains which now they hold.      
The selfsame lust of conquest, that would rob      
You of your liberty, endangers mine.           90   
Oh, friend, I’m mark’d for sacrifice;—to be      
The guerdon of some parasite, perchance!      
They’ll drag me hence to the Imperial court,      
That hateful haunt of falsehood and intrigue,      
And marriage bonds I loathe await me there.           95   
Love, love alone—your love,—can rescue me.      
    
  Rud.  And thou couldst be content, love, to live here;      
In my own native land to be my own?      
Oh Bertha, all the yearnings of my soul      
For this great world and its tumultuous strife,           100   
What were they, but a yearning after thee?      
In glory’s path I sought for thee alone,      
And all my thirst of fame was only love.      
But if in this calm vale thou canst abide      
With me, and bid earth’s pomps and pride adieu,           105   
Then is the goal of my ambition won;      
And the rough tide of the tempestuous world      
May dash and rave around these firm-set hills!      
No wandering wishes more have I to send      
Forth to the busy scene that stirs beyond.           110   
Then may these rocks, that girdle us, extend      
Their giant walls impenetrably round,      
And this sequestered happy vale alone      
Look up to heaven, and be my paradise!      
    
  Berth.  Now art thou all my fancy dream’d of thee.           115   
My trust has not been given to thee in vain.      
    
  Rud.  Away, ye idle phantoms of my folly;      
In mine own home I’ll find my happiness.      
Here, where the gladsome boy to manhood grew,      
Where ev’ry brook, and tree, and mountain peak,           120   
Teems with remembrances of happy hours,      
In mine own native land thou wilt be mine.      
Ah, I have ever loved it well, I feel      
How poor without it were all earthly joys.      
    
  Berth.  Where should we look for happiness on earth,           125   
If not in this dear land of innocence?      
Here, where old truth hath its familiar home.      
Where fraud and guile are strangers, envy ne’er      
Shall dim the sparkling fountain of our bliss,      
And ever bright the hours shall o’er us glide.           130   
There do I see thee, in true manly worth,      
The foremost of the free and of thy peers,      
Revered with homage pure and unconstrain’d,      
Wielding a power that kings might envy thee.      
    
  Rud.  And thee I see, thy sex’s crowning gem,           135   
With thy sweet woman’s grace and wakeful love,      
Building a heaven for me within my home,      
And, as the spring-time scatters forth her flowers,      
Adorning with thy charms my path of life,      
And spreading joy and sunshine all around.           140   
    
  Berth.  And this it was, dear friend, that caused my grief,      
To see thee blast this life’s supremest bliss      
With thine own hand. Ah! what had been my fate,      
Had I been forced to follow some proud lord,      
Some ruthless despot, to his gloomy keep!           145   
Here are no keeps, here are no bastion’d walls      
To part me from a people I can bless.      
    
  Rud.  Yet, how to free myself; to loose the coils      
Which I have madly twined around my head?      
    
  Berth.  Tear them asunder with a man’s resolve.           150   
Whate’er ensue, firm by thy people stand!      
It is thy post by birth.  [Hunting horns are heard in the distance.      
        But hark! The chase!      
Farewell,—’tis needful we should part—away!      
Fight for thy land; thou fightest for thy love.           155   
One foe fills all our souls with dread; the blow      
 

Act III   
    
Scene III   
    
  Tell.  (clasping the boy passionately to his breast). The boy’s uninjured; God will succour me!  [Tears himself suddenly away, and follows the soldiers of the guard.
    
A meadow near Altdorf. Trees in the foreground. At the back of the stage a cap upon a pole. The prospect is bounded by the Bannberg, which is surmounted by a snow-capped mountain.

FRIESSHARDT and LEUTHOLD on guard

  Friess.  We keep our watch in vain. Zounds! not a soul      
Will pass, and do obeisance to the cap.      
But yesterday the place swarm’d like a fair;      
Now the old green looks like a desert, quite,      
Since yonder scarecrow hung upon the pole.           5   
    
  Leuth.  Only the vilest rabble show themselves,      
And wave their tattered caps in mockery at us.      
All honest citizens would sooner make      
A weary circuit over half the town,      
Than bend their backs before our master’s cap.           10   
    
  Friess.  They were obliged to pass this way at noon,      
As they were coming from the Council House.      
I counted then upon a famous catch,      
For no one thought of bowing to the cap,      
But Rösselmann, the priest, was even with me:           15   
Coming just then from some sick man, he takes      
His stand before the pole,—lifts up the Host—      
The Sacrist, too, must tinkle with his bell,—      
When down they dropp’d on knee—myself and all—      
In reverence to the Host, but not the cap.           20   
    
  Leuth.  Hark ye, companion, I’ve a shrewd suspicion,      
Our post’s no better than the pillory.      
It is a burning shame, a trooper should      
Stand sentinel before an empty cap,      
And every honest fellow must despise us.           25   
To do obeisance to a cap, too! Faith,      
I never heard an order so absurd!      
    
  Friess.  Why not, an’t please you, to an empty cap?      
You’ve duck’d, I’m sure, to many an empty sconce.  [HILDEGARD, MECHTHILD, and ELSBETH enter with their children, and station themselves around the pole.      
    
  Leuth.  And you are a time-serving sneak, that takes           30   
Delight in bringing honest folks to harm.      
For my part, he that likes may pass the cap:—      
I’ll shut my eyes and take no note of him.      
    
  Mech.  There hangs the Viceroy! Your obeisance, children!      
    
  Els.  I would to God he’d go, and leave his cap!           35   
The country would be none the worse for it.      
    
  Friess.  (driving them away). Out of the way! Confounded pack of gossips!      
Who sent for you? Go, send your husbands here,      
If they have courage to defy the order.  [TELL enters with his cross-bow, leading his son WALTER by the hand.      
They pass the hat without noticing it, and advance to the front of the stage.           40   
    
  Walt.  (pointing to the Bannberg). Father, is’t true, that on the mountain there      
The trees, if wounded with a hatchet, bleed?      
    
  Tell.  Who says so, boy?      
    
  Walt.        The master herdsman, father!      
He tells us there’s a charm upon the trees,           45   
And if a man shall injure them, the hand      
That struck the blow will grow from out the grave.      
    
  Tell.  There is a charm about them—that’s the truth.      
Dost see those glaciers yonder—those white horns—      
That seem to melt away into the sky?           50   
    
  Walt.  They are the peaks that thunder so at night,      
And send the avalanches down upon us.      
    
  Tell.  They are; and Altdorf long ago had been      
Submerged beneath these avalanches’ weight,      
Did not the forest there above the town           55   
Stand like a bulwark to arrest their fall.      
    
  Walt.  (after musing a little). And are there countries with no mountains, father?      
    
  Tell.  Yes, if we travel downwards from our heights,      
And keep descending where the rivers go,      
We reach a wide and level country, where           60   
Our mountain torrents brawl and foam no more,      
And fair large rivers glide serenely on.      
All quarters of the heaven may there be scann’d      
Without impediment. The corn grows there      
In broad and lovely fields, and all the land           65   
Is like a garden fair to look upon.      
    
  Walt.  But, father, tell me, wherefore haste we not      
Away to this delightful land, instead      
Of toiling here, and struggling as we do?      
    
  Tell.  The land is fair and bountiful as Heaven;           70   
But they who till it never may enjoy      
The fruits of what they sow.      
    
  Walt.        Live they not free,      
As you do, on the land their fathers left them?      
    
  Tell.  The fields are all the bishop’s or the king’s.           75   
    
  Walt.  But they may freely hunt among the woods?      
    
  Tell.  The game is all the monarch’s—bird and beast.      
    
  Walt.  But they, at least, may surely fish the streams?      
    
  Tell.  Stream, lake, and sea, all to the king belong.      
    
  Walt.  Who is this king, of whom they’re so afraid?           80   
    
  Tell.  He is the man who fosters and protects them.      
    
  Walt.  Have they not courage to protect themselves?      
    
  Tell.  The neighbour there dare not his neighbour trust.      
    
  Walt.  I should want breathing room in such a land.      
I’d rather dwell beneath the avalanches.           85   
    
  Tell.  ’Tis better, child, to have these glacier peaks      
Behind one’s back, than evil-minded men!  [They are about to pass on.      
    
  Walt.  See, father, see the cap on yonder pole!      
    
  Tell.  What is the cap to us? Come, let’s begone.  [As he is going, FRIESSHARDT, presenting his pike, stops him.      
    
  Friess.  Stand, I command you, in the Emperor’s name!           90   
    
  Tell.  (seizing the pike). What would ye? Wherefore do ye stop me thus?      
    
  Friess.  You’ve broke the mandate, and with us must go.      
    
  Leuth.  You have not done obeisance to the cap.      
    
  Tell.  Friend, let me go.      
    
  Friess.        Away, away to prison!           95   
    
  Walt.  Father to prison. Help!  [Calling to the side scene.      
        This way, you men!      
Good people, help! They’re dragging him to prison!  [RÖSSELMANN the priest and the SACRISTAN, with three other men, enter.      
    
  Sacris.  What’s here amiss?      
    
  Rössel.        Why do you seize this man?           100   
    
  Friess.  He is an enemy of the King—a traitor.      
    
  Tell.  (seizing him with violence). A traitor, I!      
    
  Rössel.        Friend, thou art wrong. ’Tis Tell,      
An honest man, and worthy citizen.      
    
  Walt.  (descries FÜRST, and runs up to him). Grandfather, help; they want to seize my father!           105   
    
  Friess.  Away to prison!      
    
  Fürst  (running in).        Stay, I offer bail.      
For God’s sake, Tell, what is the matter here?  [MELCHTHAL and STAUFFACHER enter.      
    
  Leuth.  He has contemn’d the Viceroy’s sovereign power,      
Refusing flatly to acknowledge it.           110   
    
  Stauff.  Has Tell done this?      
    
  Melch.        Villain, you know ’tis false!      
    
  Leuth.  He has not made obeisance to the cap.      
    
  Fürst.  And shall for this to prison? Come, my friend,      
Take my security, and let him go.           115   
    
  Friess.  Keep your security for yourself—you’ll need it.      
We only do our duty. Hence with him.      
    
  Melch.  (to the country people). This is too bad—shall we stand by and see      
Him dragged away before our very eyes?      
    
  Sacris.  We are the strongest. Friends, endure it not,           120   
Our countrymen will back us to a man.      
    
  Friess.  Who dares resist the governor’s commands?      
    
  Other Three Peasants  (running in). We’ll help you. What’s the matter? Down with them!  [HILDEGARD, MECHTHILD and ELSBETH return.      
    
  Tell.  Go, go, good people, I can help myself.      
Think you, had I a mind to use my strength,           125   
These pikes of theirs should daunt me?      
    
  Melch.  (to FRIESSHARDT).        Only try—      
Try from our midst to force him, if you dare.      
    Fürst and Stauff. Peace, peace, friends!      
    
  Friess.  (loudly).        Riot! Insurrection, ho!  [Hunting horns without.           130   
    
  Women.  The Governor!      
    
  Friess.  (raising his voice). Rebellion! Mutiny!      
    
  Stauff.  Roar till you burst, knave!      
    
  Rössel. and Melch.  Will you hold your tongue?      
    
  Friess.  (calling still louder). Help, help, I say, the servants of the law!           135   
    
  Fürst.  The Viceroy here! Then we shall smart for this!  [Enter GESSLER on horseback, with a falcon on his wrist; RUDOLPH DER HARRAS, BERTHA, and RUDENZ, and a numerous train of armed attendants, who form a circle of lances round the whole stage.      
    
  Har.  Room for the Viceroy!      
    
  Gessl.        Drive the clowns apart.      
Why throng the people thus? Who calls for help?  [General silence.      
Who was it? I will know.  [FRIESSHARDT steps forward.           140   
        And who art thou?      
And why hast thou this man in custody?  [Gives his falcon to an attendant.      
    
  Friess.  Dread sir, I am a soldier of your guard.      
And station’d sentinel beside the cap;      
This man I apprehended in the act           145   
Of passing it without obeisance due,      
So as you ordered, I arrested him,      
Whereon to rescue him the people tried.      
    
  Gessl.  (after a pause). And do you, Tell, so lightly hold your King,      
And me, who act as his viceregent here,           150   
That you refuse obeisance to the cap,      
I hung aloft to test your loyalty?      
I read in this a disaffected spirit.      
    
  Tell.  Pardon me, good my lord! The action sprung      
From inadvertence,—not from disrespect.           155   
Were I discreet, I were not William Tell.      
Forgive me now—I’ll not offend again.      
    
  Gessl.  (after a pause). I hear, Tell, you’re a master with the bow,—      
From every rival bear the palm away.      
    
  Walt.  That’s very truth, sir! At a hundred yards           160   
He’ll shoot an apple for you off the tree.      
    
  Gessl.  Is that boy thine, Tell?      
    
  Tell.        Yes, my gracious lord.      
    
  Gessl.  Hast any more of them?      
    
  Tell.        Two boys, my lord.           165   
    
  Gessl.  And, of the two, which dost thou love the most?      
    
  Tell.  Sir, both the boys are dear to me alike.      
    
  Gessl.  Then, Tell, since at a hundred yards thou canst      
Bring down the apple from the tree, thou shalt      
Approve thy skill before me. Take thy bow—           170   
Thou hast it there at hand—make ready, then,      
To shoot an apple from the stripling’s head!      
But take this counsel,—look well to thine aim,      
See, that thou hit’st the apple at the first,      
For, shouldst thou miss, thy head shall pay the forfeit.  [All give signs of horror.           175   
    
  Tell.  What monstrous thing, my lord, is this you ask?      
What! from the head of mine own child!—No, no!      
It cannot be, kind sir, you meant not that—      
God, in His grace, forbid! You could not ask      
A father seriously to do that thing!           180   
    
  Gessl.  Thou art to shoot an apple from his head!      
I do desire—command it so.      
    
  Tell.        What, I!      
Level my crossbow at the darling head      
Of mine own child? No—rather let me die!           185   
    
  Gessl.  Or thou must shoot, or with thee dies the boy.      
    
  Tell.  Shall I become the murderer of my child!      
You have no children, sir—you do not know      
The tender throbbings of a father’s heart.      
    
  Gessl.  How now, Tell, on a sudden so discreet?           190   
I had been told thou wert a visionary,—      
A wanderer from the paths of common men.      
Thou lov’st the marvellous. So have I now      
Cull’d out for thee a task of special daring.      
Another man might pause and hesitate;—           195   
Thou dashest at it, heart and soul, at once.      
    
  Berth.  Oh, do not jest, my lord, with these poor souls!      
See, how they tremble, and how pale they look,      
So little used are they to hear thee jest.      
    
  Gessl.  Who tells thee that I jest?  [Grasping a branch above his head.           200   
        Here is the apple.      
Room there, I say! And let him take his distance—      
Just eighty paces,—as the custom is,—      
Not an inch more or less! It was his boast,      
That at a hundred he could hit his man.           205   
Now, archer, to your task, and look you miss not!      
    
  Har.  Heavens! this grows serious—down, boy, on your knees,      
And beg the governor to spare your life.      
    
  Fürst  (aside to MELCHTHAL, who can scarcely restrain his indignation).  Command yourself,—be calm, I beg of you!      
    
  Bertha  (to the Governor). Let this suffice you, sir! It is inhuman           210   
To trifle with a father’s anguish thus.      
Although this wretched man had forfeited      
Both life and limb for such a slight offence,      
Already has he suffer’d tenfold death.      
Send him away uninjured to his home;           215   
He’ll know thee well in future; and this hour      
He and his children’s children will remember.      
    
  Gessl.  Open a way there—quick! Why this delay?      
Thy life is forfeited; I might dispatch thee,      
And see, I graciously repose thy fate           220   
Upon the skill of thine own practised hand.      
No cause has he to say his doom is harsh,      
Who’s made the master of his destiny.      
Thou boastest thine unerring aim. ’Tis well!      
Now is the fitting time to show thy skill;           225   
The mark is worthy and the prize is great.      
To hit the bull’s eye in the target;—that      
Can many another do as well as thou;      
But he, methinks, is master of his craft,      
Who can at all times on his skill rely,           230   
Nor lets his heart disturb or eye or hand.      
    
  Fürst.  My lord, we bow to your authority;      
But oh, let justice yield to mercy here.      
Take half my property, nay, take it all,      
But spare a father this unnatural doom!           235   
    
  Walt.  Grandfather, do not kneel to that bad man!      
Say, where am I to stand? I do not fear;      
My father strikes the bird upon the wing,      
And will not miss now when ’twould harm his boy!      
    
  Stauff.  Does the child’s innocence not touch your heart?           240   
    
  Rössel.  Bethink you, sir, there is a God in heaven,      
To whom you must account for all your deeds.      
    
  Gessl.  (pointing to the boy). Bind him to yonder lime tree!      
    
  Walter.  What! Bind me?      
No, I will not be bound! I will be still.           245   
Still as a lamb—nor even draw my breath!      
But if you bind me, I can not be still.      
Then I shall writhe and struggle with my bonds.      
    
  Har.  But let your eyes at least be bandaged, boy!      
    
  Walt.  And why my eyes? No! Do you think I fear           250   
An arrow from my father’s hand? Not I!      
I’ll wait it firmly, nor so much as wink!      
Quick, father, show them what thy bow can do.      
He doubts thy skill—he thinks to ruin us.      
Shoot then and hit, though but to spite the tyrant!  [He goes to the lime tree, and an apple is placed on his head.           255   
    
  Melch.  (to the country people). What! Is this outrage to be perpetrated      
Before our very eyes? Where is our oath?      
    
  Stauff.  Resist we cannot! Weapons we have none.      
And see the wood of lances round us! See!      
    
  Melch.  Oh! would to heaven that we had struck at once!           260   
God pardon those who counsell’d the delay!      
    
  Gessl.  (to TELL). Now to your task! Men bear not arms for naught.      
To carry deadly tools is dangerous,      
And on the archer oft his shaft recoils.      
This right, these haughty peasant churls assume,           265   
Trenches upon their master’s privileges:      
None should be armed, but those who bear command.      
It pleases you to carry bow and bolt;—      
Well,—be it so. I will prescribe the mark.      
    
  Tell.  (bends the bow, and fixes the arrow). A lane there! Room!           270   
    
  Stauff.        What, Tell? You would—no, no!      
You shake—your hand’s unsteady—your knees tremble.      
    
  Tell  (letting the bow sink down). There’s something swims before mine eyes!      
    
  Women.        Great Heaven!      
    
  Tell.  Release me from this shot! Here is my heart!  [Tears open his breast.           275   
Summon your troopers—let them strike me down!      
    
  Gessl.  ’Tis not thy life I want—I want the shot,      
Thy talent’s universal! Nothing daunts thee!      
The rudder thou canst handle like the bow!      
No storms affright thee, when a life’s at stake.           280   
Now, saviour, help thyself,—thou savest all!  [TELL stands fearfully agitated by contending emotions, his hands moving convulsively, and his eyes turning alternately to the Governor and Heaven. Suddenly he takes a second arrow from his quiver, and sticks it in his belt. The Governor notes all he does.      
    
  Walter  (beneath the lime tree). Shoot, father, shoot! fear not!      
    
  Tell.  It must be!  [Collects himself and levels the bow.      
    
  Rud.  (who all the while has been standing in a state of violent excitement, and has with difficulty restrained himself, advances). My lord, you will not urge this matter further;      
You will not. It was surely but a test.           285   
You’ve gained your object. Rigour push’d too far      
Is sure to miss its aim, however good,      
As snaps the bow that’s all too straitly bent.      
    
  Gessl.  Peace, till your counsel’s ask’d for!      
    
  Rud.        I will speak!           290   
Ay, and I dare! I reverence my King;      
But acts like these must make his name abhorr’d.      
He sanctions not this cruelty. I dare      
Avouch the fact. And you outstep your powers      
In handling thus my harmless countrymen.           295   
    
  Gessl.  Ha! thou grow’st bold, methinks!      
    
  Rud.        I have been dumb      
To all the oppressions I was doomed to see.      
I’ve closed mine eyes to shut them from my view,      
Bade my rebellious, swelling heart be still,           300   
And pent its struggles down within my breast.      
But to be silent longer, were to be      
A traitor to my King and country both.      
    
  Berth.  (casting herself between him and the Governor).      
Oh, Heavens! you but exasperate his rage!           305   
    
  Rud.  My people I forsook—renounced my kindred—      
Broke all the ties of nature, that I might      
Attach myself to you. I madly thought      
That I should best advance the general weal      
By adding sinews to the Emperor’s power.           310   
The scales have fallen from mine eyes—I see      
The fearful precipice on which I stand.      
You’ve led my youthful judgment far astray,—      
Deceived my honest heart. With best intent,      
I had well-nigh achiev’d my country’s ruin.           315   
    
  Gessl.  Audacious boy, this language to thy lord?      
    
  Rud.  The Emperor is my lord, not you! I’m free.      
As you by birth, and I can cope with you      
In every virtue that beseems a knight.      
And if you stood not here in that King’s name,           320   
Which I respect e’en where ’tis most abused,      
I’d throw my gauntlet down, and you should give      
An answer to my gage in knightly sort.      
Ay, beckon to your troopers! Here I stand;      
But not like these  [Pointing to the people.           325   
        —unarmed. I have a sword,      
And he that stirs one step—      
    
  Stauff.  (exclaims).        The apple’s down!  [While the attention of the crowd has been directed to the spot where BERTHA had cast herself between RUDENZ and GESSLER, TELL has shot.      
    
  Rössel.  The boy’s alive!      
    
  Many Voices.        The apple has been struck!  [WALTER FÜRST staggers and is about to fall. BERTHA supports him.           330   
    
  Gessl.  (astonished). How? Has he shot? The madman!      
    
  Berth.        Worthy father!      
Pray you, compose yourself. The boy’s alive.      
    
  Walter  (runs in with the apple). Here is the apple, father! Well I knew      
You would not harm your boy.  [TELL stands with his body bent forwards, as if still following the arrow. His bow drops from his hand. When he sees the boy advancing, he hastens to meet him with open arms, and, embracing him passionately, sinks down with him quite exhausted. All crowd round them deeply affected.           335   
    
  Berth.        Oh, ye kind Heavens!      
    
  Fürst  (to father and son). My children, my dear children!      
    
  Stauff.        God be praised!      
    
  Leuth.  Almighty powers! That was a shot indeed!      
It will be talked of to the end of time.           340   
    
  Har.  This feat of Tell, the archer, will be told      
Long as these mountains stand upon their base.  [Hands the apple to GESSLER.      
    
  Gessl.  By Heaven! the apple’s cleft right through the core.      
It was a master shot, I must allow.      
    
  Rössel.  The shot was good. But woe to him who drove           345   
The man to tempt his God by such a feat!      
    
  Stauff.  Cheer up, Tell, rise! You’ve nobly freed yourself,      
And now may go in quiet to your home.      
    
  Rössel.  Come, to the mother let us bear her son!  [They are about to lead him off.      
    
  Gessl.  A word, Tell.           350   
    
  Tell.        Sir, your pleasure?      
    
  Gessl.        Thou didst place      
A second arrow in thy belt—nay, nay!      
I saw it well. Thy purpose with it? Speak!      
    
  Tell  (confused). It is a custom with all archers, sir.           355   
    
  Gessl.  No, Tell, I cannot let that answer pass.      
There was some other motive, well I know.      
Frankly and cheerfully confess the truth;—      
Whate’er it be, I promise thee thy life.      
Wherefore the second arrow?           360   
    
  Tell.        Well, my lord,      
Since you have promised not to take my life,      
I will, without reserve, declare the truth.  [He draws the arrow from his belt, and fixes his eyes sternly upon the governor.      
If that my hand had struck my darling child,      
This second arrow I had aimed at you,           365   
And, be assured, I should not then have miss’d.      
    
  Gessl.  Well, Tell, I promised thou shouldst have thy life;      
I gave my knightly word, and I will keep it.      
Yet, as I know the malice of thy thoughts,      
I’ll have thee carried hence, and safely penn’d,           370   
Where neither sun nor moon shall reach thine eyes.      
Thus from thy arrows I shall be secure.      
Seize on him, guards, and bind him!  [They bind him.      
    
  Stauff.  How, my lord—      
How can you treat in such a way a man           375   
On whom God’s hand has plainly been reveal’d?      
    
  Gessl.  Well, let us see if it will save him twice!      
Remove him to my ship; I’ll follow straight,      
At Küssnacht I will see him safely lodged.      
    
  Rössel.  You dare not do’t. Nor durst the Emperor’s self           380   
So violate our dearest chartered rights.      
    
  Gessl.  Where are they? Has the Emp’ror confirm’d them?      
He never has. And only by obedience      
May you that favour hope to win from him.      
You are all rebels ’gainst the Emp’ror’s power,—           385   
And bear a desperate and rebellious spirit.      
I know you all—I see you through and through.      
Him do I single from amongst you now,      
But in his guilt you all participate.      
If you are wise, be silent and obey!  [Exit, followed by BERTHA, RUDENZ, HARRAS, and attendants. FRIESSHARDT and LEUTHOLD remain.           390   
    
  Fürst  (in violent anguish). All’s over now! He is resolved to bring      
Destruction on myself and all my house.      
    
  Stauff.  (to TELL). Oh, why did you provoke the tyrant’s rage?      
    
  Tell.  Let him be calm who feels the pangs I felt.      
    
  Stauff.  Alas! alas! Our every hope is gone.           395   
With you we all are fettered and enchain’d.      
    
  Country People  (surrounding TELL). Our last remaining comfort goes with you!      
    
  Leuth.  (approaching him). I’m sorry for you, Tell, but must obey.      
    
  Tell.  Farewell!      
    
  Walter Tell  (clinging to him in great agony). Oh, father, father, father dear!           400   
    
  Tell  (pointing to Heaven). Thy father is on high—appeal to Him!      
    
  Stauff.  Have you no message, Tell, to send your wife?      
    
 

Act IV   
    
Scene I   
    
Whate’er he has resolved, he’ll execute.  [Exit.
    
Eastern shore of the Lake of Lucerne; rugged and singularly shaped rocks close the prospect to the west. The lake is agitated, violent roaring and rushing of wind, with thunder and lightning at intervals.

KUNZ OF GERSAU, Fisherman and Boy

  Kunz.  I saw it with these eyes! Believe me, friend,      
It happen’d all precisely as I’ve said.      
    
  Fisher.  How! Tell a prisoner, and to Küssnacht borne?      
The best man in the land, the bravest arm,      
Had we for liberty to strike a blow!           5   
    
  Kunz.  The Viceroy takes him up the lake in person:      
They were about to go on board, as I      
Started from Flüelen; but the gathering storm,      
That drove me here to land so suddenly,      
May well have hindered them from setting out.           10   
    
  Fisher.  Our Tell in chains, and in the Viceroy’s power!      
O, trust me, Gessler will entomb him, where      
He never more shall see the light of day;      
For Tell once free, the tyrant well might dread      
The just revenge of one so deeply wrong’d.           15   
    
  Kunz.  The old Landamman, too—von Attinghaus—      
They say, is lying at the point of death.      
    
  Fisher.  Then the last anchor of our hopes gives way!      
He was the only man that dared to raise      
His voice in favour of the people’s rights.           20   
    
  Kunz.  The storm grows worse and worse. So, fare ye well!      
I’ll go and seek out quarters in the village.      
There’ not a chance of getting off to-day.  [Exit      
    
  Fisher.  Tell dragg’d to prison, and the Baron dead!      
Now, tyranny, exalt thy brazen front,—           25   
Throw every shame aside! Truth’s voice is dumb!      
The eye that watch’d for us, in darkness closed,      
The arm that should have stuck thee down, in chains!      
    
  Boy.  ’Tis hailing hard—come, let us to the hut!      
This is no weather to be out in, father!           30   
    
  Fisher.  Rage on, ye winds! Ye lightnings, flash your fires!      
Burst, ye swollen clouds! Ye cataracts of Heaven      
Descend, and drown the country! In the germ      
Destroy the generations yet unborn!      
Ye savage elements, be lords of all!           35   
Return, ye bears: ye ancient wolves, return      
To this wide howling waste! The land is yours.      
Who would live here, when liberty is gone?      
    
  Boy.  Hark! How the wind whistles, and the whirlpool roars.      
I never saw a storm so fierce as this!           40   
    
  Fisher.  To level at the head of his own child!      
Never had father such command before.      
And shall not Nature, rising in wild wrath,      
Revolt against the deed? I should not marvel,      
Though to the lake these rocks should bow their heads,           45   
Though yonder pinnacles, yon towers of ice,      
That, since creation’s dawn, have known no thaw,      
Should, from their lofty summits, melt away,—      
Though yonder mountains, yon primeval cliffs,      
Should topple down, and a new deluge whelm           50   
Beneath its waves all living men’s abodes!  [Bells heard.      
    
  Boy.  Hark, they are ringing on the mountain, yonder!      
They surely see some vessel in distress.      
And toll the bell that we may pray for it.  [Ascends a rock.      
    
  Fisher.  Woe to the bark that now pursues its course,           55   
Rock’d in the cradle of these storm-tost waves!      
Nor helm nor steersman here can aught avail;      
The storm is master. Man is like a ball,      
Toss’d ’twixt the winds and billows. Far or near,      
No haven offers him its friendly shelter!           60   
Without one ledge to grasp, the sheer smooth rocks      
Look down inhospitably on his despair,      
And only tender him their flinty breasts.      
    
  Boy  (calling from above). Father, a ship: from Flüelen bearing down.      
    
  Fisher.  Heaven pity the poor wretches! When the storm           65   
Is once entangled in this strait of ours,      
It rages like some savage beast of prey,      
Struggling against its cage’s iron bars!      
Howling, it seeks an outlet—all in vain;      
For the rocks hedge it round on every side,           70   
Walling the narrow gorge as high as Heaven.  [He ascends a cliff.      
    
  Boy.  It is the Governor of Uri’s ship;      
By its red poop I know it, and the flag.      
    
  Fisher.  Judgments of Heaven! Yes, it is he himself,      
It is the Governor! Yonder he sails,           75   
And with him bears the burden of his crimes.      
The avenger’s arm has not been slow to strike!      
Now over him he knows a mightier lord.      
These waves yield no obedience to his voice.      
These rocks bow not their heads before his cap.           80   
Boy, do not pray; stay not the Judge’s arm!      
    
  Boy.  I pray not for the Governor, I pray      
For Tell, who’s with him there on board the ship.      
    
  Fisher.  Alas, ye blind, unreasoning elements!      
Must ye, in punishing one guilty head,           85   
Destroy the vessel and the pilot too?      
    
  Boy.  See, see, they’ve clear’d the Buggisgrat; 1 but now      
The blast, rebounding from the Devil’s Minster,      
Has driven them back on the Great Axenberg.      
I cannot see them now.           90   
    
  Fisher.        The Hakmesser      
Is there, that’s founder’d many a gallant ship.      
If they should fail to double that with skill,      
Their bark will go to pieces on the rocks,      
That hide their jagged peaks below the lake.           95   
The best of pilots, boy, they have on board.      
If man could save them, Tell is just the man,      
But he is manacled both hand and foot.  [Enter WILLIAM TELL, with his cross-bow. He enters precipitately, looks wildly round, and testifies the most violent agitation. When he reaches the centre of the stage, he throws himself upon his knees, and stretches out his hands, first towards the earth, then towards Heaven.      
    
  Boy  (observing him). See, father! A man on’s knees; who can it be?      
    
  Fisher.  He clutches at the earth with both his hands,           100   
And looks as though he were beside himself.      
    
  Boy  (advancing). What do I see? Come father, come and look!      
    
  Fisher.  (approaches). Who is it? God in Heaven! What! William Tell!      
How came you hither? Speak, Tell!      
    
  Boy.        Were you not           105   
In yonder ship, a prisoner, and in chains?      
    
  Fisher.  Were they not carrying you to Küssnacht, Tell?      
    
  Tell  (rising). I am released.      
    
  Fisher. and Boy.        Released, oh miracle!      
    
  Boy.  Whence came you here?           110   
    
  Tell.        From yonder vessel!      
    
  Fisher.        What?      
    
  Boy.  Where is the Viceroy?      
    
  Tell.        Drifting on the waves.      
    
  Fisher.  Is’t possible? But you! How are you here?           115   
How ’scaped you from your fetters and the storm?      
    
  Tell.  By God’s most gracious providence. Attend.      
    
  Fisher and Boy.  Say on, say on!      
    
  Tell.        You know what passed at Altdorf.      
    
  Fisher.  I do—say on!           120   
    
  Tell.        How I was seized and bound,      
And order’d by the governor to Küssnacht.      
    
  Fisher.  And how at Flüelen he embarked with you.      
All this we know. Say, how have you escaped?      
    
  Tell.  I lay on deck, fast bound with cords, disarm’d,           125   
In utter hopelessness. I did not think      
Again to see the gladsome light of day,      
Nor the dear faces of my wife and boys,      
And eyed disconsolate the waste of waters.—      
    
  Fisher.  Oh, wretched man!           130   
    
  Tell.        Then we put forth; the Viceroy,      
Rudolph der Harras, and their suite. My bow      
And quiver lay astern beside the helm;      
And just as we had reached the corner, near      
The little Axen, 2 Heaven ordain’d it so,           135   
That from the Gotthardt’s gorge, a hurricane      
Swept down upon us with such headlong force,      
That every oarsman’s heart within him sank,      
And all on board look’d for a watery grave.      
Then heard I one of the attendant train,           140   
Turning to Gessler, in this wise accost him:      
“You see our danger, and your own, my lord,      
And that we hover on the verge of death.      
The boatmen there are powerless from fear,      
Nor are they confident what course to take;—           145   
Now, here is Tell, a stout and fearless man,      
And knows to steer with more than common skill,      
How if we should avail ourselves of him      
In this emergency?” The Viceroy then      
Address’d me thus: “If thou wilt undertake           150   
To bring us through this tempest safely, Tell,      
I might consent to free thee from thy bonds.”      
I answer’d, “Yes, my lord; so help me God,      
I’ll see what can be done.” On this they loosed      
The cords that bound me, and I took my place           155   
Beside the helm, and steered as best I could,      
Yet ever eyed my shooting gear askance,      
And kept a watchful eye upon the shore,      
To find some point where I might leap to land;      
And when I had descried a shelving crag,           160   
That jutted, smooth atop, into the lake—      
    
  Fisher.  I know it. At the foot of the Great Axen;      
So steep it looks, I never could have dreamt      
That from a boat a man could leap to it.      
    
  Tell.  I bade the men to row with all their force           165   
Until we came before the shelving ledge.      
For there, I said, the danger will be past!      
Stoutly they pull’d, and soon we near’d the point;      
One prayer to God for His assisting grace,      
And, straining every muscle, I brought round           170   
The vessel’s stern close to the rocky wall;      
Then snatching up my weapons, with a bound      
I swung myself upon the flattened shelf,      
And with my feet thrust off, with all my might,      
The puny bark into the watery hell.           175   
There left it drift about, as Heaven ordains!      
Thus am I here, deliver’d from the might      
Of the dread storm, and man’s more dreadful still.      
    
  Fisher.  Tell, Tell, the Lord has manifestly wrought      
A miracle in thy behalf! I scarce           180   
Can credit my own eyes. But tell me, now,      
Whither you purpose to betake yourself?      
For you will be in peril, should perchance      
The Viceroy ’scape this tempest with his life.      
    
  Tell.  I heard him say, as I lay bound on board,           185   
At Brunnen he proposed to disembark,      
And, crossing Schwytz, convey me to his castle.      
    
  Fisher.  Means he to go by land?      
    
  Tell.        So he intends.      
    
  Fisher.  Oh, then conceal yourself without delay!           190   
Not twice will Heaven release you from his grasp.      
    
  Tell.  Which is the nearest way to Arth and Küssnacht?      
    
  Fisher.  The public road leads by the way of Steinen,      
But there’s a nearer road, and more retired,      
That goes by Lowerz, which my boy can show you.           195   
    
  Tell  (gives him his hand). May Heaven reward your kindness! Fare ye well.  [As he is going, he comes back.      
Did not you also take the oath at Rootli?      
I heard your name, methinks.      
    
  Fisher.        Yes, I was there,      
And took the oath of the confederacy.           200   
    
  Tell.  Then do me this one favour; speed to Bürglen—      
My wife is anxious at my absence—tell her      
That I am free, and in secure concealment.      
    
  Fisher.  But whither shall I tell her you have fled?      
    
  Tell.  You’ll find her father with her, and some more,           205   
Who took the oath with you upon the Rootli;      
Bid them be resolute, and strong of heart,—      
For Tell is free and master of his arm;      
They shall hear further news of me ere long.      
    
  Fisher.  What have you, then, in view? Come, tell me frankly!           210   
    
  Tell.  When once ’tis done, ’twill be in every mouth.  [Exit.      
    
  Fisher.  Show him the way, boy. Heaven be his support!      
    
Note 1. Rocks on the shore of the Lake of Lucerne. [back]   
Note 2. A rock on the shore of the Lake of Lucerne. [back]   
 

   
Act IV   
    
Scene II   
    
    
Baronial mansion of Attinghausen. The BARON upon a couch dying. WALTER FÜRST, STAUFFACHER, MELCHTHAL, and BAUMGARTEN attending round him. WALTER TELL kneeling before the dying man.


  Fürst.  All now is over with him. He is gone.      
    
  Stauff.  He lies not like one dead. The feather, see,      
Moves on his lips! His sleep is very calm,      
And on his features plays a placid smile.  [BAUMGARTEN goes to the door and speaks with some one.      
    
  Fürst.  Who’s there?           5   
    
  Baum.  (returning). Tell’s wife, your daughter, she insists      
That she must speak with you, and see her boy.  [WALTER TELL rises.      
    
  Fürst.  I who need comfort—can I comfort her?      
Does every sorrow centre on my head?      
    
  Hedw.  (forcing her way in). Where is my child? unhand me! I must see him.           10   
    
  Stauff.  Be calm! Reflect, you’re in the house of death!      
    
  Hedw.  (falling upon her boy’s neck). My Walter! Oh, he yet is mine!      
    
  Walt.        Dear mother!      
    
  Hedw.  And is it surely so? Art thou unhurt?  [Gazing at him with anxious tenderness.      
And is it possible he aim’d at thee?           15   
How could he do it? Oh, he has no heart—      
And he could wing an arrow at his child!      
    
  Fürst.  His soul was rack’d with anguish when he did it.      
No choice was left him, but to shoot or die!      
    
  Hedw.  Oh, if he had a father’s heart, he would           20   
Have sooner perish’d by a thousand deaths!      
    
  Stauff.  You should be grateful for God’s gracious care,      
That ordered things so well.      
    
  Hedw.        Can I forget      
What might have been the issue? God of Heaven,           25   
Were I to live for centuries, I still      
Should see my boy tied up,—his father’s mark,—      
And still the shaft would quiver in my heart.      
    
  Melch.  You know not how the Viceroy taunted him!      
    
  Hedw.  Oh, ruthless heart of man! Offend his pride,           30   
And reason in his breast forsakes her seat;      
In his blind wrath he’ll stake upon a cast      
A child’s existence, and a mother’s heart!      
    
  Baum.  Is then your husband’s fate not hard enough,      
That you embitter it by such reproaches?           35   
Have you not feeling for his sufferings?      
    
  Hedw.  (turning to him and gazing full upon him).      
Hast thou tears only for thy friend’s distress?      
Say, where were you when he—my noble Tell—      
Was bound in chains? Where was your friendship then?           40   
The shameful wrong was done before your eyes;      
Patient you stood, and let your friend be dragg’d,      
Ay, from your very hands. Did ever Tell      
Act thus to you? Did he stand whining by,      
When on your heels the Viceroy’s horsemen press’d,           45   
And full before you roared the storm-toss’d lake?      
Oh, not with idle tears his pity show’d;      
Into the boat he sprang, forgot his home,      
His wife, his children, and delivered thee!      
    
  Fürst.  It had been madness to attempt his rescue,           50   
Unarm’d and few in numbers as we were!      
    
  Hedw.  (casting herself upon his bosom).      
Oh, father, and thou, too, hast lost my Tell!      
The country—all have lost him! All lament      
His loss; and, oh, how he must pine for us!           55   
Heaven keep his soul from sinking to despair!      
No friend’s consoling voice can penetrate      
His dreary dungeon walls. Should he fall sick!      
Ah! In the vapours of the murky vault      
He must fall sick. Even as the Alpine rose           60   
Grows pale and withers in the swampy air,      
There is no life for him, but in the sun,      
And in the breath of Heaven’s fresh-blowing airs.      
Imprison’d! Liberty to him is breath;      
He cannot live in the rank dungeon air!           65   
    
  Stauff.  Pray you be calm! And hand in hand we’ll all      
Combine to burst his prison doors.      
    
  Hedw.        He gone,      
What have you power to do? While Tell was free,      
There still, indeed, was hope—weak innocence           70   
Had still a friend, and the oppress’d a stay.      
Tell saved you all! You cannot all combined      
Release him from his cruel prison bonds.  [The BARON wakes.      
    
  Baum.  Hush, hush! He starts!      
    
  Atting.  (sitting up).  Where is he?           75   
    
  Stauff.        Who?      
    
  Atting.        He leaves me,—      
In my last moments he abandons me.      
    
  Stauff.  He means his nephew. Have they sent for him?      
    
  Fürst.  He has been summoned. Cheerly, sir! Take comfort!           80   
He has found his heart at last, and is our own.      
    
  Atting.  Say, has he spoken for his native land?      
    
  Stauff.  Ay, like a hero!      
    
  Atting.        Wherefore comes he not,      
That he may take my blessing ere I die?           85   
I feel my life fast ebbing to a close.      
    
  Stauff.  Nay, talk not thus, dear sir! This last short sleep      
Has much refresh’d you, and your eye is bright.      
    
  Atting.  Life is but pain, and that has left me now;      
My sufferings, like my hopes, have pass’d away.  [Observing the boy.           90   
What boy is that?      
    
  Fürst.        Bless him. Oh, good my lord!      
He is my grandson, and is fatherless.  [HEDWIG kneels with the boy before the dying man.      
    
  Atting.  And fatherless—I leave you all, ay, all!      
Oh wretched fate, that these old eyes should see           95   
My country’s ruin, as they close in death!      
Must I attain the utmost verge of life,      
To feel my hopes go with me to the grave?      
    
  Stauff.  (to FÜRST). Shall he depart ’mid grief and gloom like this?      
Shall not his parting moments be illumed           100   
By hope’s inspiring beams? My noble lord,      
Raise up your drooping spirit! We are not      
Forsaken quite—past all deliverance.      
    
  Atting.  Who shall deliver you?      
    
  Fürst.        Ourselves. For know,           105   
The Cantons three are to each other pledged,      
To hunt the tyrants from the land. The league      
Has been concluded, and a sacred oath      
Confirms our union. Ere another year      
Begins its circling course—the blow shall fall.           110   
In a free land your ashes shall repose.      
    
  Atting.  The league concluded! Is it really so?      
    
  Melch.  On one day shall the Cantons rise together.      
All is prepared to strike—and to this hour      
The secret closely kept, though hundreds share it;           115   
The ground is hollow ’neath the tyrants’ feet;      
Their days of rule are number’d, and ere long      
No trace will of their hateful sway be left.      
    
  Atting.  Ay, but their castles, how to master them?      
    
  Melch.  On the same day they, too, are doom’d to fall.           120   
    
  Atting.  And are the nobles parties to this league?      
    
  Stauff.  We trust to their assistance, should we need it;      
As yet the peasantry alone have sworn.      
    
  Atting.  (raising himself up in great astonishment). And have the peasantry dared such a deed      
On their own charge, without the nobles’ aid—           125   
Relied so much on their own proper strength?      
Nay then, indeed, they want our help no more;      
We may go down to death cheer’d by the thought,      
That after us the majesty of man      
Will live, and be maintain’d by other hands.  [He lays his hand upon the head of the child who is kneeling before him.           130   
From this boy’s head, whereon the apple lay,      
Your new and better liberty shall spring;      
The old is crumbling down—the times are changing—      
And from the ruins blooms a fairer life.      
    
  Stauff.  (to FÜRST). See, see, what splendour streams around his eye!           135   
This is not Nature’s last expiring flame,      
It is the beam of renovated life.      
    
  Atting.  From their old towers the nobles are descending,      
And swearing in the towns the civic oath.      
In Uechtland and Thurgau the work’s begun;           140   
The noble Berne lifts her commanding head,      
And Freyburg is a stronghold of the free;      
The stirring Zurich calls her guilds to arms;—      
And now, behold!—the ancient might of kings      
Is shiver’d ’gainst her everlasting walls.  [ what follows with a prophetic tone; his utterance rising into enthusiasm.           145   
I see the princes and their haughty peers,      
Clad all in steel, come striding on to crush      
A harmless shepherd race with mailed hand.      
Desp’rate the conflict; ’tis for life or death;      
And many a pass will tell to after years           150   
Of glorious victories sealed in foeman’s blood. 1      
The peasant throws himself with naked breast,      
A willing victim on their serried spears;      
They yield—the flower of chivalry’s cut down,      
And Freedom waves her conquering banner high.  [Grasps the hands of WALTER FÜRST and STAUFFACHER.           155   
Hold fast together, then,—forever fast!      
Let freedom’s haunts be one in heart and mind!      
Set watches on your mountain tops, that league      
May answer league, when comes the hour to strike.      
Be one—be one—be one—  [He falls back upon the cushion. His lifeless hands continue to grasp those of FÜRST and STAUFFACHER, who regard him for some moments in silence, and then retire, overcome with sorrow. Meanwhile the servants have quietly pressed into the chamber, testifying different degrees of grief. Some kneel down beside him and weep on his body: while this scene is passing, the castle bell tolls.           160   
    
  Rud.  (entering hurriedly). Lives he? Oh say, can he still hear my voice?      
    
  Fürst.  (averting his face). You are our seignior and protector now;      
Henceforth this castle bears another name.      
    
  Rud.  (gazing at the body with deep emotion). Oh, God! Is my repentance, then, too late?      
Could he not live some few brief moments more,           165   
To see the change that has come o’er my heart?      
Oh, I was deaf to his true counselling voice,      
While yet he walked on earth. Now he is gone,—      
Gone, and forever,—leaving me the debt—      
The heavy debt I owe him—undischarged!           170   
Oh, tell me! did he apart in anger with me?      
    
  Stauff.  When dying, he was told what you had done,      
And bless’d the valour that inspired your words!      
    
  Rud.  (kneeling down beside the dead body). Yes, sacred relics of a man beloved!      
Thou lifeless corpse! Here, on thy death-cold hand           175   
Do I abjure all foreign ties for ever!      
And to my country’s cause devote myself.      
I am a Switzer, and will act as one,      
With my whole heart and soul.  [Rises.      
        Mourn for our friend,           180   
Our common parent, yet be not dismay’d!      
’Tis not alone his lands that I inherit,—      
His heart—his spirit have devolved on me;      
And my young arm shall execute the task,      
Which in his hoary age he could not pay.           185   
Give me your hands, ye venerable sires!      
Thine, Melchthal, too! Nay, do not hesitate,      
Nor from me turn distrustfully away.      
Accept my plighted vow—my knightly oath!      
    
  Fürst.  Give him your hands, my friends! A heart like his,           190   
That sees and owns its error, claims our trust.      
    
  Melch.  You ever held the peasantry in scorn,      
What surety have we, that you mean us fair?      
    
  Rud.  Oh, think not of the error of my youth!      
    
  Stauff.  (to MELCH.). Be one! They were our father’s latest words.           195   
See they be not forgotten!      
    
  Melch.        Take my hand,—      
A peasant’s hand,—and with it, noble sir,      
The gage and the assurance of a man!      
Without us, sir, what would the nobles be?           200   
Our order is more ancient, too, than yours!      
    
  Rud.  I honour it—will shield it with my sword!      
    
  Melch.  The arm, my lord, that tames the stubborn earth,      
And makes its bosom blossom with increase,      
Can also shield its owner’s breast at need.           205   
    
  Rud.  Then you shall shield my breast, and I will yours,      
Thus each be strengthen’d by the other’s strength.      
Yet wherefore talk ye, while our native land      
Is still to alien tyranny a prey?      
First let us sweep the foemen from the soil,           210   
Then reconcile our difference in peace!  [After a moment’s pause.      
How! You are silent! Not a word for me?      
And have I yet no title to your trust?—      
Then must I force my way, despite your will,      
Into the League you secretly have form’d.           215   
You’ve held a Diet on the Rootli,—I      
Know this,—know all that was transacted there;      
And though not trusted with your secret, I      
Have kept it closely like a sacred pledge.      
Trust me—I never was my country’s foe,           220   
Nor would I ever have against you stood!      
Yet you did wrong—to put your rising off.      
Time presses! We must strike, and swiftly too!      
Already Tell is lost through your delay.      
    
  Stauff.  We swore that we should wait till Christmastide.           225   
    
  Rud.  I was not there,—I did not take the oath.      
If you delay, I will not!      
    
  Melch.        What! You would—      
    
  Rud.  I count me now among the country’s chiefs,      
And my first duty is to guard your rights.           230   
    
  Fürst.  Your nearest and holiest duty is      
Within the earth to lay these dear remains.      
    
  Rud.  When we have set the country free, we’ll place      
Our fresh victorious wreaths upon his bier.      
Oh, my dear friends, ’tis not your cause alone!—           235   
I with the tyrants have a cause to fight,      
That more concerns myself. My Bertha’s gone,      
Has disappear’d,—been carried off by stealth,—      
Stolen from amongst us by their ruffian hands!      
    
  Stauff.  So fell an outrage has the tyrant dared           240   
Against a lady free and nobly born!      
    
  Rud.  Alas! my friends, I promised help to you,      
And I must first implore it for myself!      
She that I love, is stolen—is forced away,      
And who knows where she’s by the tyrant hid,           245   
Or with what outrages his ruffian crew      
May force her into nuptials she detests?      
Forsake me not!—Oh, help me to her rescue!      
She loves you! Well, oh, well, has she deserved,      
That all should rush to arms in her behalf!           250   
    
  Stauff.  What course do your propose?      
    
  Rud.        Alas! I know not.      
In the dark mystery that shrouds her fate,—      
In the dread agony of this suspense,—      
Where I can grasp at nought of certainty,—           255   
One single ray of comfort beams upon me.      
From out the ruins of the tyrant’s power      
Alone can she be rescued from the grave.      
Their strongholds must be levell’d, every one,      
Ere we can penetrate her dungeon walls.           260   
    
  Melch.  Come, lead us on! We follow! Why defer      
Until to-morrow, what to-day may do?      
Tell’s arm was free when we at Rootli swore.      
This foul enormity was yet undone.      
And change of circumstance brings change of vow;           265   
Who such a coward as to waver still?      
    
  Rud.  (to WALTER FÜRST). Meanwhile to arms, and wait in readiness.      
The fiery signal on the mountain tops!      
For swifter than a boat can scour the lake      
Shall you have tidings of our victory;           270   
And when you see the welcome flames ascend      
Then, like the lightning, swoop upon the foe,      
And lay the despots and their creatures low!      
    
Note 1. An allusion to the gallant self-devotion of Arnold Struthan of Winkelried, at the battle of Sempach [9th July, 1386], who broke the Austrian phalanx by rushing on their lances, grasping as many of them as he could reach, and concentrating them upon his breast. The confederates rushed forward through the gap thus opened by the sacrifice of their comrade, broke and cut down their enemy’s ranks, and soon became the masters of the field. “Dear and faithful confederates, I will open you a passage. Protect my wife and children,” were the words of Winkelried, as he rushed to death. [back]

   
Act IV   
    
Scene III   
    
Enter GESSLER and RUDOLPH DER HARRAS on horseback.

  Gessl.  Say what you will; I am the Emperor’s liege,
    
The pass near Küssnacht, sloping down from behind, with rocks on either side. The travellers are visible upon the heights, before they appear on the stage. Rocks all round the stage. Upon one of the foremost a projecting cliff overgrown with brushwood.


  Tell.  (enters with his crossbow). Through this ravine he needs must come. There is      
No other way to Küssnacht. Here I’ll do it!      
The ground is everything I could desire.      
Yon elder bush will hide me from his view,      
And from that point my shaft is sure to hit.           5   
The straitness of the gorge forbids pursuit.      
Now, Gessler, balance thine account with Heaven!      
Thou must away from earth,—thy sand is run.      
    
  Quiet and harmless was the life I led,      
My bow was bent on forest game alone;           10   
No thoughts of murder rested on my soul.      
But thou hast scared me from my dream of peace;      
The milk of human kindness thou hast turn’d      
To rankling poison in my breast; and made      
Appalling deeds familiar to my soul.           15   
He who could make his own child’s head his mark,      
Can speed his arrow to his foeman’s heart.      
    
  My boys, poor innocents, my loyal wife,      
Must be protected, tyrant, from thy rage!      
When last I drew my bow—with trembling hand—           20   
And thou, with fiendishly remorseless glee      
Forced me to level at my own boy’s head,      
When I, imploring pity, writhed before thee,      
Then in the anguish of my soul, I vow’d      
A fearful oath, which met God’s ear alone,           25   
That when my bow next wing’d an arrow’s flight,      
Its aim should be thy heart. The vow I made,      
Amid the hellish torments of that moment,      
I hold a sacred debt, and I will pay it.      
    
  Thou art my lord, my Emperor’s delegate;           30   
Yet would the Emperor not have stretch’d his power,      
So far as thou hast done. He sent thee here      
To deal forth law—stern law—for he is wroth;      
But not to wanton with unbridled will      
In every cruelty, with fiend-like joy:—           35   
There lives a God to punish and avenge.      
    
  Come forth, thou bringer once of bitter pangs,      
My precious jewel now,—my chiefest treasure—      
A mark I’ll set thee, which the cry of grief      
Could never penetrate,—but thou shalt pierce it,—           40   
And thou, my trusty bowstring, that so oft      
For sport has served me faithfully and well,      
Desert me not in this dread hour of need,—      
Only be true this once, my own good cord,      
That hast so often wing’d the biting shaft:—           45   
For shouldst thou fly successless from my hand,      
I have no second to send after thee.  [Travellers pass over the stage.      
    
  I’ll sit me down upon this bench of stone,      
Hewn for the way-worn traveller’s brief repose—      
For here there is no home. Men hurry past           50   
Each other, with quick step and careless look,      
Nor stay to question of their grief. Here goes      
The merchant, all anxiety,—the pilgrim,      
With scanty furnished scrip,—the pious monk,      
The scowling robber, and the jovial player,           55   
The carrier with his heavy-laden horse,      
That comes to us from the far haunts of men;      
For every road conducts to the world’s end.      
They all push onwards—every man intent      
On his own several business—mine is murder!  [Sits down.           60   
    
  Time was, my dearest children, when with joy      
You hail’d your father’s safe return to home      
From his long mountain toils; for, when he came,      
He ever brought with him some little gift,—      
A lovely Alpine flower—a curious bird—           65   
Or elf-bolt such as on the hills are found.      
But now he goes in quest of other game,      
Sits in this gorge, with murder in his thoughts,      
And for his enemy’s life-blood lies in wait.      
But still it is of you alone he thinks,           70   
Dear children. ’Tis to guard your innocence,      
To shield you from the tyrant’s fell revenge,      
He bends his bow to do a deed of blood!  [Rises.      
    
  Well—I am watching for a noble prey—      
Does not the huntsman, with unflinching heart,           75   
Roam for whole days, when winter frosts are keen,      
Leap at the risk of death from rock to rock,—      
And climb the jagged, slippery steeps, to which      
His limbs are glued by his own streaming blood—      
And all to hunt a wretched chamois down?           80   
A far more precious prize is now my aim—      
The heart of that dire foe, who seeks my life.  [Sprightly music heard in the distance, which comes gradually nearer.      
    
  From my first years of boyhood I have used      
The bow—been practised in the archer’s feats;      
The bull’s eye many a time my shafts have hit,           85   
And many a goodly prize have I brought home      
From competitions. But this day I’ll make      
My master-shot, and win what’s best to win      
In the whole circuit of our mountain range.  [A bridal party passes over the stage, and goes up the pass. TELL gazes at it, leaning on his bow. He is joined by STUSSI, the Ranger.      
    
  Stussi.  There goes the cloister bailiff’s bridal train           90   
Of Mörlischachen. A rich fellow he!      
And has some half score pastures on the Alps.      
He goes to fetch his bride from Imisee.      
At Küssnacht there will be high feast to-night—      
Come with us—ev’ry honest man is asked.           95   
    
  Tell.  A gloomy guest fits not a wedding feast.      
    
  Stussi.  If you’ve a trouble, dash it from your heart!      
Take what Heaven sends! The times are heavy now,      
And we must snatch at pleasure as it flies.      
Here ’tis a bridal, there a burial.           100   
    
  Tell.  And oft the one close on the other treads.      
    
  Stussi.  So runs the world we live in. Everywhere      
Mischance befalls and misery enough.      
In Glarus there has been a landslip, and      
A whole side of the Glärnisch has fallen in.           105   
    
  Tell.  How! Do the very hills begin to quake?      
There is stability for nought on earth.      
    
  Stussi.  Of strange things, too, we hear from other parts.      
I spoke with one but now, from Baden come,      
Who said a knight was on his way to court,           110   
And, as he rode along, a swarm of wasps      
Surrounded him, and settling on his horse,      
So fiercely stung the beast, that it fell dead,      
And he proceeded to the court on foot.      
    
  Tell.  The weak are also furnish’d with a sting. (ARMGART enters with several children, and places herself at the entrance of the pass.)           115   
    
  Stussi.  ’Tis thought to bode disaster to the land,—      
Some horrid deeds against the course of nature.      
    
  Tell.  Why, every day brings forth such fearful deeds;      
There needs no prodigy to herald them.      
    
  Stussi.  Ay, happy he who tills his field in peace,           120   
And sits at home untroubled with his kin.      
    
  Tell.  The very meekest cannot be at peace      
If his ill neighbour will not let him rest.  [TELL looks frequently with restless expectation towards the top of the pass.      
    
  Stussi.  So fare you well! You’re waiting some one here?      
    
  Tell.  I am.           125   
    
  Stussi.        God speed you safely to your home!      
You are from Uri, are you not? His grace      
The Governor’s expected thence to-day.      
    
  Traveller  (entering). Look not to see the Governor to-day.      
The streams are flooded by the heavy rains,           130   
And all the bridges have been swept away.  [TELL rises.      
    
  Arm.  (coming forward).  Gessler not coming?      
    
  Stussi.        Want you aught with him?      
    
  Arm.  Alas, I do!      
    
  Stussi.        Why, then, thus place yourself           135   
Where you obstruct his passage down the pass?      
    
  Arm.  Here he cannot escape me. He must hear me.      
    
  Friess.  (coming hastily down the pass and calls upon the stage). Make way, make way! My lord, the Governor,      
Is close behind me, riding down the pass.  [Exit TELL.      
    
  Arm.  (excitedly).  The Viceroy comes!  [She goes towards the pass with her children, GESSLER and RUDOLPH DER HARRAS appear on horseback at the upper end of the pass.           140   
    
  Stussi.  (to FRIESS). How got ye through the stream,      
When all the bridges have been carried down?      
    
  Friess.  We’ve fought, friend, with the tempest on the lake;      
An Alpine torrent’s nothing after that.      
    
  Stussi.  How! Were you out, then, in that dreadful storm?           145   
    
  Friess.  We were! I’ll not forget it while I live.      
    
  Stussi.  Stay, speak—      
    
  Friess.        I can’t—must to the castle haste,      
And tell them, that the Governor’s at hand.  [Exit.      
    
  Stussi.  If honest men, now, had been in the ship,           150   
It had gone down with every soul on board:—      
Some folks are proof’ gainst fire and water both.  [Looking round.      
Where has the huntsman gone with whom I spoke?  [Exit.   
    
And how to please him my first thought must be.           155   
He did not send me here to fawn and cringe,      
And coax these boors into good humour. No!      
Obedience he must have. The struggle’s this:      
Is king or peasant to be sovereign here?      
    
  Arm.  Now is the moment! Now for my petition!           160   
    
  Gessl.  ’Twas no in sport that I set up the cap      
In Altdorf—or to try the people’s hearts—      
All this I knew before. I set it up      
That they might learn to bend those stubborn necks      
They carry far too proudly—and I placed           165   
What well I knew their pride could never brook      
Full in the road, which they perforce must pass,      
That, when their eye fell on it, they might call      
That lord to mind whom they too much forget.      
    
  Har.  But surely, sir, the people have some rights—           170   
    
  Gessl.  This is not time to settle what they are.      
Great projects are at work, and hatching now.      
The imperial house seeks to extend its power.      
Those vast designs of conquest which the sire      
Has gloriously begun, the son will end.           175   
This petty nation is a stumbling-block—      
One way or other, it must be put down.  [They are about to pass on. ARMGART throws herself down before GESSLER.      
    
  Arm.  Mercy, Lord Governor! Oh, pardon, pardon!      
    
  Gessl.  Why do you cross me on the public road?      
Stand back, I say.           180   
    
  Arm.        My husband lies in prison;      
My wretched orphans cry for bread. Have pity,      
Pity, my lord, upon our sore distress!      
    
  Har.  Who are you? and your husband, what is he?      
    
  Arm.  A poor wild hay-man of the Rigiberg,           185   
Kind sir, who on the brow of the abyss,      
Mows the unowner’d grass from craggy shelves,      
To which the very cattle dare not climb.      
    
  Har.  (to GESSL.).      
By Heaven! a sad and pitiable life!           190   
I pray you set the wretched fellow free.      
How great soever may be his offence,      
His horrid trade is punishment enough.  [To ARMGART.      
You shall have justice. To the castle bring      
Your suit. This is no place to deal with it.           195   
    
  Arm.  No, no, I will not stir from where I stand,      
Until your grace gives me my husband back.      
Six months already has he been shut up,      
And waits the sentence of a judge in vain.      
    
  Gessl.  How! would you force me, woman? Hence! Begone!           200   
    
  Arm.  Justice, my lord! Ay, justice! Thou art judge:      
Vice-regent of the Emperor—of Heaven.      
Then do thy duty,—as thou hopest for justice      
From Him who rules above, show it to us!      
    
  Gessl.  Hence! Drive this insolent rabble from my sight!           205   
    
  Arm.  (seizing his horse’s reins).      
No, no, by Heaven, I’ve nothing more to lose—      
Thou stir’st not, Viceroy, from this spot, until      
Thou dost me fullest justice. Knit thy brows,      
And roll thine eyes—I fear not. Our distress           210   
Is so extreme, so boundless, that we care      
No longer for thine anger.      
    
  Gessl.        Woman, hence!      
Give way, or else my horse shall ride you down.      
    
  Arm.  Well, let it!—there—  [Throws her children and herself upon the ground before him.           215   
        Here on the ground I lie,      
I and my children. Let the wretched orphans      
Be trodden by thy horse into the dust!      
It will not be the worst that thou hast done.      
    
  Har.  Are you mad, woman?           220   
    
  Arm.  (continuing with vehemence). Many a day thou hast      
Trampled the Emperor’s lands beneath thy feet.      
Oh, I am but a woman! Were I man,      
I’d find some better thing to do, than here      
Lie grovelling in the dust.  [The music of the bridal party is again heard from the top of the pass, but more softly.           225   
    
  Gessl.        Where are my knaves?      
Drag her away, lest I forget myself,      
And do some deed I may repent me of.      
    
  Har.  My lord, the servants cannot force their way;      
The pass is block’d up by a bridal train.           230   
    
  Gessl.  Too mild a ruler am I to this people,      
Their tongues are all too bold—nor have they yet      
Been tamed to due submission, as they shall be.      
I must take order for the remedy;      
I will subdue this stubborn mood of theirs,           235   
This braggart spirit of freedom I will crush,      
I will proclaim a new law through the land;      
I will—  [An arrow pierces him,—he puts his hand on his heart and is about to sink—with a feeble voice.      
  Oh God, have mercy on my soul!      
    
  Har.  My lord! my lord! Oh God! What’s this? Whence came it?           240   
    
  Arm.  (starts up). Dead, dead! He reels, he falls! ’Tis in his heart!      
    
  Har.  (springs from his horse). Horror of horrors! Heavenly powers! Sir Knight,      
Address yourself for mercy to your God!      
You are a dying man.      
    
  Gessl.        That shot was Tell’s.  [He slides from his horse into the arms of RUDOLPH DER HARRAS, who lays him down upon the bench. TELL appears above upon the rocks.           245   
    
  Tell.  Thou know’st the marksman—I, and I alone.      
Now are our homesteads free, and innocence      
From thee is safe: thou’lt be our curse no more.  [TELL disappears. People rush in.      
    
  Stussi.  What is the matter? Tell me what has happen’d?      
    
  Arm.  The Viceroy’s shot,—pierced by a crossbow bolt!           250   
    
  People  (running in). Who has been shot?  [While the foremost of the marriage party are coming on the stage, the hindmost are still upon the heights. The music continues.      
    
  Har.  He’s bleeding fast to death.      
Away, for help—pursue the murderer!      
Unhappy man, is this to be your end?      
You would not listen to my warning words.           255   
    
  Stussi.  By Heaven, his cheek is pale! Life’s ebbing fast.      
    
  Many Voices.  Who did the deed?      
    
  Har.        What! Are the people mad,      
That they make music to a murder? Silence!  [Music breaks off suddenly. People continue to flock in.      
Speak, if you can, my lord. Have you no charge           260   
To trust me with?  [GESSLER makes signs with his hand, which he repeats with vehemence, when he fainds they are not understood.      
        Where shall I take you to?      
To Küssnacht? What you say I can’t make out.      
Oh, do not grow impatient! Leave all thought      
Of earthly things and make your peace with Heaven.  [The whole marriage party gather round the dying man.           265   
    
  Stussi.  See there! how pale he grows! Death’s gathering now      
About his heart;—his eyes grow dim and glazed.      
    
  Arm.  (holds up a child). Look, children, how a tyrant dies!      
    
  Har.        Mad hag!      
Have you no touch of feeling, that your eyes           270   
Gloat on a sight so horrible as this?      
Help me—take hold. What, will not one assist      
To pull the torturing arrow from his breast?      
    
  Women.  What! touch the man whom God’s own hand has struck!      
    
  Har.  All curses light on you!  [Draws his sword.           275   
    
  Stussi  (seizes his arm).        Gently, Sir Knight!      
Your power is at end. ’Twere best forbear.      
Our country’s foe has fallen. We will brook      
No further violence. We are free men.      
    
  All.  The country’s free.           280   
    
  Har.        And is it come to this?      
Fear and obedience at an end so soon?  [To the soldiers of the guard who are thronging in.      
You see, my friends, the bloody piece of work      
Has here been done. ’Tis now too late for help,      
And to pursue the murderer were vain.           285   
We’ve other things to think of. On to Küssnacht.      
And let us save that fortress for the King!      
For in a moment such as this, all ties      
Of order, fealty and faith, are rent.      
And we can trust to no man’s loyalty.  [As he is going out with the soldiers, six FRATRES MISERICORDIÆ appear.           290   
    
  Arm.  Here comes the brotherhood of mercy. Room!      
    
  Stussi.  The victim’s slain, and now the ravens stoop.      
    
  Brothers of Mercy  (form a semicircle round the body, and sing in solemn tones).      
        Death hurries on with hasty stride,      
          No respite man from him may gain,           295   
        He cuts him down, when life’s full tide      
          Is throbbing strong in every vein.      
        Prepared or not the call to hear,      
        He must before his Judge appear.  [While they are repeating the two last lines, the curtain falls.

   
Act V   
    
Scene I   
    
And bid the Saviour of our country hail!  [Exeunt omnes.
    
A common near Altdorf. In the background to the right the keep of Uri, with the scaffold still standing, as in the third scene of the first Act. To the left, the view opens upon numerous mountains, on all of which signal fires are burning. Day is breaking, and distant bells are heard ringing in several directions.

RUODI, KUONI, WERNI, MASTER MASON, and many other country people, also women and children.


  Ruodi.  See there! The beacons on the mountain heights!      
    
  Mason.  Hark how the bells above the forest toll!      
    
  Ruodi.  The enemy’s routed.      
    
  Mason.        And the forts are storm’d.      
    
  Ruodi.  And we of Uri, do we still endure           5   
Upon our native soil the tyrant’s keep?      
Are we the last to strike for liberty?      
    
  Mason.  Shall the yoke stand, that was to curb our necks?      
Up! Tear it to the ground!      
    
  All.        Down, down with it!           10   
    
  Ruodi.  Where is the Stier of Uri?      
    
  Uri.        Here. What would ye?      
    
  Ruodi.  Up to your tower, and wind us such a blast,      
As shall resound afar, from peak to peak;      
Rousing the echoes of each glen and hill,           15   
To rally swiftly all the mountain men!  [Exit STIER OF URI—Enter WALTER FÜRST.      
    
  Fürst.  Stay, stay, my friends! As yet we have not learn’d      
What has been done in Unterwald and Schwytz.      
Let’s wait till we receive intelligence!      
    
  Ruodi.  Wait, wait for what? The accursed tyrant’s dead           20   
And on us freedom’s glorious day has dawn’d!      
    
  Mason.  How! Are these flaming signals not enough,      
That blaze on every mountain-top around?      
    
  Ruodi.  Come all, fall to—come, men and women, all!      
Destroy the scaffold! Burst the arches! Down,           25   
Down with the walls, let not a stone remain!      
    
  Mason.  Come, comrades, come! We built it, and we know      
How best to hurl it down.      
    
  All.        Come! Down with it!  [They fall upon the building on every side.      
    
  Fürst.  The floodgate’s burst. They’re not to be restrained.  [Enter MELCHTHAL and BAUMGARTEN.           30   
    
  Melch.  What! Stands the fortress still, when Sarnen lies      
In ashes, and the Rossberg’s in our hands?      
    
  Fürst.  You, Melchthal, here? D’ye bring us liberty?      
Are all the Cantons from our tyrants freed?      
    
  Melch.  We’ve swept them from the soil. Rejoice, my friend,           35   
Now, at this very moment, while we speak,      
There’s not one tyrant left in Switzerland!      
    
  Fürst.  How did you get the forts into your power?      
    
  Melch.  Rudenz it was who by a bold assault      
With manly valour mastered Sarnen’s keep.           40   
The Rossberg I had storm’d the night before.      
But hear, what chanced. Scarce had we driven the foe      
Forth from the keep, and given it to the flames,      
That now rose crackling upwards to the skies,      
When from the blaze rush’d Diethelm, Gessler’s page,           45   
Exclaiming, “Lady Bertha will be burnt!”      
    
  Fürst.  Good heavens!  [The beams of the scaffold are heard falling.      
    
  Melch.        ’Twas she herself. Here had she been      
By Gessler’s orders secretly immured.      
Up sprang Rudenz in frenzy. For even now           50   
The beams and massive posts were crashing down,      
And through the stifling smoke the piteous shrieks      
Of the unhappy lady.      
    
  Fürst.        Is she saved?      
    
  Melch.  ’Twas not a time to hesitate or pause!           55   
Had he been but our baron, and no more,      
We should have been most chary of our lives;      
But he was our confederate, and Bertha      
Honour’d the people. So, without a thought,      
We risk’d the worst, and rush’d into the flames.           60   
    
  Fürst.  But is she saved?      
    
  Melch.        She is. Rudenz and I      
Bore her between us from the blazing pile.      
With crashing timbers toppling all around.      
And when she had revived, the danger past,           65   
And raised her eyes to look upon the sun,      
The baron fell upon my breast; and then      
A silent vow between us two was sworn,      
A vow that, welded in yon furnace heat,      
Will last through ev’ry shock of time and fate.           70   
    
  Fürst.  Where is the Landenberg?      
    
  Melch.        Across the Brünig.      
’Twas not my fault he bore his sight away;      
He who had robb’d my father of his eyes!      
He fled—I followed—overtook him soon,           75   
And dragg’d him to my father’s feet. The sword      
Already quiver’d o’er the caitiff’s head,      
When from the pity of the blind old man,      
He wrung the life which, craven-like, he begged.      
He swore URPHEDE, 1 never to return:           80   
He’ll keep his oath, for he has felt our arm.      
    
  Fürst.  Oh! well for you, you have not stain’d with blood      
Our spotless victory!      
    
  Children  (running across the stage with fragments of wood).      
We’re free! we’re free!           85   
    
  Fürst.  Oh! what a joyous scene! These children will      
Remember it when all their heads are grey.  [Girls bring in the cap upon a pole. The whole stage is filled with people.      
    
  Ruodi.  Here is the cap, to which we were to bow!      
    
  Baum.  What shall we do with it? Do you decide!      
    
  Fürst.  Heavens! ’Twas beneath this cap my grandson stood!           90   
    
  Several Voices.  Destroy the emblem of the tyrant’s power!      
Let it be burnt!      
    
  Fürst.        No. Rather be preserved;      
’Twas once the instrument of despots—now      
’Twill of our freedom be a lasting sign.  [Peasants, men, women, and children, some standing, others sitting upon the beams of the shattered scaffold, all picturesquely grouped, in a large semicircle.           95   
    
  Melch.  Thus now, my friends, with light and merry hearts,      
We stand upon the wreck of tyranny;      
And gloriously the work has been fulfilled,      
Which we at Rootli pledged ourselves to do.      
    
  Fürst.  No, not fulfilled. The work is but begun:           100   
Courage and concord firm, we need them both;      
For, be assured, the king will make all speed,      
To avenge his Viceroy’s death, and reinstate,      
By force of arms, the tyrant we’ve expelled.      
    
  Melch.  Why let him come, with all his armaments!           105   
The foe’s expelled, that press’d us from within.      
The foe without we are prepared to meet!      
    
  Ruodi.  The passes to our Cantons are but few;      
These with our bodies we will block, we will!      
    
  Baum.  Knit are we by a league will ne’er be rent,           110   
And all his armies shall not make us quail.  [Enter RÖSSELMANN and STAUFFACHER.      
    
  Rössel.  (speaking as he enters). These are the awful judgments of the Lord!      
    
  Peas.  What is the matter?      
    
  Rössel.        In what times we live!      
    
  Fürst.  Say on, what is’t? Ha, Werner, is it you?           115   
What tidings?      
    
  Peas.        What’s the matter?      
    
  Rössel.        Hear and wonder!      
    
  Stauff.  We are released from one great cause of dread.      
    
  Rössel.  The Emperor is murdered.           120   
    
  Fürst.        Gracious Heaven!  [PEASANTS rise up and throng round Stauffacher.      
    
  All.  Murder’d!—the Emp’ror? What! The Emp’ror! Hear!      
    
  Melch.  Impossible! How came you by the news?      
    
  Stauff.  ’Tis true! Near Bruck, by the assassin’s hand,      
King Albert fell. A most trustworthy man,           125   
John Müller, from Schaffhausen, brought the news.      
    
  Fürst.  Who dared commit so horrible a deed?      
    
  Stauff.  The doer makes the deed more dreadful still;      
It was his nephew, his own brother’s son,      
Duke John of Austria, who struck the blow.           130   
    
  Melch.  What drove him to so dire a parricide?      
    
  Stauff.  The Emp’ror kept his patrimony back,      
Despite his urgent importunities;      
’Twas said, he meant to keep it for himself,      
And with a mitre to appease the duke.           135   
However this may be, the duke gave ear      
To the ill counsel of his friends in arms:      
And with the noble lords, Von Eschenbach,      
Von Tegerfeld, Von Wart and Palm, resolved,      
Since his demands for justice were despised,           140   
With his own hands to take revenge at least.      
    
  Fürst.  But say—the dreadful deed, how was it done?      
    
  Stauff.  The king was riding down from Stein to Baden,      
Upon his way to join the court at Rheinfeld,—      
With him a train of high-born gentlemen,           145   
And the young Princes John and Leopold;      
And when they’d reach’d the ferry of the Reuss,      
The assassins forced their way into the boat,      
To separate the Emperor from his suite.      
His highness landed, and was riding on           150   
Across a fresh plough’d field—where once, they say,      
A mighty city stood in Pagan times—      
With Hapsburg’s ancient turrets full in sight,      
That was the cradle of his princely race.      
When Duke John plunged a dagger in his throat,           155   
Palm ran him thro’ the body with his lance,      
And Eschenbach, to end him, clove his skull;      
So down he sank, all weltering in his blood,      
On his own soil, by his own kinsmen slain.      
Those on the opposite bank beheld the deed,           160   
But, parted by the stream, could only raise      
An unavailing cry of loud lament.      
A poor old woman, sitting by the way,      
Raised him, and on her breast he bled to death.      
    
  Melch.  Thus has he dug his own untimely grave,           165   
Who sought insatiably to grasp it all.      
    
  Stauff.  The country round is fill’d with dire alarm,      
The passes are blockaded everywhere,      
And sentinels on ev’ry frontier set;      
E’en ancient Zurich barricades her gates,           170   
That have stood open for these thirty years,      
Dreading the murd’rers and th’ avengers more.      
For cruel Agnes comes, the Hungarian Queen,      
By all her sex’s tenderness untouch’d,      
Arm’d with the thunders of the ban, to wreak           175   
Dire vengeance for her parent’s royal blood,      
On the whole race of those that murder’d him,—      
Their servants, children, children’s children,—yea,      
Upon the stones that built their castle walls.      
Deep has she sworn a vow to immolate           180   
Whole generations on her father’s tomb,      
And bathe in blood as in the dew of May.      
    
  Melch.  Is’t known which way the murderers have fled?      
    
  Stauff.  No sooner had they done the deed, than they      
Took flight, each following a different route,           185   
And parted ne’er to see each other more.      
Duke John must still be wand’ring in the mountains.      
    
  Fürst.  And thus their crime has borne no fruit for them.      
Revenge bears never fruit. Itself, it is      
The dreadful food it feeds on; its delight           190   
Is murder—its satiety despair.      
    
  Stauff.  The assassins reap no profit by their crime;      
But we shall pluck with unpolluted hands      
The teeming fruits of their most bloody deed.      
For we are ransomed from our heaviest fear;           195   
The direst foe of liberty has fallen,      
And, ’tis reported, that the crown will pass      
From Hapsburg’s house into another line;      
The Empire is determined to assert      
Its old prerogative of choice, I hear.           200   
    
  Fürst  (and several others). Is any named?      
    
  Stauff.        The Count of Luxembourg’s      
Already chosen by the general voice.      
    
  Fürst.  ’Tis well we stood so staunchly by the Empire!      
Now we may hope for justice, and with cause.           205   
    
  Stauff.  The Emperor will need some valiant friends.      
He will ’gainst Austria’s vengeance be our shield.  [The peasantry embrace. Enter SACRISTAN with Imperial messenger.      
    
  Sacris.  Here are the worthy chiefs of Switzerland!      
    
  Rössel.  (and several others.) Sacrist, what news?      
    
  Sacris.        A courier brings this letter.           210   
    
  All  (to WALTER FÜRST). Open and read it.      
    
  Fürst  (reading).  “To the worthy men      
Of Uri, Schwytz, and Unterwald, the Queen      
Elizabeth sends grace and all good wishes.”      
    
  Many Voices.  What wants the queen with us? Her reign is done.           215   
    
  Fürst  (reads). “In the great grief and doleful widowhood,      
In which the bloody exit of her lord      
Has plunged the queen, still in her mind she bears      
The ancient faith and love of Switzerland.”      
    
  Melch.  She ne’er did that in her prosperity.           220   
    
  Rössel.  Hush, let us hear!      
    
  Fürst  (reads).  “And she is well assured,      
Her people will in due abhorrence hold      
The perpetrators of this damned deed.      
On the three Cantons, therefore, she relies,           225   
That they in nowise lend the murderers aid;      
But rather, that they loyally assist,      
To give them up to the avenger’s hand,      
Remembering the love and grace which they      
Of old received from Rudolph’s royal house.”  [Symptoms of dissatisfaction among the peasantry.           230   
    
  Many Voices.  The love and grace!      
    
  Stauff.  Grace from the father we, indeed, received,      
But what have we to boast of from the son?      
Did he confirm the charter of our freedom,      
As all preceding emperors had done?           235   
Did he judge righteous judgment, or afford      
Shelter, or stay, to innocence oppress’d?      
Nay, did he e’en give audience to the men      
We sent to lay our grievances before him?      
Not one of all these things did the king do,           240   
And had we not ourselves achieved our rights      
By our own stalwart hands, the wrongs we bore      
Had never touch’d him. Gratitude to him!      
Within these vales he sowed no seeds of that;      
He stood upon an eminence—he might           245   
Have been a very father to his people,      
But all his aim and pleasure was to raise      
Himself and his own house: and now may those      
Whom he has aggrandized, lament for him.      
    
  Fürst.  We will not triumph in his fall, nor now           250   
Recall to mind the wrongs that we endured.      
Far be’t from us! Yet, that we should avenge      
The sovereign’s death, who never did us good,      
And hunt down those who ne’er molested us,      
Becomes us not, nor is our duty. Love           255   
Must be a tribute free, and unconstrain’d;      
From all enforced duties death absolves,      
And unto him we owe no further debt.      
    
  Melch.  And if the queen laments within her bower,      
Accusing Heaven in sorrow’s wild despair;           260   
Here see a people, from its anguish freed,      
To that same Heav’n send up its thankful praise.      
Who would reap tears, must sow the seeds of love.  [Exit the Imperial courier.      
    
  Stauff.  (to the people). But where is Tell? Shall he, our freedom’s founder,      
Alone be absent from our festival?           265   
He did the most—endured the worst of all.      
Come—to his dwelling let us all repair,      
    
Note 1. The URPHEDE was an oath of peculiar force. When a man, who was at feud with another, invaded his lands and was worsted, he often made terms with his enemy by swearing the Urphede, by which he bound himself to depart, and never to return with a hostile intention. [back]

Act V   
    
Scene II   
    
So that you do not see which way he goes.  [DUKE JOHN advances hastily towards Tell, but he beckons him aside and exit. When both have left the stage, the scene changes, and discloses in
    
Interior of Tell’s cottage. A fire burning on the hearth. The open door shows the scene outside.

HEDWIG, WALTER, and WILLIAM

  Hedw.  My own dear boys! your father comes to-day;      
He lives, is free, and we and all are free;      
The country owes its liberty to him!      
    
  Walt.  And I, too, mother, bore my part in it!      
I must be named with him. My father’s shaft           5   
Ran my life close, but yet I never flinch’d.      
    
  Hedw.  (embracing him). Yes, yes, thou art restored to me again!      
Twice have I seen thee given to my sad eyes,      
Twice suffered all a mother’s pangs for thee!      
But this is past—I have you both, boys, both!           10   
And your dear father will be back to-day.  [A monk appears at the door.      
    
  Will.  See, mother, yonder stands a holy friar;      
He comes for alms, no doubt.      
    
  Hedw.        Go lead him in,      
That we may give him cheer, and make him feel           15   
That he has come into the house of joy.  [Exit, and returns immediately with a cup.      
    
  Will.  (to the monk). come in, good man. Mother will give you food!      
    
  Walt.  Come in and rest, then go refresh’d away!      
    
  Monk  (glancing round in terror, with unquiet looks). Where am I? In what country? Tell me.      
    
  Walt.        How!           20   
Are you bewildered, that you know not where?      
You are at Bürglen, in the land of Uri,      
Just at the entrance of the Shechenthal.      
    
  Monk  (to HEDWIG). Are you alone? Your husband, is he here?      
    
  Hedw.  I am expecting him. But what ails you, man?           25   
There’s something in your looks, that omens ill!      
Whoe’er you be, you are in want—take that.  [Offers him the cup.      
    
  Monk.  Howe’er my sinking heart may yearn for food,      
Nought will I taste till you have promised first—      
    
  Hedw.  Touch not my garments, come not near me, monk!           30   
You must stand farther back, if I’m to hear you.      
    
  Monk.  Oh, by this hearth’s bright, hospitable blaze,      
By your dear children’s heads, which I embrace—  [Grasps the boys.      
    
  Hedw.  Stand back, I say! What is your purpose, man?      
Back from my boys! You are no monk,—no, no,           35   
Beneath the robe you wear peace should abide,      
But peace abides not in such looks as yours.      
    
  Monk.  I am the wretchedest of living men.      
    
  Hedw.  The heart is never deaf to wretchedness;      
But your look freezes up my inmost soul.           40   
    
  Walt.  (springs up). Mother, here’s father!      
    
  Hedw.        Oh, my God!  [Is about to follow, trembles and stops.      
    
  Will.  (running after his brother). My father!      
    
  Walt.  (without). Here, here once more!      
    
  Will.  (without).        My father, my dear father!           45   
    
  Tell  (without). Yes, here once more! Where is your mother, boys?  [They enter.      
    
  Walt.  There at the door she stands, and can no further,      
She trembles so with terror and with joy.      
    
  Tell.  Oh Hedwig, Hedwig, mother of my children!      
God has been kind and helpful in our woes.           50   
No tyrant’s hand shall e’er divide us more.      
    
  Hedw.  (falling on his neck). Oh, Tell, what anguish have I borne for thee!  [MONK becomes attentive.      
    
  Tell.  Forget it, now, and live for joy alone!      
I’m here again with you! This is my cot!      
I stand again upon mine own hearthstone!           55   
    
  Will.  But, father, where’s your crossbow? Not with you?      
    
  Tell.  Thou shalt not ever see it more, my boy.      
Within a holy shrine it has been placed,      
And in the chase shall ne’er be used again.      
    
  Hedw.  Oh, Tell! Tell!  [Steps back, dropping his hand.           60   
    
  Tell.        What alarms thee, dearest wife?      
    
  Hedw.  How—how doest thou return to me? This hand—      
Dare I take hold of it? This hand—Oh, God!      
    
  Tell  (with firmness and animation). Has shielded you and set my country free;      
Freely I raise it in the face of Heaven.  [MONK gives a sudden start—he looks at him.           65   
Who is this friar here?      
    
  Hedw.        Ah, I forgot him;      
Speak thou with him; I shudder at his presence.      
    
  Monk  (stepping nearer). Are you the Tell who slew the Governor?      
    
  Tell.  Yes, I am he. I hide the fact from no man.           70   
    
  Monk.  And you are Tell! Ah! it is God’s own hand,      
That hath conducted me beneath your roof.      
    
  Tell  (examining him closely).      
You are no monk. Who are you?      
    
  Monk.        You have slain           75   
The Governor, who did you wrong. I, too,      
Have slain a foe, who robb’d me of my rights.      
He was no less your enemy than mine.      
I’ve rid the land of him.      
    
  Tell  (drawing back). You are—oh, horror!           80   
In—children, children—in, without a word,      
Go, my dear wife! Go! Go! Unhappy man,      
You should be—      
    
  Hedw.        Heav’ns, who is it?      
    
  Tell.        Do not ask.           85   
Away! away! the children must not hear it.      
Out of the house—away! You must not rest      
’Neath the same roof with this unhappy man!      
    
  Hedw.  Alas! What is it? Come.  [Exit with the children.      
    
  Tell  (to the MONK).        You are the Duke           90   
Of Austria—I know it. You have slain      
The Emperor, your uncle and liege lord.      
    
  John.  He robb’d me of my patrimony.      
    
  Tell.        How!      
Slain him—your King, your uncle! And the earth           95   
Still bears you! And the sun still shines on you!      
    
  John.  Tell, hear me; are you—      
    
  Tell.        Reeking, with the blood      
Of him that was your Emperor, your kinsman,      
Dare you set foot within my spotless house,           100   
Dare to an honest man to show your face,      
And claim the rights of hospitality?      
    
  John.  I hoped to find compassion at your hands.      
You took, like me, revenge upon your foe!      
    
  Tell.  Unhappy man! Dare you confound the crime           105   
Of blood-imbrued ambition with the act      
Forced on a father in mere self-defence?      
Had you to shield your children’s darling heads,      
To guard your fireside’s sanctuary—ward off      
The last, the direst doom from all you loved?           110   
To Heaven I raise my unpolluted hands,      
To curse your act and you! I have avenged      
That holy nature which you have profaned.      
I have no part with you. You murdered, I      
Have shielded all that was most dear to me.           115   
    
  John.  You cast me off to comfortless despair!      
    
  Tell.  I shrink with horror while I talk with you.      
Hence, on the dread career you have begun!      
Cease to pollute the home of innocence!  [JOHN turns to depart.      
    
  John.  I cannot and I will not live this life!           120   
    
  Tell.  And yet my soul bleeds for you. Gracious Heaven,      
So young, of such a noble line, the grandson      
Of Rudolph, once my lord and Emperor,      
An outcast—murderer—standing at my door,      
The poor man’s door—a suppliant, in despair!  [Covers his face.           125   
    
  John.  If you have power to weep, oh let my fate      
Move your compassion—it is horrible!      
I am—say, rather was—a prince. I might      
Have been most happy, had I only curb’d      
The impatience of my passionate desires:           130   
But envy gnaw’d my heart—I saw the youth      
Of mine own cousin Leopold endow’d      
With honour, and enrich’d with broad domains,      
The while myself, of equal age with him,      
In abject slavish nonage was kept back.           135   
    
  Tell.  Unhappy man, your uncle knew you well,      
When from you land and subjects he withheld!      
You, by your mad and desperate act have set      
A fearful seal upon his wise resolve.      
Where are the bloody partners of your crime?           140   
    
  John.  Where’er the avenging furies may have borne them;      
I have not seen them since the luckless deed.      
    
  Tell.  Know you the Empire’s ban is out,—that you      
Are interdicted to your friends, and given      
An outlaw’d victim to your enemies!           145   
    
  John.  Therefore I shun all public thoroughfares,      
And venture not to knock at any door—      
I turn my footsteps to the wilds, and through      
The mountains roam, a terror to myself!      
From mine own self I shrink with horror back,           150   
If in a brook I see my ill-starr’d form!      
If you have pity or a human heart—  [Falls down before him.      
    
  Tell.  Stand up, stand up! I say.      
    
  John.        Not till you give      
Your hand in promise of assistance to me.           155   
    
  Tell.  Can I assist you? Can a sinful man?      
Yet get ye up—how black soe’er your crime—      
You are a man. I, too, am one. From Tell      
Shall no one part uncomforted. I will      
Do all that lies within my power.           160   
    
  John  (springs up and grasps him ardently by the hand). Oh, Tell,      
You save me from the terrors of despair.      
    
  Tell.  Let go my hand! You must away. You can not      
Remain here undiscover’d, and, discover’d,      
You cannot count on succour. Which way, then,           165   
Would you be going? Where do you hope to find      
A place of rest?      
    
  John.        Alas! I know not where.      
    
  Tell.  Hear, then, what Heaven unto my heart suggests.      
You must to Italy,—to Saint Peter’s City—           170   
There cast yourself at the Pope’s feet,—confess      
Your guilt to him, and ease your laden soul!      
    
  John.  Will he not to the avengers yield me up?      
    
  Tell.  Whate’er he does, accept it as from God.      
    
  John.  But how am I to reach that unknown land?           175   
I have no knowledge of the way, and dare not      
Attach myself to other travellers.      
    
  Tell.  I will describe the road, so mark me well!      
You must ascend, keeping along the Reuss,      
Which from the mountains dashes wildly down.           180   
    
  John  (in alarm). What! See the Reuss? The witness of my deed!      
    
  Tell.  The road you take lies through the river’s gorge,      
And many a cross proclaims where travellers      
Have been by avalanches done to death.      
    
  John.  I have no fear for nature’s terrors, so           185   
I can appease the torments of my soul.      
    
  Tell.  At every cross, kneel down and expiate      
Your crime with burning penitential tears—      
And if you ’scape the perils of the pass,      
And are not whelm’d beneath the drifted snows,           190   
That from the frozen peaks come sweeping down,      
You’ll reach the bridge that’s drench’d with drizzling spray.      
Then if it give not way beneath your guilt,      
When you have left it safely in your rear,      
Before you frowns the gloomy Gate of Rocks,           195   
Where never sun did shine. Proceed through this,      
And you will reach a bright and gladsome vale.      
Yet must you hurry on with hasty steps,      
You must not linger in the haunts of peace.      
    
  John.  O, Rudolph, Rudolph, royal grandsire! Thus           200   
Thy grandson first sets foot within thy realms!      
    
  Tell.  Ascending still, you gain the Gotthardt’s heights,      
Where are the tarns, the everlasting tarns,      
That from the streams of Heaven itself are fed,      
There to the German soil you bid farewell;           205   
And thence, with swift descent, another stream      
Leads you to Italy, your promised land.  [Ranz des Vaches sounded on Alp-horns is heard without.      
But I hear voices! Hence!      
    
  Hedw.  (hurrying in).        Where art thou, Tell?      
My father comes, and in exulting bands           210   
All the confederates approach.      
    
  Duke John  (covering himself). Woe’s me!      
I dare not tarry ’mong these happy men!      
    
  Tell.  Go, dearest wife, and give this man to eat.      
Spare not your bounty; for his road is long.           215   
And one where shelter will be hard to find.      
Quick—they approach!      
    
  Hedw.        Who is he?      
    
  Tell.        Do not ask!      
And when he quits you, turn your eyes away,           220   
 

Act V   
    
Scene III   
    
  Rud.  And from this moment all my serfs are free!  [Music, and the curtain falls.
    
The whole valley before TELL’S house, the heights which enclose it occupied by peasants, grouped into tableaux. Some are seen crossing a lofty bridge, which crosses the Shechen. WALTER FÜRST with the two boys. WALTER FÜRST with the two boys, WERNER, and STAUFFACHER come forward. Others throng after them. When TELL appears, all receive him with loud cheers.


  All.  Long live brave Tell, our shield, our saviour!  [While those in front are crowding round TELL, and embracing him, RUDENZ and BERTHA appear. The former salutes the peasantry, the latter embraces HEDWIG. The music from the mountains continues to play. When it has stopped, BERTHA steps into the centre of the crowd.      
    
  Berth.  Peasants! Confederates! Into your league      
Receive me, who was happily the first      
That found deliverance in the land of freedom.      
To your brave hands I now entrust my rights.           5   
Will you protect me as your citizen?      
    
  Peas.  Ay, that we will, with life and goods!      
    
  Berth.        ’Tis well!      
And now to him (turning to RUDENZ). I frankly give my hand,      
A free Swiss maiden to a free Swiss man!           10