University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

SCENE I.

—Tell's Cottage.—Melchtal asleep upon a couch, at the head of which Emma is watching.
Emma
[rising, and coming forward].
I never knew a weary night before!
I have seen the sun a dozen times go down,
And still no William,—and the storm was on;
Yet have I laid me down, in peace, to sleep,
The mountain with the lightning all a-blaze,
And shaking with the thunder,—but, to-night,
Mine eyes refuse to close! The old man rests.
Pain hath outworn itself, and turn'd to ease.
How deathly calm's the night! What's that? I'm grown
An idiot with my fears. I do not know
The avalanche! Great Power that hurls it down,
Watch o'er my boy, and guide his little steps!
What keeps him? 'Tis but four hours' journey, hence;
He'd rest; then four hours back again. What keeps him?
Erni would sure be found by him—He knows
The track, well as he knows the road to Altorf!

Mel.
Help!

[In his sleep.
Emma.
What's the matter! Only the old man dreaming.
He thinks again they're pulling out his eyes.
I'm sick with terror! Merciful powers! what's this
That fills my heart with horrible alarm,
And yet it cannot see!

Mel.
[Waking.]
Where am I?

Emma.
Father!

Mel.
My daughter, is it thou? Thank heaven, I'm here.
Is't day yet?

Emma.
No.

Mel.
Is't far on the night?

Emma.
Methinks, about the turn on't.

Mel.
Is the boy
Come back?

Emma.
No, father.

Mel.
Nor thy husband?

Emma.
No.

Mel.
A woful wife and mother have I made thee!
Would thou hadst never seen me.

Emma.
Father!

Mel.
Child?

Emma.
Methinks I hear a step!—I do! [Knocking.]
A knock!

Mel.
'Tis William!

Emma.
No, it is not William's knock.
[Opens the door.
I told you so! Your will?

Enter Stranger.
Stran.
Seeing a light,
I e'en made bold to knock, to ask for shelter,
For I have miss'd my way.

Emma.
Whence come you, friend?

Stran.
From Altorf.

Emma.
Altorf!—Any news from thence?

Stran.
Ay! News to harrow parents' hearts, and make
The barren bless themselves that they are childless!

Emma.
May heaven preserve my boy!

Mel.
What says thy news?

Stran.
Art thou not Melchtal—he whose eyes 'tis said
The tyrant has torn out?

Mel.
Yes, friend, the same.

Stran.
Is this thy cottage?

Mel.
No; 'tis William Tell's.

Stran.
'Tis William Tell's!—And that's his wife!—Good night.

Emma.
[Rushing between him and the door.]
Thou stirr'st not hence until thy news be told!

Stran.
My news? In sooth 'tis nothing thou wouldst heed.

Emma.
'Tis something none should heed so well as I!

Stran.
I must be gone.

Emma.
Thou seest a tigress, friend,
Spoil'd of her mate and young, and yearning for them.
Don't thwart her! Come, thy news! What fear'st thou, man;
What more has she to dread, who reads thy looks,
And knows the most has come. Thy news? Is't bondage?

Stran.
It is.

Emma.
Thank heaven it is not death. Of one—
Or two?

Stran.
Of two.

Emma.
A father and a son?
Is't not?

Stran.
It is.

Emma.
My husband and my son
Are in the tyrant's power! There's worse than that!
What's that, is news to harrow parents' breasts,
The which the thought to only tell, 'twould seem,
Drives back the blood to thine?—Thy news, I say!
Wouldst thou be merciful, this is not mercy!
Wast thou the mark, friend, of the bowman's aim,
Wouldst thou not have the fatal arrow speed,
Rather than watch it hanging in the string?
Thou'lt drive me mad! Let fly at once!—

Mel.
Thy news from Altorf, friend, whate'er it is!

Stran.
To save himself and child from certain death,
Tell is to hit an apple resting on
The stripling's head.

Mel.
My child! my child!—
Speak to me!—Stranger, hast thou kill'd her?

Emma.
No!
No, father. I'm the wife of William Tell;
Oh but to be a man! to have an arm
To fit a heart bursting with the sense of wrong!
Unnatural—insufferable wrong!
When makes the tyrant trial of his skill?

Stran.
To-morrow.

Emma.
Spirit of the lake and hill,
Inspire thy daughter! On the head of him
Who makes his pastime of a mother's pangs,
Launch down thy vengeance by a mother's hand.
Know'st the signal when the hills shall rise?

[To Melchtal.
Mel.
Are they to rise?

Emma.
I see thou knowest naught.

Stran.
Something's on foot! 'Twas only yesterday
That, travelling from our canton, I espied,
Slow toiling up a steep, a mountaineer
Of brawny limb, upon his back a load
Of fagots bound. Curious to see what end
Was worthy of such labour, after him
I took the cliff: and saw its lofty top
Receive his load, which went but to augment
A pile of many another.

Emma.
'Tis by fire!
Fire is the signal for the hills to rise—

[Rushes out.
Mel.
Went she not forth?

Stran.
She did—she's here again
And brings with her a lighted brand.

Mel.
My child,
What dost thou with a lighted brand?

Re-enter Emma, with a brand.
Emma.
Prepare
To give the signal for the hills to rise!

Mel.
Where are the fagots, child, for such a blaze?

Emma.
I'll find the fagots, father.

[Exit.
Mel.
Is she gone
Again?

Stran.
She is—I think into her chamber.

Emma.
[Rushing in.]
Father, the pile is fired!

Mel.
What pile, my child?

Emma.
The joists and rafters of our cottage, father!

Mel.
Thou hast not fired thy cottage!—but thou hast!
Alas, I hear the crackling of the flames!

Emma.
Say'st thou alas! when I could say, thank heaven?
Father, this blaze will set the land a-blaze
With fire that shall preserve, and not destroy it,
Blaze on! blaze on! Oh, mayst thou be a beacon
To light its sons enslaved to liberty!
How fast it spreads! A spirit's in the fire;
It knows the work it does.
[Goes to the door, and opens it
The land is free!
Yonder's another blaze. Beyond that shoots
Another up!—Anon will every hill
Redden with vengeance. Father, come! Whate'er
Betides us, worse we're certain can't befal,
And better may! Oh, be it liberty—
Safe hearths and homes, husbands and children. Come—
It spreads apace. Blaze on—blaze on—blaze on!

[Exeunt.

SCENE THE LAST.

—Without the Castle.
Enter, slowly, several Citizens, as if observing something following them, Verner, and Theodore.
Ver.
The pace they're moving at is that of men
About to do the work of death. Some wretch
Is doom'd to suffer. Should it be my friend—
Should it be Tell!

The.
No doubt 'tis some good man.

Ver.
Poor Switzerland! poor country! Not a son
Is left thee now, that's worth the name of one.
'Tis not a common man, with such parade,
They lead to death. I count four castellains
Already.

The.
There's a fifth.

Ver.
And Sarnem, too!
Do you see him?

The.
Yes: and Gesler follows him.
Who can it be?

Ver.
We'll see. He's coming, now—
'Tis William Tell!

The.
Verner, do you know the boy
That follows him?

Ver.
A boy! It is his son!
What horror 's to be acted? Do you see
The headsman?

The.
No! I see no headsman there,
No apparatus for the work of death.
Perhaps they're not to suffer!

Ver.
Lo you how
The women clasp their hands, and now and then
Look up to heaven! You see that some do weep.
No headsman 's there; but Gesler 's at no loss
For means of cruelty because there lacks
A headsman!

Enter Pierre.
Pie.
Horrible!—most horrible
Decree!—To save his own and Albert's life,
Tell is to hit an apple resting on
The head of his own child!

Enter, slowly, Burghers and Women, Lutold, Rodolph, Gerard, Sarnem, Gesler, Tell, Albert, and a Soldier bearing Tell's bow and quiver—another with a basket of apples—Soldiers, &c.
Ges.
That is your ground. Now shall they measure, thence
A hundred paces. Take the distance.

Tell.
Is
The line a true one?

Ges.
True or not, what is't
To thee?

Tell.
What is't to me? A little thing,
A very little thing—A yard or two,
Is nothing here or there—were it a wolf
I shot at! Never mind!

Ges.
Be thankful, slave,
Our grace accords thee life on any terms.

Tell.
I will be thankful, Gesler! Villain, stop!
You measure to the sun.

Ges.
And what of that?
What matter, whether to or from the sun?

Tell.
I'd have it at my back!—The sun should shine
Upon the mark, and not on him that shoots.
I cannot see to shoot against the sun!—
I will not shoot against the sun!

Ges.
Give him his way!—Thou hast cause to bless my mercy.

Tell.
I shall remember it. I'd like to see
The apple I'm to shoot at.

Soldier
[with the basket of apples].
Here!

Ges.
Show me
The basket!—There—

Tell.
You've pick'd the smallest one.

Ges.
I know I have.

Tell.
O! do you?—But you see
The colour on't is dark—I'd have it light,
To see it better.

Ges.
Take it as it is:
Thy skill will be the greater if thou hitt'st it.

Tell.
True!—True!—I didn't think of that—I wonder
I did not think of that.—Give me some chance
To save my boy! I will not murder him
If I can help it—for the honour of
The form thou wear'st, if all the heart be gone.

Ges.
Well! choose thyself.

[Hands a basket of apples.—Tell takes one.
Tell.
Have I a friend among
The lookers on?

Ver.
Here, Tell!

Tell.
I thank thee, Verner!
He is a friend that does not mind a storm
To shake a hand with us! I must be brief.
When once the bow is drawn, we cannot take
The shot too soon! Verner, whatever be
The issue of this hour, the common cause
Must not stand still! Let not to-morrow's sun
Set on the tyrant's banner.—Verner! Verner!
The boy!—the boy!—Think'st thou he has the courage
To stand it?

Ver.
Yes.

Tell.
Does he tremble?

Ver.
No.

Tell.
Art sure?

Ver.
I am.

Tell.
How looks he?

Ver.
Clear and smilingly.
If you doubt it—look yourself.

Tell.
No—no—my friend,
To hear it is enough!

Ver.
He bears himself
So much above his years—

Tell.
I know!—I know.

Ver.
With constancy so modest—

Tell.
I was sure
He would—

Ver.
And looks with such relying love
And reverence upon you

Tell.
Man! Man! Man!
No more! Already I'm too much the father
To act the man!—Verner, no more, my friend!
I would be flint—flint—flint! Don't make me feel
I'm not—You do not mind me!—Take the boy
And set him, Verner, with his back to me.—
Set him upon his knees—and place the apple
Upon his head, so that the stem may front me—
Thus, Verner—Charge him to keep steady—Tell him
I'll hit the apple!—Verner, do all this
More briefly than I tell it thee.

Ver.
Come, Albert!

Alb.
May I not speak with him before I go?

Ver.
No—

Alb.
I would only kiss his hand.

Ver.
You must not.

Alb.
I must!—I cannot go from him without!

Ver.
It is his will you should.

Alb.
His will, is it?
I am content, then—come.

Tell.
My boy!

[Holding out his arms to him.
Alb.
My father!

[Running into Tell's arms.
Tell.
If thou canst bear it, should not I?—Go now,
My son—and keep in mind that I can shoot.—
Go, boy—Be thou but steady, I shall hit
The apple. [Kisses him.]
Go!—God bless thee!—Go!—My bow!
[Sarnem gives the bow.
Thou wilt not fail thy master, wilt thou?—Thou
Hast never fail'd him yet, old servant.—No!
I'm sure of thee—I know thy honesty,
Thou'rt stanch!—Stanch!—I'd deserve to find thee treacherous,
Could I suspect thee so. Come, I will stake
My all upon thee! Let me see my quiver.

Ges.
Give him a single arrow.

Tell.
Do you shoot?

Lut.
I do.

Tell.
Is't so you pick an arrow, friend?
The point, you see, is blunt, the feather jagg'd;
That's all the use 'tis fit for.

[Breaks it.
Ges.
Let him have
Another.

Tell.
Why, 'tis better than the first,
But yet not good enough for such an aim
As I'm to take. 'Tis heavy in the shaft:
I'll not shoot with it! [Throws it away.]
Let me see my quiver.
Bring it! 'tis not one arrow in a dozen
I'd take to shoot with at a dove, much less
A dove like that? What is't you fear? I'm but
A naked man!—A wretched naked man!
Your helpless thrall, alone in the midst of you,
With every one of you a weapon in
His hand. What can I do in such a strait
With all the arrows in that quiver? Come,
Will you give it me or not?

Ges.
It matters not.
Show him the quiver. You're resolved, I see,
Nothing shall please you.

[Tell kneels and picks out an arrow, which he hides under his vest, and then selects another.
Tell.
Am I so?—That's strange,
That's very strange!—Is the boy ready?

Ver.
Yes.

Tell.
I'm ready too!—Keep silence, every one!
And stir not for my child's sake!—And let me have
Your prayers—your prayers—and be my witnesses,
That if his life's in peril from my hand,
'Tis only for the chance of saving it!
Now, friends, for mercy's sake keep motionless
And silent.

[Tell shoots, and a shout of wonder and exultation bursts from the crowd. Tell falls on his knees and with difficulty supports himself.
Ver.
[Rushing in with Albert.]
Thy boy is safe; no hair of him is touch'd!

Alb.
Father, I'm safe—your Albert's safe. Dear father,
Speak to me! speak to me!

Ver.
He cannot, boy!

Alb.
You grant him life?

Ges.
I do.

Alb.
And we are free?

Ges.
You are.

Alb.
Thank Heaven! thank Heaven!

Ver.
Open his vest,
And give him air.

[Albert opens his father's vest, and an arrow drops— Tell starts, fixes his eyes on Albert, and clasps him to his breast.
Tell.
My boy! my boy!

Ges.
For what
Hid you that arrow in your breast? Speak, slave!

Ver.
He cannot!—He's o'ercome!
[Whispers to Tell.
William, the tyrant stands aloof from all!
Thy deadly aim, alone, transfixes him,
And with him all the rest, through fear for him;
While pace by pace thou canst withdraw;—But gain
A dozen yards, thou'rt free! I'll mind the boy!

Ges.
How came that arrow in thy breast? Speak, slave!

Tell.
To kill thee, tyrant, had I slain my son!
And now beware!
[Tell suddenly takes aim at Gesler.
Stir thou, or any, stir!
The shaft is in thy heart!

[Tell retreats slowly, while Verner removes Albert. Gesler and the rest, following Tell with their eyes, remain in breathless and motionless suspense.
Sar.
He shoots!

Ges.
O!

[Falls dead, transfixed with the arrow.
Sar.
Pursue him!—Hold! A host of friends have join'd him,
And all in arms!—They now advance!

Lut.
On this side
Another speeds!

Sar.
Back to the castle!

Lut.
Look!
[Michael and his friends appear on the ramparts.
The castle is betray'd!

Mic.
We thank you, friends,
For changing quarters with us!

Sar.
Ha!—Shut out!
Surrounded!

[Enter on one side, Swiss, led by Tell, &c., and on the other, Emma, followed by Swiss, led by Erni.
Tell.
Yield! Resistance now is hopeless!
Your lives are spared!—The tyrant's will suffice!
Emma, your child! We are free, my countrymen!
Our country is free! Austrians, you'll quit a land,
You never had a right to; and remember,
The country's never lost, that's left a son
To struggle with the foe that would enslave her!