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.
FISHERMAN.
Tell, made a prisoner, and borne off to Kuessnacht?
The best man in the land, the bravest arm,
Had we resolved to strike for liberty!
KUNZ.
The Viceroy takes him up the lake in person:
They were about to go on board, as I
Left Flueelen; but still the gathering storm,
That drove me here to land so suddenly,
Perchance has hindered their abrupt departure.
FISHERMAN.
Our Tell in chains, and in the viceroy's power!
Oh, trust me, Gessler will entomb him where
He never more shall see the light of day;
For, Tell once free, the tyrant well may dread
The just revenge of one so deep incensed.
KUNZ.
The old Landamman, too—von Attinghaus—
They say, is lying at the point of death.
FISHERMAN.
Then the last anchor of our hopes gives way!
He was the only man who dared to raise
His voice in favor of the people's rights.
KUNZ.
The storm grows worse and worse. So, fare ye well!
I'll go and seek out quarters in the village.
There's not a chance of getting off to-day.
[Exit.
FISHERMAN.
Tell dragged to prison, and the baron dead!
Now, tyranny, exalt thy insolent front—
Throw shame aside! The voice of truth is silenced,
The eye that watched for us in darkness closed,
The arm that should have struck thee down in chains!
BOY.
'Tis hailing hard—come, let us to the cottage
This is no weather to be out in, father!
FISHERMAN.
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!
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!
FISHERMAN.
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,
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
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.
FISHERMAN.
Woe to the bark that now pursues its course,
Rocked in the cradle of these storm-tossed waves.
Nor helm nor steersman here can aught avail;
The storm is master. Man is like a ball,
Tossed 'twixt the winds and billows. Far, or near,
No haven offers him its friendly shelter!
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; and bearing down from Flueelen.
FISHERMAN.
Heaven pity the poor wretches! When the storm
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,
Walling the narrow pass 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.
FISHERMAN.
Judgments of Heaven! Yes, it is he himself.
It is the governor! Yonder he sails,
And with him bears the burden of his crimes!
Soon has the arm of the avenger found him;
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.
Boy, do not pray; stay not the Judge's arm!
BOY.
I pray not for the governor; I pray
For Tell, who is on board the ship with him.
FISHERMAN.
Alas, ye blind, unreasoning elements!
Must ye, in punishing one guilty head,
Destroy the vessel and the pilot too?
BOY.
See, see, they've cleared the Buggisgrat [20]; but now
The blast, rebounding from the Devil's Minster [21],
Has driven them back on the Great Axenberg. [22]
I cannot see them now.
FISHERMAN.
The Hakmesser [23]
Is there, that's foundered 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.
They have on board the very best of pilots;
If any man can save them, Tell is he;
But he is manacled, both hand and foot.
[Enter WILLIAM TELL, with his crossbow. 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! Who is that man, kneeling yonder?
FISHERMAN.
He clutches at the earth with both his hands,
And looks as though he were beside himself.
BOY (advancing).
What do I see? Father, come here, and look!
FISHERMAN (approaches).
Who is it? God in heaven! What! William Tell,
How came you hither? Speak, Tell!
BOY.
Were you not
In yonder ship, a prisoner, and in chains?
FISHERMAN.
Were they not bearing you away to Kuessnacht?
TELL (rising).
I am released.
FISHERMAN and BOY.
Released, oh miracle!
BOY.
Whence came you here?
TELL.
From yonder vessel!
FISHERMAN.
What?
BOY.
Where is the viceroy?
TELL.
Drifting on the waves.
FISHERMAN.
Is't possible? But you! How are you here?
How 'scaped you from your fetters and the storm?
TELL.
By God's most gracious providence. Attend.
FISHERMAN and BOY.
Say on, say on!
TELL.
You know what passed at Altdorf?
FISHERMAN.
I do—say on!
TELL.
How I was seized and bound,
And ordered by the governor to Kuessnacht.
FISHERMAN.
And how with you at Flueelen he embarked.
All this we know. Say, how have you escaped?
TELL.
I lay on deck, fast bound with cords, disarmed,
In utter hopelessness. I did not think
Again to see the gladsome light of day,
Nor the dear faces of my wife and children;
And eyed disconsolate the waste of waters——
FISHERMAN.
Oh, wretched man!
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 [24], heaven ordained it so,
That from the Gotthardt's gorge, a hurricane
Swept down upon us with such headlong force,
That every rower's heart within him sank,
And all on board looked for a watery grave.
Then heard I one of the attendant train,
Turning to Gessler, in this strain 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;
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
Addressed me thus: "If thou wilt undertake
To bring us through this tempest safely, Tell,
I might consent to free thee from thy bonds."
I answered, "Yes, my lord, with God's assistance,
I'll see what can be done, and help us heaven!"
On this they loosed me from my bonds, and I
Stood by the helm and fairly steered along;
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,
That jutted, smooth atop, into the lake——
FISHERMAN.
I know it. 'Tis at foot of the Great Axen;
But looks so steep, I never could have dreamed
'Twere possible to leap it from the boat.
TELL.
I bade the men put forth their utmost might,
Until we came before the shelving crag.
For there, I said, the danger will be past!
Stoutly they pulled, and soon we neared the point;
One prayer to God for his assisting grace,
And straining every muscle, I brought round
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 hell of waters.
There let it drift about, as heaven ordains!
Thus am I here, delivered from the might
Of the dread storm, and man, more dreadful still.
FISHERMAN.
Tell, Tell, the Lord has manifestly wrought
A miracle in thy behalf! I scarce
Can credit my own eyes. But tell me, now,
Whither you purpose to betake yourself?
For you will be in peril should the viceroy
Chance to escape this tempest with his life.
TELL.
I heard him say, as I lay bound on board,
His purpose was to disembark at Brunnen;
And, crossing Schwytz, convey me to his castle.
FISHERMAN.
Means he to go by land?
TELL.
So he intends.
FISHERMAN.
Oh, then, conceal yourself without delay!
Not twice will heaven release you from his grasp.
TELL.
Which is the nearest way to Arth and Kuessnacht?
FISHERMAN.
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.
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.
FISHERMAN.
Yes, I was there,
And took the oath of the confederacy;
TELL.
Then do me this one favor; speed to Buerglen
My wife is anxious at my absence—tell her
That I am free, and in secure concealment.
FISHERMAN.
But whither shall I tell her you have fled?
TELL.
You'll find her father with her, and some more,
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.
FISHERMAN.
What have you, then, in view? Come, tell me frankly!
TELL.
When once 'tis done 'twill be in every mouth.
[Exit.
FISHERMAN.
Show him the way, boy. Heaven be his support!
Whate'er he has resolved, he'll execute.
[Exit.
SCENE II.
Baronial mansion of Attinghausen. The BARON upon a couch dying.
WALTER FURST, STAUFFACHER, MELCHTHAL, and BAUMGARTEN attending round
him. WALTER TELL kneeling before the dying man.
FURST.
All now is over with him. He is gone.
STAUFFACHER.
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.
FURST.
Who's there?
BAUGMARTEN (returning).
Tell's wife, your daughter; she insists
That she must speak with you, and see her boy.
[WALTER TELL rises.
FURST.
I who need comfort—can I comfort her?
Does every sorrow centre on my head?
HEDWIG (forcing her way in).
Where is my child? Unhand me! I must see him.
STAUFFACHER.
Be calm! Reflect you're in the house of death!
HEDWIG (falling upon her boy's neck).
My Walter! Oh, he yet is mine!
WALTER.
Dear mother!
HEDWIG.
And is it surely so? Art thou unhurt?
[Gazing at him with anxious tenderness.
And is it possible he aimed at thee?
How could he do it? Oh, he has no heart—
And he could wing an arrow at his child!
FURST.
His soul was racked with anguish when he did it.
No choice was left him, but to shoot or die!
HEDWIG.
Oh, if he had a father's heart, he would
Have sooner perished by a thousand deaths!
STAUFFACHER.
You should be grateful for God's gracious care,
That ordered things so well.
HEDWIG.
Can I forget
What might have been the issue. God of heaven!
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!
MELCHTHAL.
You know not how the viceroy taunted him!
HEDWIG.
Oh, ruthless heart of man! Offend his pride,
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!
BAUMGARTEN.
Is then your husband's fate not hard enough,
That you embitter it by such reproaches?
Have you no feeling for his sufferings?
HEDWIG (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?
The shameful wrong was done before your eyes;
Patient you stood, and let your friend be dragged,
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 pressed,
And full before you roared the storm-tossed lake?
Oh, not with idle tears he showed his pity;
Into the boat he sprung, forgot his home,
His wife, his children, and delivered thee!
FURST.
It had been madness to attempt his rescue,
Unarmed, and few in numbers as we were.
HEDWIG (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!
Heaven keep his soul from sinking to despair!
No friend's consoling voice can penetrate
His dreary dungeon walls. Should befall sick!
Ah! In the vapors of the murky vault
He must fall sick. Even as the Alpine rose
Grows pale and withers in the swampy air,
There is no life for him, but in the sun,
And in the balm of heaven's refreshing breeze.
Imprisoned? Liberty to him is breath;
He cannot live in the rank dungeon air!
STAUFFACHER.
Pray you be calm! And, hand in hand, we'll all
Combine to burst his prison doors.
HEDWIG.
Without him,
What have you power to do? While Tell was free,
There still, indeed, was hope—weak innocence
Had still a friend, and the oppressed a stay.
Tell saved you all! You cannot all combined
Release him from his cruel prison bonds.
[The BARON wakes.
BAUMGARTEN.
Hush, hush! He starts!
ATTINGHAUSEN (sitting up).
Where is he?
STAUFFACHER.
Who?
ATTINGHAUSEN.
He leaves me,—
In my last moments he abandons me.
STAUFFACHER.
He means his nephew. Have they sent for him?
FURST.
He has been summoned. Cheerily, Sir! Take comfort!
He has found his heart at last, and is our own.
ATTINGHAUSEN.
Say, has he spoken for his native land?
STAUFFACHER.
Ay, like a hero!
ATTINGHAUSEN.
Wherefore comes he not,
That he may take my blessing ere I die?
I feel my life fast ebbing to a close.
STAUFFACHER.
Nay, talk not thus, dear Sir! This last short sleep
Has much refreshed you, and your eye is bright.
ATTINGHAUSEN.
Life is but pain, and even that has left me;
My sufferings, like my hopes, have passed away.
[Observing the boy.
What boy is that?
FURST.
Bless him. Oh, good my lord!
He is my grandson, and is fatherless.
[HEDWIG kneels with the boy before the dying man.
ATTINGHAUSEN.
And fatherless I leave you all, ay, all!
Oh, wretched fate, that these old eyes should see
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.
STAUFFACHER (to FURST).
Shall he depart 'mid grief and gloom like this?
Shall not his parting moments be illumed
By hope's delightful beams? My noble lord,
Raise up your drooping spirit! We are not
Forsaken quite—past all deliverance.
ATTINGHAUSEN.
Who shall deliver you?
FURST.
Ourselves. For know
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.
In a free land your ashes shall repose.
ATTINGHAUSEN.
The league concluded! Is it really so?
MELCHTHAL.
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;
The ground is hollow 'neath the tyrant's feet;
Their days of rule are numbered, and ere long
No trace of their dominion shall remain.
ATTINGHAUSEN.
Ay, but their castles, how to master them?
MELCHTHAL.
On the same day they, too, are doomed to fall.
ATTINGHAUSEN.
And are the nobles parties to this league?
STAUFFACHER.
We trust to their assistance should we need it;
As yet the peasantry alone have sworn.
ATTINGHAUSEN (raising himself up in great astonishment).
And have the peasantry dared such a deed
On their own charge without their nobles' aid—
Relied so much on their own proper strength?
Nay then, indeed, they want our help no more;
We may go down to death cheered by the thought
That after us the majesty of man
Will live, and be maintained by other hands.
[He lays his hand upon the head of the child,
who is kneeling before him.
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.
STAUFFACHER (to FURST).
See, see, what splendor streams around his eye!
This is not nature's last expiring flame,
It is the beam of renovated life.
ATTINGHAUSEN.
From their old towers the nobles are descending,
And swearing in the towns the civic oath.
In Uechtland and Thurgau the work's begun;
The noble Bern 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 shivered against her everlasting walls.
[He speaks what follows with a prophetic tone;
his utterance rising into enthusiasm.
I see the princes and their haughty peers,
Clad all in steel, come striding on to crush
A harmless shepherd race with mailed hand.
Desperate the conflict: 'tis for life or death;
And many a pass will tell to after years
Of glorious victories sealed in foemen's blood. [25]
The peasant throws himself with naked breast,
A willing victim on their serried lances.
They yield—the flower of chivalry's cut down,
And freedom waves her conquering banner high!
[Grasps the hands Of WALTER FURST and STAUFFACHER.
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 FURST 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.
RUDENZ (entering hurriedly).
Lives he? Oh, say, can he still hear my voice?
FURST (averting his face).
You are our seignior and protector now;
Henceforth this castle bears another name.
RUDENZ (gazing at the body with deep emotion).
Oh, God! Is my repentance, then, too late?
Could he not live some few brief moments more,
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!
Oh, tell me! did he part in anger with me?
STAUFFACHER.
When dying he was told what you had done,
And blessed the valor that inspired your words!
RUDENZ (kneeling downs beside the dead body).
Yes, sacred relics of a man beloved!
Thou lifeless corpse! Here, on thy death-cold hand,
Do I abjure all foreign ties forever!
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,
Our common parent, yet be not dismayed!
'Tis not alone his lands that I inherit,—
His heart—his spirit have devolved on me;
And my young arm shall execute the task
For which his hoary age remained your debtor.
Give me your hands, ye venerable fathers!
Thine, Melchthal, too! Nay, do not hesitate,
Nor from me turn distrustfully away.
Accept my plighted vow—my knightly oath!
FURST.
Give him your hands, my friends! A heart like his
That sees and owns its error claims our trust.
MELCHTHAL.
You ever held the peasantry in scorn;
What surety have we that you mean us fair?
RUDENZ.
Oh, think not of the error of my youth!
STAUFFACHER (to MELCHTHAL).
Be one! They were our father's latest words.
See they be not forgotten! 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?
Our order is more ancient, too, than yours!
RUDENZ.
I honor it, and with my sword will shield it!
MELCHTHAL.
The arm, my lord, that tames the stubborn earth,
And makes its bosom blossom with increase,
Can also shield a man's defenceless breast.
RUDENZ.
Then you shall shield my breast and I will yours;
Thus each be strengthened by the others' aid!
Yet wherefore talk we while our native land
Is still to alien tyranny a prey?
First let us sweep the foeman from the soil,
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 formed.
You've held a Diet on the Rootli,—I
Know this,—know all that was transacted there!
And though I was not trusted with your secret,
I still have kept it like a sacred pledge.
Trust me, I never was my country's foe,
Nor would I ever have ranged myself against you!
Yet you did wrong to put your rising off.
Time presses! We must strike, and swiftly, too!
Already Tell has fallen a sacrifice
To your delay.
STAUFFACHER.
We swore to wait till Christmas.
RUDENZ.
I was not there,—I did not take the oath.
If you delay I will not!
MELCHTHAL.
What! You would——
RUDENZ.
I count me now among the country's fathers,
And to protect you is my foremost duty.
FURST.
Within the earth to lay these dear remains,
That is your nearest and most sacred duty.
RUDENZ.
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!
I have a cause to battle with the tyrants
That more concerns myself. Know, that my Bertha
Has disappeared,—been carried off by stealth,
Stolen from amongst us by their ruffian bands!
STAUFFACHER.
And has the tyrant dared so fell an outrage
Against a lady free and nobly born?
RUDENZ.
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 the tyrant has concealed her.
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.
STAUFFACHER.
What course do you propose?
RUDENZ.
Alas! I know not.
In the dark mystery that shrouds her fate,
In the dread agony of this suspense,
Where I can grasp at naught of certainty,
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 levelled! Everyone,
Ere we can pierce into her gloomy prison.
MELCHTHAL.
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 law.
Who such a coward as to waver still?
RUDENZ (to WALTER FURST).
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;
And when you see the welcome flames ascend,
Then, like the lightning, swoop upon the foe,
And lay the despots and their creatures low!
SCENE III.
The pass near Kuessnacht, 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).
Here through this deep defile he needs must pass;
There leads no other road to Kuessnacht; here
I'll do it; the opportunity is good.
Yon alder tree stands well for my concealment,
Thence my avenging shaft will surely reach him.
The straitness of the path forbids pursuit.
Now, Gessler, balance thine account with Heaven!
Thou must away from earth, thy sand is run.
I led a peaceful, inoffensive life;
My bow was bent on forest game alone,
And my pure soul was free from thoughts of murder.
But thou hast scared me from my dream of peace;
The milk of human kindness thou hast turned
To rankling poison in my breast, and made
Appalling deeds familiar to my soul.
He who could make his own child's head his mark
Can speed his arrow to his foeman's heart.
My children dear, my loved and faithful wife,
Must be protected, tyrant, from thy fury!
When last I drew my bow, with trembling hand,
And thou, with murderous joy, a father forced
To level at his child; when, all in vain,
Writhing before thee, I implored thy mercy,
Then in the agony of my soul I vowed
A fearful oath, which met God's ear alone,
That when my bow next winged 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,
Yet would the emperor not have stretched his power
So far as thou. He sent thee to these Cantons
To deal forth law, stern law, for he is angered;
But not to wanton with unbridled will
In every cruelty, with fiendlike joy:
There is 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.
And thou, my trusty bowstring, that so oft
Has served me faithfully in sportive scenes,
Desert me not in this most serious hour—
Only be true this once, my own good cord,
That has so often winged the biting shaft:—
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 wayworn traveller's brief repose—
For here there is no home. Each hurries by
The other, with quick step and careless look,
Nor stays to question of his grief. Here goes
The merchant, full of care—the pilgrim next,
With slender scrip—and then the pious monk,
The scowling robber, and the jovial player,
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.
Time was, my dearest children, when with joy
You hailed your father's safe return to home
From his long mountain toils; for when he came
He ever brought some little present with him.
A lovely Alpine flower—a curious bird—
Or elf-boat found by wanderers on the hills.
But now he goes in quest of other game:
In the wild pass he sits, and broods on murder;
And watches for the life-blood of his foe,
But still his thoughts are fixed on you alone,
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 severest toil,
Roam for whole days amid the winter's cold,
Leap with a daring bound from rock to rock,—
And climb the jagged, slippery steeps, to which
His limbs are glued by his own streaming blood;
And all this but to gain a wretched chamois.
A far more precious prize is now my aim—
The heart of that dire foe who would destroy me.
[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,
And many a goodly prize have I brought home,
Won in the games of skill. This day I'll make
My master-shot, and win the highest prize
Within the whole circumference of the mountains.
[A marriage train 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 bridal party of the steward
Of Moerlischachen's cloister. He is rich!
And has some ten good pastures on the Alps.
He goes to fetch his bride from Imisee,
There will be revelry to-night at Kuessnacht.
Come with us—every honest man's invited.
TELL.
A gloomy guest fits not a wedding feast.
STUSSI.
If grief oppress you, dash it from your heart!
Bear with your lot. The times are heavy now,
And we must snatch at pleasure while we can.
Here 'tis a bridal, there a burial.
TELL.
And oft the one treads close upon the other.
STUSSI.
So runs the world at present. Everywhere
We meet with woe and misery enough.
There's been a slide of earth in Glarus, and
A whole side of the Glaernisch has fallen in.
TELL.
Strange! And do even the hills begin to totter?
There is stability for naught on earth.
STUSSI.
Strange tidings, too, we hear from other parts.
I spoke with one but now, that came from Baden,
Who said a knight was on his way to court,
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.
Even the weak are furnished with a sting.
[ARMGART (enters with several children, and places
herself at the entrance of the pass).
STUSSI.
'Tis thought to bode disaster to the country,
Some horrid deed against the course of nature.
TELL.
Why, every day brings forth such fearful deeds;
There needs no miracle to tell their coming.
STUSSI.
Too true! He's blessed who tills his field in peace,
And sits untroubled by his own fireside.
TELL.
The very meekest cannot rest in quiet,
Unless it suits with his ill neighbor's humor.
[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.
STUSSI.
A pleasant meeting with your friends!
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,
And all the bridges have been swept away.
[TELL rises.
ARMGART (coming forward).
The viceroy not arrived?
STUSSI.
And do you seek him?
ARMGART.
Alas, I do!
STUSSI.
But why thus place yourself
Where you obstruct his passage down the pass?
ARMGART.
Here he cannot escape me. He must hear me.
FRIESSHARDT (coming hastily down the pass, and calls upon the stage).
Make way, make way! My lord, the governor,
Is coming down on horseback close behind me.
[Exit TELL.
ARMGART (with animation).
The viceroy comes!
[She goes towards the pass with her children.
GESSLER and RUDOLPH DER HARRAS appear upon the
heights on horseback.
STUSSI (to FRIESSHARDT).
How got ye through the stream
When all the bridges have been carried down?
FRIESSHARDT.
We've battled with the billows; and, my friend,
An Alpine torrent's nothing after that.
STUSSI.
How! Were you out, then, in that dreadful storm?
FRIESSHARDT.
Ay, that we were! I shall not soon forget it.
STUSSI.
Stay, speak——
FRIESSHARDT.
I cannot. I must to the castle,
And tell them that the governor's at hand.
[Exit.
STUSSI.
If honest men, now, had been in the ship,
It had gone down with every soul on board:—
Some folks are proof 'gainst fire and water both.
[Looking round.
