University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

—A Valley.
Time, Twilight—which gradually changes to moonlight. A rude bier on one side, on which are laid the bodies of Eberhard and Antoine, covered with a mantle. Peasantry cross at back.
Arnold
discovered.
A change comes o'er the land. Men wear their eyes
More to their fellow's faces, and when they pause
They look towards heaven, as if in gratitude
For some expected blessing, thanking the hope
They deem forerunner of the coming good.
Hand grasps hand as though an asseveration
Was by the pressure seal'd irrevocably.
And yet the oppressor's tread is heavier
On their necks than ever. Still they look glad,
And seeming smile. 'Tis the convulsive joy beam
Fear, when expiring, lends to his scarce living victim.
[Merry music is heard without
Methinks a wail should be the only music
Switzerland should hear—a lament for the
Living,
[Laugh of the Peasantry is heard
Now they are slaves who thus do laugh;
The worst of slaves, for they are bondsmen here,
In the very land their fathers left them free,
They feel the shackle and the whip, and yet they laugh—
But their joy's empty as the airy globe
An infant's breath doth blow in pastime up,
Which hath a moment's life, and then 'tis gone!
A Male and Female Peasant enters with Gortz, playing on his Pipe, U. E. R. H.
Peace, minstrel! peace, I pray thee! art thou Swiss?

Gortz.
I am—thou knowest me, Arnold—I'm Gortz!

Arn.
Ye look like men— [Turns from them.]
—but yonder fleecy clouds
Will sometimes shape themselves to things of life
And still are only vapour. Get home! get home!

Gortz.
Marry, Arnold, you wrong us. Men are we—
At least those that wear a beard upon their chins.

Arn.
(Thoughtfully.)
Thou wast at my son's wedding?

Gortz.
Most truly
Have I cause to memory that day.

Arn.
And so have I.

Gortz.
What didst thou expend
Thine all in ribbons, paints, and buckles?

Arn.
Aye, all to the last mite!

Gortz.
I saw them not!

Arn.
No, no, I wore them here—my heart was dressed
In all hope's brightest colours. My poor boy!
How have they faded! You, I said, was there
When my boy wedded.

Gortz.
And I denied it not.

Arn.
You saw the strife between the lammer-geyer
And the poor goat?

Gortz.
I had no eyes else.

Arn.
Tell the story, as you journey on,
Among your absent fellows, and remember
The weak one conqured!

Gortz.
I will.

Arn.
Now get ye home,
And look upon your children at their play—
[Peasants cross to L. H.
And think what ye would do, if from the hills
A ravenous wolf assailed them! Think and act.
[Exeunt Gortz and Peasants, L. H.
Enter Walter, Martin, and other Confederates, U. E. R, H.
Brothers! this looks like action, when old men
Leave their beds to mark the dial's face
When shadow'd by the moon. Welcome, brothers!

Wal.
Sleep hath lost its charms in Underwalden.
Men there are whose stern and reverend looks
Tell not the reveller stirring; and youths
Who wear their twentieth summer green on
Their unwrinkled brows, walk silently along
Fearing to break the stillness by their breath.

Mar.
A minstrel brought this pipe to me, and said
It was a useless bauble; that men now frown'd
Upon him and his tune, who erst had given
Them both a welcome. He bade me keep it—
(For it was the pipe his grandsire used to play),
As men now seemed to love the bell-like sound
Of glittering iron better than his reed.

Arn.
'Tis well, brothers! I this morning stood
Beside a peasant's door, and saw his child
Neglect its fitting toys to march in mimic war,
Shouldering his father's sword—a rough tool, methought
For infant hands to grasp.

Wal.
This new oppression
Doth outstrip the wind.

Confederates.
What's that you speak of?

Arn.
The Convent of St. Dominic at Endelberg
Has been broke open—the holy vessel's stolen—
The refectory strew'd with remnants of a feast—
The image of the blessed mother torn
From its pedestal, and strewn in fragments
O'er the sacred floor; a soldier's belt,
Mark'd with the symbol of the state, was left;
Yet will our honest rulers see not this,
But stamp the ignominy of this deed
On us! Nay, more—they did not dare refuse
To make the holy father's reparation;
But to meet the charge, an edict is put forth,
Compelling all to labour for the State
One day in seven, or redeem their absence
By payment of a tax. To-morrow is the day
Appointed for the trial of this trick—
They'll find more labourers than they wot of
For the State's good. We only wanted this,
Or some such grievance to decide the act
That should redeem us.

Mar.
Then it is welcome,
Since 'twill mould to good.

Arn.
To-night will prove it. [Dead march.]

For I have brought two pleaders in our cause,
Who with their wordless eloquence shall shake
Their very souls!
Look! look, my friends! is freedom but a shade,
When at her call a thousand hearts are found
Piled on her altar stone, though death stands by?
Death bears nature's seal, but slavery
Is most unnatural, or God would ne'er
Have equaliz'd man's power with man's so finely.
It was a demon's thought that first conceived it
For bad men's purposes! 'Twas nurtured on the ill
And damning passions of our nature 'till it grew
So monstrous on its appetites, the world
Itself could scarce allay them.

Wal.
It feeds not here
While we have hearts and hands to drive it hence.

[The Peasantry appear again and descend on the Stage, and form at back.]
Arn.
(Advances to bier.)
Mountaineers! the hour has arrived when hearts
Must prove the stuff they're made of.
Here, my friends, are two I have wept over,
A sire and a child; draw near and gaze on them!
See, how fair she was; worthy the parent stem
She sprung from! One blow killed both! one blow!
[To a Peasant.]
You weep, old man? Does she resemble your own
Sweet child? Be wary of her! The bow that shot
This shaft has yet another resting on the string
With the same power to bend it, and the will!
'Twas done for pastime by our rulers, sirs!
Nay, by an old man's word, I swear 'twas so!
It pleased them; she was fair; they pluck'd the bud,
And so it withered! The old man died from grief.

Omnes.
Tyrants!

Arn.
The dead do stir ye, then! I'm glad of it;
For tyranny could not. For years the chain
Hath rusted with your blood, distill'd by drops,
Which had ye freely pour'd had eat it through.
My countrymen! Oppression's at its height!
Switzerland's a name alone, and that of scorn.
Her ancient laws usurp'd; her fruitfulness
Converted to the means of her destruction!
Her rulers aliens, and her children slaves!
What's to be done? the forest oak's unscath'd
By summer winds. The wedge alone divides it.
Our entreaties fall upon our ruler's hearts
As dew on adamant—the sword alone
Can reach them. How speaks Helvetia's children
To Helvetia's question? Will ye strike for freedom?

Omnes.
We will; we will!

Arn.
Swear with me here, that whilst a vein contains
Its flood of life, to struggle in this cause!
Spread out your hands to the broad sky o'er us,
That heaven may see they're stainless yet with blood—
That that which shall hereafter redden them
Will be from the oblations to our country.

Omnes.
(Kneeling.)
We swear! [They all rise.]


Alb.
(To Arnold.)
My more than father—for you have given me
A title to the freedom of these hills—
A hundred brothers in these noble men—
A right to wield a sword in this just cause—
Here in thy hands I place the price another sold
His freedom for! use it to aid the gaining of our own.

[Gives a purse.
Arn.
You hear him, friends; he nobly gives you gold!
Speak, do the swords ye bring require a purchase?

Omnes.
No! no! we strike for liberty!

Arn.
Albert, you hear their answer! what would tyrants give
For hands so fill'd? their gold could never buy them!

Alb.
Oh, noble hearts! worthy the glorious land
That heaven hath given you!

Arn.
William! my boy!
Hast thou no words?

Wil.
(Points to the bier.)
Here is my eloquence,
In the pale face of this sleeping angel!
The spirit that inhabited this form
Is now her country's advocate in heaven.

Wal.
See, Arnold, our messenger from Berne returns—
Heaven send they're with us! This speed looks well.

Enter a Peasant.
Arn.
How answers Berne?

Peasant.
As you divined—
They said their answer was already given.

Arn.
So much the better! the glory will be greater,

Peasant.
Orders have been given to one
Of Rudolph's messengers to speed unto the hills
With letters to Lord Gesler, the bitterest foe
Our country numbers.

Arn.
Too well I know it. [To Peasant.]

We must to action, then! Fire the beacon!
[William ascends the rock.
And may our sacrifice find favour, heaven!
[The glare of the Beacon falls on the Stage, and other fires appear successively on the distant hills.]
Behold their ready answer!
[A horn is sounded at a distance, answered until end of Act.]
Another, too!
Unsheath your swords, and boldly to the question,
And think upon the glorious prize ye fight for!
Freedom to Helvetia! [Omnes shout.—Picture.]