University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

SCENE I.

—A Mountain with Mist.
Gesler is seen descending the Mountain with a hunting-pole.
Ges.
Alone, alone! and every step the mist
Thickens around me! On these mountain tracks
To lose one's way, they say, is sometimes death.
What hoa! holloa!—No tongue replies to me!
No thunder hath the horror of this silence!
I dare not stop!—The day, though not half run,
Is not less sure to end night; and night,
Dreary when through the social haunts of men
Her solemn darkness walks, in such a place
As this, comes wrapp'd in most appalling fear!
I dare not stop; nor dare I, yet, proceed;
Begirt with hidden danger! If I take
This hand, it carries me still deeper into
The wild and savage solitudes I'd shun,
Where once to faint with hunger is to die!
If this, it leads me to the precipice,
Whose brink with fatal horror rivets him
That treads upon't; till, drunk with fear, he reels
Into the gaping void, and headlong down
Plunges to still more hideous death! Curséd slaves!
To let me wander from them! [Thunder.]
Hoa!—Holloa!
My voice sounds weaker to mine ear! I've not
The strength to call I had; and through my limbs
Cold tremor runs, and sickening faintness seizes
On my heart! O heaven, have mercy! Do not see
The colour of the hands I lift to thee!
Look only on the strait wherein I stand,
And pity it! Let me not sink! Uphold,—
Support me! Mercy! mercy! I shall die!

[He leans against a rock, stupified with terror and exhaustion—it grows darker and darker—the rain pours down in torrents, and a furious wind arises —the mountain streams begin to swell and roar. Albert is seen descending by the side of one of the streams, which in his course he crosses with the help of his pole.
Alb.
I'll breathe upon this level, if the wind
Will let me. Ha! a rock to shelter me!
Thanks to't. A man, and fainting! Courage, friend,
Courage! A stranger that has lost his way—
Take heart!—Take heart; you're safe. How feel you now?

[Gives him drink from a flask.
Ges.
Better.

Alb.
You have lost your way upon the hill?

Ges.
I have.

Alb.
And whither would you go?

Ges.
To Altorf.

Alb.
I'll guide you thither.

Ges.
You're a child.

Alb.
I know
The way. The track I've come is harder far
To find.

Ges.
The track you've come! What mean you? Sure
You have not been still farther in the mountains?

Alb.
I've travelled from Mount Faigel.

Ges.
No one with thee?

Alb.
No one but God.

Ges.
Do you not fear these storms?

Alb.
God's in the storm!

Ges.
And there are torrents, too,
That must be cross'd.

Alb.
God's by the torrent, too!

Ges.
You're but a child.

Alb.
God will be with a child!

Ges.
You're sure you know the way?

Alb.
'Tis but to keep
The side of yonder stream.

Ges.
But guide me safe,
I'll give thee gold!

Alb.
I'll guide thee safe without.

Ges.
Here's earnest for thee. [Offers gold.]
Here—I'll double that,
Yea, treble it, let me but see the gate
Of Altorf. Why do you refuse the gold?
Take't.

Alb.
No.

Ges.
You shall.

Alb.
I will not.

Ges.
Why?

Alb.
Because
I do not covet it; and, though I did,
It would be wrong to take it as the price
Of doing one a kindness.

Ges.
Ha!—who taught
Thee that?

Alb.
My father.

Ges.
Does he live in Altorf?

Alb.
No, in the mountains.

Ges.
How!—a mountaineer?
He should become a tenant of the city;
He'd gain by't.

Alb.
Not so much as he might lose by't.

Ges.
What might he lose by't?

Alb.
Liberty.

Ges.
Indeed!
He also taught thee that?

Alb.
He did.

Ges.
His name?

Alb.
This is the way to Altorf, sir.

Ges.
I'd know
Thy father's name.

Alb.
The day is wasting—We
Have far to go.

Ges.
Thy father's name, I say?

Alb.
I will not tell it thee.

Ges.
Not tell it me!
Why?

Alb.
You may be an enemy of his.

Ges.
May be, a friend.

Alb.
May be; but should you be
An enemy—Although I would not tell you
My father's name, I'd guide you safe to Altorf.
Will you follow me?

Ges.
Ne'er mind thy father's name:
What would it profit me to know't? Thy hand;
We are not enemies.

Alb.
I never had
An enemy!

Ges.
Lead on.

Alb.
Advance your staff
As you descend; and fix it well. Come on!

Ges.
What! must we take that steep?

Alb.
'Tis nothing! Come!
I'll go before—Ne'er fear. Come on—Come on!

[They go out.

SCENE II.

—An Apartment in the Castle of Altorf.
Enter Michael and Jagheli.
Jag.
Yes, Michael, so it stands. She only is
Step-daughter to the Seneschal. The less
Her debt of duty; which, though it were more,
She were absolved from by the tyrant's part
He acts, who weds her where she loathes, not loves.
O, win her for me, Michael, or you'll have
To get a leech for me.

Mic.
Get thee a leech? I'll be in want of one
Myself! Thy sickness is infectious. Would
A scalded foot had kept me to the house—
A fever tied me to my bed—a fit
Tripp'd up my heels in the street, ere I had met thee,
To play the leech for thee! I was as sound
As reckless laughter, then; could eat or drink
With him that ask'd me—could go here or there
And find me ample fund of mirth, where'er
I went—could sing—could dance—could keep awake
Or sleep as well as any one! You've sped me!
Concluded me!—brought all my fair estate
Of rich content to melancholy end!
Jagheli, I'm in love.

Jag.
In love!

Mic.
In love?

Jag.
Michael in love!—What, prithee, made thee fall
In love?

Mic.
A cup of wine.

Jag.
Another cup
Will work thy cure.

Mic.
If thou couldst give me with't
The hand that help'd me to't, and with the hand
The lip that kiss'd the cup ere it touch'd mine.—
Nor was it yet the hand, nor yet the lip,
But the arch smile that quiver'd on the lip
And seem'd to mock the motion of the hand,
Moving in maiden coyness. Plague on't! I've
Been posed at mine own trade!—proved an apprentice
With mine own tools!—Master'd wherein I bragg'd,
To show my skill—and only by a smile
Half shown—you scarce could tell if it was there
Or not—a glimpse and gone, and then again
A glimpse and gone again, ere you could say
You saw it!—I'm in love.—I have it here!—
Here in the very centre of my heart!
That ever I should live to see the day,
I fell in love.

Jag.
Psha! Michael! You in love!
You have been laughing till you've got a stitch
In the side.

Mic.
A stitch! If thou hast such another,
It will not let thee sleep. But hither comes
Thy lady's chamberlain, with dulcet voice,
To call thee to her. Now her father's out,
Make profit of thy calling, master leech,
Or follow it no more!

Enter Braun.
Braun.
My lady says
She'll see you, sir.—Come this way.

Mic.
Mind!

Jag.
I will.

[Braun and Jagheli go out.
Mic.
I'd like to try a race with him in love.
Can he compare with me in such a strife?—
With me, could talk him dumb at any time?
Ere he began to woo, I should be done—
But, to be done, a man must needs begin.

Enter Agnes, unobserved by Michael.
Agn.
What!—Mischief plotting?—'Tis a graceful cheat!
Rogue as he is, the man 's a man to love.

Mic.
Hang modesty!

Agn.
Well said! When that doth die,
No cousin goes of thine, to put thee to
The charge of mourning.

Mic.
I'll take heart, and woo
Her soundly!

Agn.
Love have pity on her, then!

Mic.
This very hour I'll tell her I'm in love.

Agn.
This very hour she'll tell thee thou'rt a fool.

Mic.
I'll marry her in a week.

Agn.
You'll wait, perhaps,
A little longer.

Mic.
Nay, a week's too long!
Three days from this.

Agn.
Why not to-morrow, sir?
You'd be as near your wedding.

Mic.
Send her now,
Kind Cupid—Send her now. I'm in the mood
To woo her.

Agn.
What, if she's not in the mood
To come?

Mic.
In such a mood, that were she marble,
I'd soften her—or ice, I'd make her melt.

Agn.
O dear!

Mic.
Or steel itself, she should become
As gently ductile as the generous ore
Comes nearest to her worth, and, yet, not more
Than sums it half, although 'twere virgin gold!

Agn.
I'll fly!—

Mic.
Now, Cupid, now, I'll conquer her
In all her charms that vanquish'd at a sight!
By every arrow in thy quiver, boy,
If thou hast made me smart—she shan't go free;
So send her to me.

Agn.
Nay, in sooth I'll stay.
Who ever fear'd a boaster?

Mic.
Cupid, now!
Boy, I would stake my heart against thy wings,
I'd woo, and win, and wed her in a day!

Agn.
[Coming forward.]
O, sir, you are the youth that brought the leech.

Mic.
[Confused.]
Ma'am?

Agn.
And a pretty leech it is you've brought.

Mic.
Ma'am?

Agn.
He must needs have practised very long,
To be so sapient and profound a leech!
Where studied he, I pray you?

Mic.
[Stammers.]
Studied, ma'am?

Agn.
Yes, studied! [Imitating him.]
Thinkest thou a leech is made
By only putting on the coat of one?
At such a rate, you would, yourself, be one,
Instead of his good trusty serving-man.

Mic.
His serving-man!

Agn.
Yes, sir, that pounds his drugs—
The half of which I wot are poisonous—
Makes ready his emplastrums—filthy things!
Boils his decoctions, and makes up his powders,
Ointments, and mixtures: I am sure I've seen you
In your working clothes, without that Sunday chin
You now have on, beating a tune upon
The leech's mortar—to the which you sang
In such melodious strain, that, one and all,
The passers-by did stop their ears, o'ercome
With surfeit of the sweetness!

Mic.
Madam,—Why,
Michael! Dear Michael! What are you about?
Are you a man?

Agn.
What wages do you get,
Besides the blows the leech bestows on you,
When you forget to make his nostrums up,
Or mar them in the mixing?

Mic.
Blows!

Agn.
Ay, blows.
Come, come; don't look so fierce! You're just the man
To take them kindly, as, indeed, you should.
For I can read, sir, by your face, you're dull
Of wit, and slow of comprehension; nor
Of memory careful in the hoarding of
What's trusted to it. If the worthy leech
But beats thee once a week, he's not more wise
Than patient.

Mic.
[Aside.]
Michael, thou hast found thy match!
But wilt thou yield without a struggle for't?
No!—Courage, Michael! Now or never, man! [Struts up to Agnes.]
Ma'am!

Agn.
Bless me; sir, perhaps I may be wrong!
And you are not his serving-man?

Mic.
No, ma'am.

Agn.
Nor anything under the leech?

Mic.
No, ma'am.

Agn.
Then, I will e'en make bold to tell you, sir,
I think the leech is just as much a leech
As you are.

Mic.
Ma'am!

Agn.
I've found him out, sir.

Mic.
Have you?

Agn.
And found out you—You shall be flay'd alive, sir,
For passing him for a leech. A pretty way
To make my cousin well!

Mic.
Your cousin, ma'am?
I took you for the lady's abigail!
Come, come, you are—or nature in her work
Shows little thrift, so fitting things for ends
They come not to—You are her abigail!

Agn.
I vow I'm not!

Mic.
Your voice with which you vow
Protests you are.

Agn.
My voice!

Mic.
'Tis of the pitch
That chills the lover's hope—that answers “no”
To all his sighs; the which, when daughters hear,
They straight bethink them of a breaking heart!
My uncle had an abigail with just
Your voice.

Agn.
Indeed?

Mic.
Indeed! She was a match
For twenty lovers that my cousin had.
Not one of them could move her! Then your eye—

Agn.
Ay, what of that?

Mic.
Why such an eye should go
With such a voice! There's watchfulness in it.
'Twas made to pierce disguises, and to look
On pleading lovers, as on stocks and stones!

Agn.
Your uncle's abigail, I guess, had such
An eye, too?

Mic.
Yes—a little softer, though,
In its fire.—And then your dress!—

Agn.
What of my dress?

[Angrily.
Mic.
Why, 'tis put on in perfect shrew-fashion,
Like armour, straight, and square, and stiff! It speaks
Defiance to male-kind! Were Twenty-one
To put it on, 'twould look Two-score! Wast thou
A beauty now, and teased with lovers, such
A dress as that would free thee from them all.

Agn.
Art thou in earnest now?

Mic.
In earnest! Yes.
I'll take an oath thou art her abigail—
As much as I'm the leech's serving-man,—
As much as he's the leech. Sweet, we are both
True serving-men to love; and you're the hire;
I serve for.

[Catching her in his arms.
Agn.
[Disengaging herself.]
Stay!—Who serves for hire must wait
Till it be given him, ere he takes his hire;
He must not help himself.

Mic.
But give me mine—

Agn.
Hush!—Some one comes.

Mic.
I'm mute as faith
That's sworn to silence. Let me keep thy hand.

[They retire near, and remain unseen by Braun.
Enter Braun.
Braun.
Now, Braun, whoever after calls thee “drone”
Doth lie, and men shall tell him so. Thou'rt wise,
Watchful, and keen of sight; canst see when all
The house besides, with open eyes, are blind—
Stone blind. Thou shalt no more be Braun, the dolt,
The sluggard Braun, the hound, the hog, or Braun
The good-for-naught; or everything, but Braun
Himself! Thou shalt be honest Braun—good Braun!—
Braun that can see a thing!—can find it out
Before the Seneschal!—brave Braun!—The leech
Is but a cheat—my lady but a cheat,—
Her sickness all put on. He is to come
On Wednesday—no, to-day is Wednesday—no,
Wednesday was yesterday. He is to come—
I have forgot the day; no matter. I
Remember he's to come, and that's enough.
He is to come at—Plague upon the hour!
'Twas not at breakfast-hour, or dinner-hour,
Or any hour of meals or sleep—I'm sure
Of that; but then, what signifies the hour,
When I've forgot the day? Most true—most true;
A lucky thought. No matter what the hour,
Or what the day; 'tis what he purposed at
The hour and the day, concerns me to remember,
And that I don't forget. He is to come
To take away my lady mistress, who
Is nothing loth. Remember that, good Braun,
And make thy fortune with the Seneschal.

[Goes out.
Agnes and Michael advance.
Agn.
Undone—undone! If thou remain'st, 'tis death!

Mic.
And if I fly, what fly I to but death?

Agn.
Nay, save thy life.

Mic.
Thou art its precious breath,
And, parted from thee, 'tis no longer life.

Agn.
Could I believe thee!

Mic.
If thou wouldst, thou couldst.
There lack of power is only lack of will.

Agn.
Nay, say not so; in sooth, I've all the will.

Mic.
Then, here, I plight my faith to thee!

Agn.
Nay, hold!

Mic.
'Tis done, sweet maid, and cannot be recall'd!
So give me vow for vow. No sentinel
Keeps watch beneath the casement where you sleep:
There could I hang, by aid of this kind night,
A ladder—such a one as lovers find
Their way by to their mistress' arms, when doors
Are barr'd against them—Thou'rt not happy here!
This house of wolves is no abode for thee!
Let's to our friends, and briefly, ere we part,
Resolve the means and time for meeting; ne'er
To part again!

Agn.
You'll take the abigail?

Mic.
If you will take the leech's serving-man.

[They go out.

SCENE III.

—The Gate of Altorf.
Enter Gesler and Albert.
Alb.
You're at the gate of Altorf.

[Returning.
Ges.
Tarry, boy!

Alb.
I would be gone—I am waited for.

[Going.
Ges.
Come back!
Who waits for thee? Come, tell me; I am rich
And powerful, and can reward.

Alb.
'Tis close
On evening!—I have far to go!—I'm late!

Ges.
Stay! I can punish, too.

Alb.
I might have left you,
When on the hill I found you fainting, with
The mist around you; but I stopp'd and cheer'd you,
Till to yourself you came again. I offer'd
To guide you, when you could not find the way,
And I have brought you to the gate of Altorf!

Ges.
Boy, do you know me?

Alb.
No.

Ges.
Why fear you, then,
To trust me with your father's name?—Speak.

Alb.
Why
Do you desire to know it?

Ges.
You have served me,
And I would thank him, if I chanced to pass
His dwelling.

Alb.
'Twould not please him, that a service,
So trifling, should be made so much of!

Ges.
Trifling?
You've saved my life.

Alb.
Then do not question me,
But let me go!

Ges.
When I have learn'd from thee
Thy father's name. What hoa!

[Knocks at the gate.
Sentinel.
[Within.]
Who's there?

Ges.
Gesler!

[The gate is opened.
Alb.
Ha, Gesler!

Ges.
[To the Soldiers.]
—Seize him! Wilt thou tell me
Thy father's name?

Alb.
No!

Ges.
I can bid them cast thee
Into a dungeon! Wilt thou tell it now?

Alb.
No!

Ges.
I can bid them strangle thee! Wilt tell it?

Alb.
Never!

Ges.
Away with him! Send Sarnem to me.
[Soldiers take off Albert through the gate.
Behind that boy, I see the shadow of
A hand, must wear my fetters, or 'twill try
To strip me of my power. I have felt to-day
What 'tis to live at others' mercy. I
Have tasted fear, to very sickness, and
Owed to a peasant-boy my safety—Ay,
My life! and there does live the slave can say
Gesler's his debtor! How I loathed the free
And fearless air with which he trod the hill!
Yea, though the safety of his steps was mine,
Oft as our path-way brink'd the precipice,
I wish'd to see him miss his footing and
Roll over!—But he's in my power!—Some way
To find the parent nest of this fine eaglet,
And harrow it! I'd like to clip the broad
And full-grown wing that taught his tender pinion
So bold a flight!

Enter Sarnem.
Ges.
Ha, Sarnem! Have the slaves,
Attended me, returned?

Sar.
They have.

Ges.
You'll see
That every one of them be laid in fetters.

Sar.
I will.

Ges.
Didst mark the boy?

Sar.
That pass'd me?

Ges.
Yes.

Sar.
A mountaineer.

Ges.
You'd say so, saw you him
Upon the hills; he walks them like their lord!
I tell thee, Sarnem, looking on that boy,
I felt I was not master of those hills.
He has a father!—Neither promises
Nor threats could draw from him his name—a father
Who talks to him of liberty! I fear
That man!

Sar.
He may be found.

Ges.
He must; and, soon
As found, disposed of! I can see him now.
He is as palpable to my sight, as if
He stood like you before me. I can see him
Scaling that rock! Yea, I can feel him, Sarnem,
As I were in his grasp, and he about
To hurl me o'er yon parapet! I live
In danger, till I find that man! Send parties
Into the mountains, to explore them far
And wide; and if they chance to light upon
A father, who expects his child, command them
To drag him straight before us. Sarnem, Sarnem,
They are not yet subdued. Some way to prove
Their spirit!—Take this cap; and have it set
Upon a pole in the market-place, and see
That one and all do bow to it. Whoe'er
Resists or pays the homage sullenly,
Our bonds await him! Sarnem, see it done!
[Sarnem goes out.
We need not fear the spirit that would rebel
But dares not:—That which dares we will not fear!

[Goes out.

SCENE IV.

—The Market-Place.
Burghers and Peasants, with Pierre, Theodore, and Savoyards, discovered.
CHORUS.
Pie.
Come, come, another strain.

The.
A cheerful one.

Sav.
What shall it be?

The.
No matter, so 'tis gay.
Begin!

Sav.
You'll join the burden?

The.
Never fear.
Go on.

[Savoyard plays and sings, during which Tell and Verner enter, the former leans upon his bow, and listens gloomily.

[They shout, and laughingly accompany the Savoyards, who go out, with some of the crowd.
Tell.
What's the heart worth that lends itself to glee,
With argument like theirs for bitterness?
Or is't the melancholy sport of grief
To look on pleasures and to handle them,
That, when it lays the precious jewels down,
It may perceive its poverty the more?
Methinks those cheeks are not exactly dress'd
To please the hearts that own them.

Ver.
Doubt it not.
They feel their thraldom!

Tell.
So they should!—That's hope—
I'd have it gall them—eat into their flesh!
Long as they fester, there's a remedy;
But for your callous slave I know no cure!
To-morrow brings the test, will surely prove them.
You'll not forget the hour?

Ver.
Be sure I will not.

Tell.
Erni is warn'd ere this; and Furst, I've said,
Is ready. Fare you well.

Ver.
Stay, William!—Now
Observe the people.

[The people have gathered to one side, and look in the opposite direction with apprehension and trouble —those who had gone off return.
Tell.
Ha!—They please me now—
That's honest!—That's sincere! I still preferr'd
The seasons like themselves.—Let summer laugh,
But give me winter with a hearty scowl.
None of your hollow sunshine—Fogs and clouds
Become it best!—I like them now!—Their looks
Are just in season. There has surely been
Some shifting of the wind, upon such brightness
To bring so sudden lowering.

Ver.
We shall see.

Pie.
'Tis Sarnem!

The.
[Looking out.]
What is that he brings with him?

Pie.
A pole; and on the top of it a cap,
That looks like Gesler's—I could pick it from
A hundred!

The.
So could I!—My heart hath oft
Leap'd at the sight of it. What comes he now
To do?

Enter Sarnem, with Soldiers, bearing Gesler's cap upon a pole, which he fixes into the ground; the people looking on in silence and amazement.
Sar.
Ye men of Altorf!
Behold the emblem of your master's power
And dignity. This is the cap of Gesler,
Your Governor! Let all bow down to it
Who owe him love and loyalty. To such
As shall refuse this lawful homage, or
Accord it sullenly, he shows no grace,
But dooms them to the penalty of bondage
Till they're instructed 'tis no less their gain
Than duty, to obey their master's mandate.
Conduct the people hither, one by one,
To bow to Gesler's cap.

Tell.
Have I my hearing?

[Peasants pass, taking off their hats and bowing to Gesler's cap.
Ver.
Away! Away!

Tell.
Or sight?—They do it, Verner!
They do it!—Look!—Ne'er call me man again!
I'll herd with baser animals! They keep
Their stations. Still the dog 's a dog—The reptile
Doth know his proper rank, and sinks not to
The uses of the grade below him.—Man!
Man! that exalts his head above them all,
Doth ape them all! He's man, and he's the reptile!
Look!—Look! Have I the outline of that caitiff,
Who to the tyrant's feather bends his crown,
The while he loathes the tyrant?

Ver.
Come away,
Before they mark us.

Tell.
No! no!—Since I've tasted,
I'll e'en taste on! I 'gin, methinks, to like it.

[Pierre passes the cap, smiles, and bows slightly.
Sar.
What smiled you at?

Pie.
I bow'd as low as he did!

Sar.
Nay, but you smiled. How dared you smile?

Tell.
Good!—good!

Sar.
[Striking him.]
Take that. Remember when you smile again,
To do't in season.

Ver.
Come away.

Tell.
Not yet,—
Why would you have me quit the feast, methinks,
Grows richer and richer?

Ver.
You change colour.

Tell.
Do I?
And so do you.

Sar.
[Striking another.]
Bow lower, slave!

Tell.
Do you feel
That blow?—My flesh is tingling with't. Well done!
How pleasantly the rascal lays it on!
Well done! Well done! I would it had been I!

Ver.
You tremble, William. Come, you must not stay.

Tell.
Why not?—What harm is there? I tell thee, Verner,
I know no difference 'twixt enduring wrong
And living in the fear on't. Man! wear
The tyrant's fetters, when it only wants
His nod to put them on; and bear his stripes
When, that I suffer them, he needs but hold
His finger up! Verner, you're not the man
To be content because a villain's mood
Forbears? You're right—you're right! Have with you, Verner.

Enter Michael.
Sar.
Bow, slave.

[Tell stops and turns.
Mic.
For what?

[Laughs.
Sar.
Obey, and question then.

Mic.
I'll question, now, perhaps not then obey.

Tell.
A man!—A man!

Sar.
'Tis Gesler's will that all
Bow to that cap.

Mic.
Were it thy lady's cap,
I'd courtesy to it.

Sar.
Do you mock us, friend?

Mic.
Not I. I'll bow to Gesler, if you please;
But not his cap, nor cap of any he
In Christendom!

Tell.
A man;—I say, a man!

Sar.
I see you love a jest; but jest not now,
Else you may make us mirth, and pay for't too.
Bow to the cap!

Tell.
The slave would humour him.
Holds he but out!

Sar.
Do you hear?

Mic.
I do.

Tell.
Well done!
The lion thinks as much of cowering
As he does!

Sar.
Once for all, bow to that cap.

Tell.
Verner, let go my arm.

Sar.
Do you hear me, slave?

Mic.
Slave!

Tell.
Let me go!

Ver.
He is not worth it, Tell;
A wild and idle gallant of the town.

Tell.
A man!—I'll swear, a man! Don't hold me, Verner.
Verner, let go my arm!—Do you hear me, man?
You must not hold me, Verner.

Sar.
Villain, bow
To Gesler's cap.

Mic.
No—not to Gesler's self!

Sar.
Seize him!

Tell.
[Rushing forward.]
Off, off, you base and hireling pack!
Lay not your brutal touch upon the thing
God made in his own image! Crouch yourselves!
'Tis your vocation, which you should not call
On free-born men to share with you, who stand
Erect, except in presence of their God
Alone!

Sar.
What! shrink you, cowards? Must I do
Your duty for you?

Tell.
Let them but stir!—I've scatter'd
A flock of hungry wolves, outnumbering them,—
For sport I did it. Sport!—I scatter'd them
With but a staff, not half so thick as this.
[Wrests Sarnem's weapon from him—Sarnem and Soldiers fly.
What!—Ha!—Beset by hares! Ye men of Altorf,
What fear ye? See what things you fear—the shows
And surfaces of men! Why stand you wondering there?
Why look you on a man that's like yourselves,
And see him do the deeds yourselves might do,
And act them not? Or know you not yourselves?
That ye are men?—that ye have hearts and thoughts
To feel and think the deeds of men, and hands
To do them? Fear you God, and fear you him
Who fears not God, but, in his sight, defies him!
You hunt the chamois, and you've seen him take
The precipice before he'd yield the freedom
His Maker gave him; and you are content
To live in bonds, that have a thought of freedom,
Which Heaven ne'er gave the little chamois.
Why gaze you still with blanchéd cheeks upon me?
Lack you the manhood even to look on,
And see bold deeds achieved by others' hands?
Or is't that cap still holds you thralls to fear?
Be free, then! There! Thus do I trample on
The cap of Gesler, as I would on him!

[Throws down the pole.
Sar.
[Suddenly entering with Soldiers.]
Seize him!

[All the people, except Verner and Michael, fly.
Tell.
Surrounded!

Mic.
Stand!—I'll back thee!

Ver.
Madman!

[Forces Michael off.
[Tell, after a struggle, is secured and thrown to the ground, where they proceed to chain him, and, then, raise him. They raise him, heavily chained, bursting with indignation, and breathless.
Tell.
Slaves!

Sar.
Rail on; thy tongue has yet its freedom.

Tell.
Slaves!

Sar.
On to the castle with him—forward!

Tell.
Slaves!

[They go out.
Re-enter Michael, still held by Verner.
Mic.
There!—There!—They bear him off! Who is he?

Ver.
Tell!

Mic.
What!—Tell! Why held you me? What was my life,
To save that noble lion from the toils?

Ver.
Michael, I knew thee not till now. I see
Thou art a man to trust. If thou wouldst free
That lion from the toils, there is a way.

Mic.
Show't me.

Ver.
Before this time to-morrow, Michael,
The cantons will be up in arms, and here
In Altorf.

Mic.
Ha!—The tyrant's castle?—

Ver.
Yes.

Mic.
Verner, thou hast saved a precious life to-day
In saving mine. Let's see: how many friends
Can I provide me with 'twixt this and night?

Ver.
For what?

Mic.
This night I mean to win a bride,
And marry her to-morrow.

Ver.
Art thou mad?

Mic.
I am—why not? Who'd not be mad upon
The golden eve of his bright wedding-day?
Don't wonder at me, Verner. Do you see
Yon turret?

Ver.
Yes.

Mic.
Spy you a casement, too,
Just half-way up?

Ver.
I do.

Mic.
This night to me
That casement opens; and a cord, let down,
Takes up a hempen ladder, strong enough
For me to mount.

Ver.
What then?

Mic.
When I have won
The prize I venture for, and safe bestow'd,
What hinders ten or twenty of my friends—
What hinders them, I say, to lodge with me
This night in yonder turret? Come along;
I've scanty time to bid so many guests.
Come on; and, as we go, possess me of
Your plans, the minute you're to act upon them,
With all the rest! Don't wonder at me, man:
You'll bless the day that Michael took a wife.

[They go out.