University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

Scene I.

Court before Tell's house. Tell with an ax. Hedwig engaged in her domestic duties. Walter and Wilhelm in the back-ground, playing with a little cross-bow.
WALTER
(sings).

WILHELM
(runs forward).
My string has snapped! Wilt mend it for me, father?

TELL.
Not I; a true-born archer helps himself.

[Boys retire.
HEDWIG.
The boys begin to use the bow betimes.

TELL.
'Tis early practice only makes the master.

HEDWIG.
Ah! Would to Heaven, they never learned the art!

TELL.
But they shall learn it, wife, in all its points.
Whoe'er would carve an independent way
Through life, must learn to ward or plant a blow.

HEDWIG.
Alas! alas! and they will never rest
Contentedly at home.

TELL.
No more can I!
I was not framed by nature for a shepherd.
Restless I must pursue a changing course;
I only feel the flush and joy of life,
In starting some fresh quarry every day.

HEDWIG.
Heedless the while of all your wife's alarms,
As she sits watching through long hours at home.
For my soul sinks with terror at the tales
The servants tell about your wild adventures.
Whene'er we part, my trembling heart forebodes,
That you will ne'er come back to me again.
I see you on the frozen mountain steeps,
Missing, perchance, your leap from cliff to cliff.
I see the chamois, with a wild rebound,
Drag you down with him o'er the precipice.
I see the avalanche close o'er your head,—
The treacherous ice give way, and you sink down
Intombed alive within its hideous gulf.
Ah! in a hundred varying forms does death
Pursue the Alpine huntsman on his course.
That way of life can surely ne'er be blessed,
Where life and limb are periled every hour.

TELL.
The man that bears a quick and steady eye,
And trusts to God, and his own lusty sinews,
Passes, with scarce a scar, through every danger.
The mountain cannot awe the mountain child.
[Having finished his work, he lays aside his tools.
And now, methinks, the door will hold awhile.
The ax at home oft saves the carpenter.

[Takes his cap.
HEDWIG.
Whither away?

TELL.
To Altdorf, to your father.

HEDWIG.
You have some dangerous enterprise in view?
Confess!

TELL.
Why think you so?

HEDWIG.
Some scheme's on foot,
Against the governors. There was a Diet
Held on the Rootli—that I know—and you
Are one of the confederacy, I'm sure.

TELL.
I was not there. Yet will I not hold back,
Whene'er my country calls me to her aid.

HEDWIG.
Wherever danger is, will you be placed.
On you, as ever, will the burden fall.

TELL.
Each man shall have the post that fits his powers.

HEDWIG.
You took—ay, 'mid the thickest of the storm—
The man of Unterwald across the lake.
'Tis a marvel you escaped. Had you no thought
Of wife and children, then?

TELL.
Dear wife, I had;
And therefore saved the father for his children.

HEDWIG.
To brave the lake in all its wrath! 'Twas not
To put your trust in God! 'Twas tempting him.

TELL.
The man that's over-cautious will do little.

HEDWIG.
Yes, you've a kind and helping hand for all;
But be in straits, and who will lend you aid?

TELL.
God grant I ne'er may stand in need of it!

[Takes up his crossbow and arrows.
HEDWIG.
Why take your crossbow with you! Leave it here.

TELL.
I lack my right hand, when I've not my bow.

[The boys return.
WALTER.
Where, father, are you going?

TELL.
To grand-dad, boy—
To Altdorf. Will you go?

WALTER.
Ay, that I will!

HEDWIG.
The Viceroy's there just now. Go not to Altdorf!

TELL.
He leaves to-day.

HEDWIG.
Let him first be gone.
Cross not his path.—You know he bears us grudge.

TELL.
His ill-will cannot greatly injure me.
I do what's right, and care for no man's hate.

HEDWIG.
'Tis those who do what's right, whom most he hates.

TELL.
Because he cannot reach them. Me, I ween,
His knightship will be glad to leave in peace.

HEDWIG.
Ay! Are you sure of that?

TELL.
Not long ago,
As I was hunting through the wild ravines
Of Schechenthal, untrod by mortal foot,—
There, as I took my solitary way
Along a shelving ledge of rocks, where 'twas
Impossible to step on either side;
For high above rose, like a giant wall,
The precipice's side, and far below
The Schechen thundered o'er its rifted bed;—
[The boys press toward him, looking upon him with excited curiosity.
There, face to face, I met the Viceroy. He
Alone with me—and I myself alone—
Mere man to man, and near us the abyss.
And when his lordship had perused my face,
And knew the man he had severely fined
On some most trivial ground, not long before;
And saw me, with my sturdy bow in hand,
Come striding toward him, then his cheek grew pale,
His knees refused their office, and I thought
He would have sunk against the mountain side.
Then, touched with pity for him, I advanced,
Respectfully, and said, “'Tis I, my lord.”
But ne'er a sound could he compel his lips
To frame in answer. Only with his hand
He beckoned me in silence to proceed.
So I passed on, and sent his train to seek him.

HEDWIG.
He trembled then before you? Woe the while
You saw his weakness; that he'll ne'er forgive.

TELL.
I shun him, therefore, and he'll not seek me.

HEDWIG.
But stay away to-day. Go hunting rather!

TELL.
What do you fear?

HEDWIG.
I am uneasy. Stay.

TELL.
Why thus distress yourself without a cause

HEDWIG.
Because there is no cause. Tell, Tell! stay here!

TELL.
Dear wife, I gave my promise I would go.

HEDWIG.
Must you,—then go. But leave the boys with me.

WALTER.
No, mother dear, I'm going with my father.

HEDWIG.
How, Walter! will you leave your mother then?

WALTER.
I'll bring you pretty things from grandpapa's.

[Exit with his father.
WILHELM.
Mother, I'll stay with you!

HEDWIG
(embracing him).
Yes, yes! thou art
My own dear child. Thou'rt all that's left to me.

[She goes to the gate of the court, and looks anxiously after Tell and her son for a considerable time.

Scene II.

A retired part of the Forest. Brooks dashing in spray over the rocks.
Enter Bertha in a hunting dress. Immediately afterward Rudenz.
BERTHA.
He follows me. Now to explain myself!

RUDENZ
(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.
Now let my heart throw off this weary silence.

BERTHA.
But are you sure they will not follow us?

RUDENZ.
See, yonder goes the chase. Now, then, or never!
I must avail me of the precious moment,—
Must hear my doom decided by thy lips,
Though it should part me from thy side forever.
O 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 stamped me yet; nor may I take
My place amid the courtly throng of knights,
That, crowned with glory's lustre, woo thy smiles.
Nothing have I to offer, but a heart
That overflows with truth and love for thee.

BERTHA
(sternly and with severity).
And dare you speak to me of love—of truth?
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!

RUDENZ.
How! This reproach from thee! Whom do I seek
On Austria's side, my own beloved, but thee?

BERTHA.
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 the minion of a tyrant.

RUDENZ.
O heaven, what must I hear!

BERTHA.
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,
And vindicate the rights of the oppressed?
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
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,
You—you it is, that deeply grieve and wound me.
I must constrain my heart, or I shall hate you.

RUDENZ.
Is not my country's welfare all my wish?
What seek I for her, but to purchase peace
'Neath Austria's potent sceptre?

BERTHA.
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 warped by show.
But round your head a tangling net is wound.

RUDENZ.
Bertha, you hate me—you despise me!

BERTHA.
Nay!
And if I did, 'twere better for my peace,
But to see him despised and despicable,—
The man whom one might love—

RUDENZ.
O Bertha! You
Show me the pinnacle of heavenly bliss,
Then, in a moment, hurl me to despair!

BERTHA.
No, no! the noble is not all extinct
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!

RUDENZ.
You trust me, then? O Bertha, with thy love
What might I not become!

BERTHA.
Be only that
For which you own high nature destined you.
Fill the position you were born to fill;—
Stand by your people and your native land—
And battle for your sacred rights!

RUDENZ.
Alas!
How can I hope to win you—to possess you,
If I take arms against the Emperor?
Will not your potent kinsmen interpose,
To dictate the disposal of your hand?

BERTHA.
All my estates lie in the Forest Cantons;
And I am free, when Switzerland is free.

RUDENZ.
Oh! what a prospect, Bertha, hast thou shown me!

BERTHA.
Hope not to win my hand by Austria's favor;
Fain would they lay their grasp on my estates.
To swell the vast domains which now they hold.
The self-same lust of conquest, that would rob
You of your liberty, endangers mine.
O friend, I'm marked 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.
There do detested marriage bonds await me.
Love, love alone,—your love can rescue me.

RUDENZ.
And thou couldst be content, love, to live here;
In my own native land to be my own?
O Bertha, all the yearnings of my soul
For this great world and its tumultuous strife,
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.
Bui if in this calm vale thou canst abide
With me, and bid earth's pomp and pride adieu,
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.
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!

BERTHA.
Now art thou all my fancy dreamed of thee.
My trust has not been given to thee in vain.

RUDENZ.
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,
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.

BERTHA.
Where should we look for happiness on earth.
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.
There do I see thee, in true manly worth,
The foremost of the free and of thy peers,
Revered with homage pure and unconstrained,
Wielding a power that kings might envy thee.

RUDENZ.
And thee I see, thy sex's crowning gem,
With thy sweet woman 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.

BERTHA.
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 castle!
Here are no castles, here no bastioned walls
Divide me from a people I can bless.

RUDOLPH.
Yet how to free myself; to loose the coils
Which I have madly twined around my head?

BERTHA.
Tear them asunder with a man's resolve.
Whatever the event, stand by thy people.
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.
One foe fills all our souls with dread; the blow
That makes one free, emancipates us all.

[Exeunt severally.

Scene III.

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.
FRIESSHARDT.
We keep our watch in vain. There's not a soul
Will pass, and do obeisance to the cap.
But yesterday the place swarmed like a fair:
Now the whole green looks like a very desert,
Since yonder scarecrow hung upon the pole.

LEUTHOLD.
Only the vilest rabble show themselves,
And wave their tattered caps in mockery at us.
All honest citizens would sooner make
A tedious circuit over half the town,
Then bend their backs before our master's cap.

FRIESSHARDT.
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 Rosselmann, the priest, was even with me;
Coming just then from some sick penitent,
He stands before the pole,—raises the Host—
The Sacrist, too, must tinkle with his bell,—
When down they dropped on knee—myself and all
In reverence to the Host, but not the cap.

LEUTHOLD.
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,
To do obeisance to a cap, too! Faith,
I never heard an order so absurd!

FRIESSHARDT.
Why not, an't please thee, to an empty cap?
Thou'st ducked, I'm sure, to many an empty soonce.

[Hildegard, Mechthild, and Elsbeth enter with their children, and station themselves around the pole.
LEUTHOLD.
And thou art an officious sneaking knave,
That's fond of bringing honest folks to trouble.
For my part, he that likes, may pass the cap;—
I'll shut my eyes and take no note of him.

MECHTHILD.
There hangs the Viceroy! Your obeisance, children!

ELSBETH.
I would to God he'd go, and leave his cap!
The country would be none the worse for it.

FRIESSHARDT
(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.
WALTER
(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?

WALTER.
The master herdsman, father!
He tells us, there's a charm upon the trees,
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?

WALTER.
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
Stand like a bulwark to arrest their fall.

WALTER
(after musing a little).
And are there countries with no mountains, father?

TELL.
Yes, if we travel downward from our heights,
And keep descending in the rivers' courses,
We reach a wide and level country, where
Our mountain torrents brawl and foam no more,
And fair large rivers glide serenely on.
All quarters of the heaven may there be scanned
Without impediment. The corn grows there
In broad and lovely fields, and all the land
Is fair as any garden to the view.

WALTER.
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;
But they who till it, never may enjoy
The fruits of what they sow.

WALTER.
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.

WALTER.
But they may freely hunt among the woods?

TELL.
The game is all the monarch's—bird and beast.

WALTER.
But they, at least, may surely fish the streams?

TELL.
Stream, lake, and sea, all to the king belong.

WALTER.
Who is this king, of whom they're so afraid?

TELL.
He is the man who fosters and protects them.

WALTER.
Have they not courage to protect themselves?

TELL.
The neighbor there dare not his neighbor trust.

WALTER.
I should want breathing room in such a land.
I'd rather dwell beneath the avalanches.

TELL.
'Tis better, child, to have these glacier peaks
Behind one's back, than evil-minded men!

[They are about to pass on.
WALTER.
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.
FRIESSHARDT.
Stand, I command you, in the Emperor's name!

TELL
(seizing the pike).
What would ye? Wherefore do ye stop my path?

FRIESSHARDT.
You've broke the mandate, and must go with us.

LEUTHOLD.
You have not done obeisance to the cap.

TELL.
Friend, let me go.

FRIESSHARDT.
Away, away to prison!

WALTER.
Father to prison. Help!
[Calling on the side scene.
This way, you men!
Good people, help! They're dragging him to prison!

[Rosselmann the Priest, and the Sacristan, with three other men, enter.
SACRISTAN.
What's here amiss?

ROSSELMANN.
Why do you seize this man?

FRIESSHARDT.
He is an enemy of the King—a traitor.

TELL
(seizing him with violence).
A traitor, I!

ROSSELMANN.
Friend, thou art wrong. 'Tis Tell,
An honest man, and worthy citizen.

WALTER
(descries Furst and runs up to him).
Grandfather, help, they want to seize my father!

FRIESSHARDT.
Away to prison!

FURST
(running in).
Stay, I offer bail.
For God's sake, Tell, what is the matter here?

[Melchthal and Stauffacher enter.
LEUTHOLD.
He has contemned the Viceroy's sovereign power,
Refusing flatly to acknowledge it.

STAUFFACHER.
Has Tell done this?

MELCHTHAL.
Villain, thou knowest 'tis false!

LEUTHOLD.
He has not made obeisance to the cap.

FURST.
And shall for this to prison? Come, my friend,
Take my security, and let him go.

FRIESSHARDT.
Keep your security for yourself—you'll need it.
We only do our duty. Hence with him.

MELCHTHAL
(to the country people).
This is too bad—shall we stand by, and see them
Drag him away before our very eyes?

SACRISTAN.
We are the strongest. Don't endure it, friends.
Our countrymen will back us to a man.

FRIESSHARDT.
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,
These pikes of theirs should daunt me?

MELCHTHAL
(to Friesshardt).
Only try—
Try, if you dare, to force him from amongst us.

FURST and STAUFFACHER.
Peace, peace, friends!

FRIESSHARDT
(loudly).
Riot! Insurrection, ho!

[Hunting-horns without.
WOMEN.
The Governor!

FRIESSHARDT
(raising his voice).
Rebellion! Mutiny!

STAUFFACHER.
Roar, till you burst, knave!

ROSSELMANN and MELCHTHAL.
Will you hold your tongue?

FRIESSHARDT
(calling still louder).
Help, help, I say, the servants of the law!

FURST.
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.
HARRAS.
Room for the Viceroy!

GESSLER.
Drive the clowns apart.
Why throng the people thus? Who calls for help?
[General silence.
Who was it? I will know.
[Friesshardt steps forward.
And who art thou?
And why hast thou this man in custody?

[Gives his falcon to an attendant.
FRIESSHARDT.
Dread sir, I am a soldier of your guard,
And stationed sentinel beside the cap;
This man I apprehended in the act
Of passing it without obeisance due,
So I arrested him, as you gave order
Whereon the people tried to rescue him.

GESSLER
(after a pause).
And do you, Tell, so lightly hold your king,
And me, who act as his vicegerent here,
That you refuse the greeting 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.
Were I discreet, I were not William Tell:
Forgive me now—I'll not offend again.

GESSLER
(after a pause).
I hear, Tell, you're a master with the bow,—
And bear the palm away from every rival.

WALTER.
That must be true, sir! At a hundred yards
He'll shoot an apple for you off the tree.

GESSLER.
Is that boy thine, Tell?

TELL.
Yes, my gracious lord.

GESSLER.
Hast any more of them?

TELL.
Two boys, my lord.

GESSLER.
And, of the two, which dost thou love the most?

TELL.
Sir, both the boys are dear to me alike,

GESSLER.
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—
Thou hast it there at hand—and make thee ready
To shoot an apple from the stripling's head!
But take this counsel.—look well to thine aim,
See, that thou hitt'st the apple at the first,
For, shouldst thou miss, thy head shall pay the forfeit.

[All give signs of horror.
TELL.
What monstrous thing, my lord, is this you ask?
That I, 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!

GESSLER.
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!

GESSLER.
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.

GESSLER.
How now, Tell, so discreet upon a sudden
I had been told thou wert a visionary,—
A wanderer from the paths of common men.
Thou lov'st the marvelous. So have I now
Culled out for thee a task of special daring.
Another man might pause and hesitate;—
Thou dashest at it, heart and soul, at once.

BERTHA.
O 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.

GESSLER.
Who tells thee that I jest?
[Grasping a branch above his head.
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.
Now, archer, to your task, and look you miss not!

HARRAS.
Heavens! this grows serious—down, boy, on your knees,
And beg the governor to spare your life.

FURST
(aside to Melchthal, who can scarcely restrain his impatience).
Command yourself,—be calm, I beg of you!

BERTHA
(to the governor).
Let this suffice you, sir! It is inhuman
To trifle with a father's anguish thus.
Although this wretched man had forfeited
Both life and limb for such a slight offense,
Already has he suffered tenfold death.
Send him away uninjured to his home;
He'll know thee well in future; and this hour
He and his children's children will remember.

GESSLER.
Open a way there—quick! Why this delay?
Thy life is forfeited; I might dispatch thee,
And see I graciously repose thy fate
Upon the skill of thine own practiced hand.
No cause has he to say his doom is harsh,
Who's made the master of his destiny.
Thou boastest of thy steady eye. 'Tis well!
Now is a fitting time to show thy skill.
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,
Nor lets his heart disturb or eye or hand.

FURST.
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!

WALTER.
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!

STAUFFACHER.
Does the child's innocence not touch your heart?

ROSSELMANN.
Bethink you, sir, there is a God in heaven,
To whom you must account for all your deeds.

GESSLER
(pointing to the boy).
Bind him to yonder lime-tree straight!

WALTER.
Bind me?
No, I will not be bound! I will be still,
Still as a lamb—nor even draw my breath!
But if you bind me, I cannot be still.
Then I shall writhe and struggle with my bonds.

HARRAS.
But let your eyes at least be bandaged, boy!

WALTER.
And why my eyes? No! Do you think I fear
An arrow from my father's hand? Not I!
I'll wait it firmly, nor so much as wink!
Quick, father, show them that thou art an archer!
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.
MELCHTHAL
(to the country people).
What! Is this outrage to be perpetrated
Before our very eyes? Where is our oath?

STAUFFACHER.
'Tis all in vain. We have no weapons here;
And see the wood of lances that surrounds us!

MELCHTHAL.
Oh! would to Heaven that we had struck at once!
God pardon those who counseled the delay!

GESSLER
(to Tell).
Now, to thy task! Men bear not arms for nought.
'Tis dangerous to carry deadly weapons,
And on the archer oft his shaft recoils.
This right, these haughty peasant churls assume,
Trenches upon their master's privileges.
None should be armed, but those who bear command.
It pleases you to wear the bow and bolt;—
Well,—be it so. I will provide the mark.

TELL
(bends the bow, and fixes the arrow).
A lane there! Room!

STAUFFACHER.
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.
Summon your troopers—let them strike me down!

GESSLER.
I do not want thy life, Tell, but the shot.
Thy talent's universal! Nothing daunts thee!
Thou canst direct the rudder like the bow!
Storms fright not thee, when there's a life at stake.
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 watches all these motions.
WALTER
(beneath the lime tree).
Come, father, shoot! I'm not afraid!

TELL.
It must be!

[Collects himself and levels the bow.
RUDENZ
(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.
You've gained your object. Rigor pushed too far,
Is sure to miss its aim, however good,
As snaps the bow that's all too straitly bent.

GESSLER.
Peace, till your counsel's asked for!

RUDENZ.
I will speak!
Ay, and I dare! I reverence my king;
But acts like these must make his name abhorred.
He sanctions not this cruelty. I dare
Avouch the fact. And you outstep your powers
In handling thus an unoffending people.

GESSLER.
Ha! thou growest bold, methinks;

RUDENZ.
I have been dumb
To all the oppressions I was doomed to see.
I've closed mine eyes, that they might not behold them,
Bade my rebellions, swelling heart be still,
And pent its struggles down within my breast.
But to be silent longer, were to be
A traitor to my king and country both.

BERTHA
(casting herself between him and the governor).
O Heavens! you but exasperate his rage!

RUDENZ.
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,
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 achieved my country's ruin.

GESSLER.
Audacious boy, this language to thy lord!

RUDENZ.
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,
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 fashion.
Ay, beckon to your troopers! Here I stand;
But not like these
[Pointing to the people.
—unarmed. I have a sword.
And he that stirs one step—

STAUFFACHER
(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.
ROSSELMANN.
The boy's alive!

MANY VOICES.
The apple has been struck!

[Walter Furst staggers, and is about to fall. Bertha supports him.
GESSLER
(astonished).
How? Has he shot? The madman!

BERTHA.
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 forward, as though he would follow the arrow. His bow drops from his hand. When he sees the boy advancing, he hastens to meet him

---

624

with open arms, and embracing hiw passionately sinks down with him quite exhausted. All crowd round them deeply affected.
BERTHA.
Oh, ye kind Heavens!

FURST
(to father and son).
My children, my dear children!

STAUFFACHER.
God be praised!

LEUTHOLD.
Almighty powers! That was a shot indeed!
It will be talked of to the end of time.

HARRAS.
This feat of Tell, the archer, will be told
While yonder mountains stand upon their base.

[Hands the apple to Gessler.
GESSLER.
By Heaven! the apple's cleft right through the core.
It was a master shot, I must allow.

ROSSELMANN.
The shot was good. But woe to him, who drove
The man to tempt his God by such a feat!

STAUFFACHER.
Cheer up, Tell, rise! You've nobly freed yourself,
And now may go in quiet to your home.

ROSSELMAN.
Come, to the mother let us bear her son!

[They are about to lead them off.
GESSLER.
A word, Tell.

TELL.
Sir, your pleasure?

GESSLER.
Thou didst place
A second arrow in thy belt—nay, nay!
I saw it well—what was thy purpose with it?

TELL
(confused).
It is a custom with all archers, Sir.

GESSLER.
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?

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,
And, be assured, I should not then have missed.

GESSLER.
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 will remove thee hence to sure confinement.
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.
STAUFFACHER.
How, my lord—
How can you treat in such a way a man,
On whom God's hand has plainly been revealed?

GESSLER.
Well, let us see if it will save him twice!
Remove him to my ship; I'll follow straight.
In person I will see him lodged at Küssnacht.

ROSSELMANN.
You dare not do't. Nor durst the Emperor's self
So violate our dearest chartered rights.

GESSLER.
Where are they? Has the Emp'ror confirmed them?
He never has. And only by obedience
Need you expect to win that favor from him.
You are all rebels 'gainst the Emp'ror's power,—
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.
The wise will study silence and obedience.

[Exit, followed by Bertha, Rudenz, Harras, and attendants. Friesshardt and Leuthold remain.
FURST
(in violent anguish).
All's over now! He is resolved, to bring
Destruction on myself and all my house.

STAUFFACHER
(to Tell).
Oh, why did you provoke the tyrant's rage?

TELL.
Let him be calm who feels the pangs I felt.

STAUFFACHER.
Alas! alas! Our every hope is gone.
With you we all are fettered and enchained.

COUNTRY-PEOPLE
(surrounding Tell).
Our last remaining comfort goes with you!

LEUTHOLD
(approaching him).
I'm sorry for you, Tell, but must obey.

TELL.
Farewell!

WALTER TELL
(clinging to him in great agony).
Oh, father, father, my dear father!

TELL
(pointing to Heaven).
Thy father is on high—appeal to him!

STAUFFACHER.
Hast thou no message, Tell, to send thy wife?

TELL
(clasping the boy passionately to his breast).
The boy's uninjured; God will succor me!

[Tears himself suddenly away, and follows the soldiers of the guard.