 | Wilhelm Tell |  |
ACT V.
Scene I.
A common near Altdorf. In the background to the right the Keep of Uri. with the scaffold still standing, as in the Third Scene of the first Act. To the left, the view opens upon numerous mountains, on all of which signal fires are burning. Day is breaking, and bells are heard ringing from various distances.Ruodi, Kuoni, Werni, Master Mason, and many other country-people, also women and children.
RUODI.
Look at the fiery signals on the mountains!
MASON.
Hark to the bells above the forest there!
RUODI.
The enemy's expelled.
MASON.
The forts are taken.
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And we of Uri, do we still endure
Upon our native soil, the tyrant's Keep?
Are we the last to strike for liberty?
MASON.
Shall the yoke stand, that was to bow our necks?
Up! Tear it to the ground!
ALL.
Down, down with it!
RUODI.
Where is the Stier of Uri?
URI.
Here. What would ye?
RUODI.
Up to your tower, and wind us such a blast,
As shall resound afar, from hill to hill;
Rousing the echoes of each peak and glen,
And call the mountain men in haste together!
[Exit Stier of Uri—enter Walter Furst.
FURST.
Stay, stay, my friends! As yet we have not learned
What has been done in Unterwald and Schwytz.
Let's wait till we receive intelligence!
RUODI.
Wait! wait for what? The accursèd tyrant's dead,
And the bright day of liberty has dawned!
MASON.
How! Do these flaming signals not suffice,
That blaze on every mountain top around?
RUODI.
Come all, fall to—come, men and women, all!
Destroy the scaffold! Tear the arches down!
Down with the walls, let not a stone remain!
MASON.
Come, comrades, come! We built it, and we know
How best to hurl it down.
ALL.
Come! Down with it!
[They fall upon the building at every side.
FURST.
The floodgate's burst. They're not to be restrained.
[Enter Melchthal and Baumgarten.
MELCHTHAL.
What! Stands the fortress still, when Sarnen lies
In ashes, and when Rossberg is a ruin?
FURST.
You, Melchthal, here? D'ye bring us liberty?
Say, have you freed the country of the foe?
MELCHTHAL.
We've swept them from the soil. Rejoice, my friend;
Now, at this very moment, while we speak,
There's not a tyrant left in Switzerland!
FURST.
How did you get the forts into your power?
MELCHTHAL.
Rudenz it was who with a gallant arm.
And manly daring, took the Keep at Sarnen.
The Rossberg I had stormed the night before.
But hear, what chanced. Scarce had we driven the foe
Forth from the Keep, and given it to the flames,
That now rose crackling upwards to the skies,
When from the blaze rushed Diethelm, Gessler's page,
Exclaiming, “Lady Bertha will be burned!”
FURST.
Good heavens!
[The beams of the scaffold are heard falling.
MELCHTHAL.
'Twas she herself. Here had she been
Immured in secret by the Viceroy's orders.
Rudenz sprang up in frenzy. For we heard
The beams and massive pillars crashing down,
And through the volumed smoke the piteous shrieks
Of the unhappy lady.
FURST.
Is she saved?
MELCHTHAL.
Here was a time for promptness and decision!
Had he been nothing but our baron, then
We should have been most chary of our lives;
But he was our confederate, and Bertha
Honored the people. So, without a thought,
We risked the worst, and rushed into the flames.
FURST.
But is she saved?
MELCHTHAL.
She is. Rudenz and I
Bore her between us from the blazing pile,
With crashing timbers toppling all around.
And when she had revived, the danger past,
And raised her eyes to meet the light of heaven,
The baron fell upon my breast; and then
A silent vow of friendship passed between us—
A vow that, tempered in yon furnace heat,
Will last through ev'ry shock of time and fate.
FAUST.
Where is the Landenberg?
MELCHTHAL.
Across the Brünig.
No fault of mine it was, that he, who quenched
My father's eyesight, should go hence unharmed.
He fled—I followed—overtook and seized him,
And dragged him to my father's feet. The sword
Already quivered o'er the caitiff's head,
When at the entreaty of the blind old man,
I spared the life for which he basely prayed.
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He'll keep his oath, for he has felt our arm.
FURST.
Thank God, our victory's unstained by blood!
CHILDREN
(running across the stage with fragments of wood).
Liberty! Liberty! Hurrah! we're free!
FURST.
Oh! what a joyous scene! These children will,
E'en to their latest day, remember it.
[Girls bring in the cap upon a pole. The whole stage is filled with people.
RUODI.
Here is the cap, to which we were to bow!
BAUMGARTEN.
Command us, how we shall dispose of it.
FURST.
Heavens! 'Twas beneath this cap my grandson stood!
SEVERAL VOICES.
Destroy the emblem of the tyrant's power!
Let it be burned!
FURST.
No. Rather be preserved!
'Twas once the instrument of despots—now
'Twill be a lasting symbol of our freedom.
[Peasants, men, women, and children, some standing, others sitting upon the beams of the shattered scaffold, all picturesquely grouped, in a large semicircle.
MELCHTHAL.
Thus now, my friends, with light and merry hearts,
We stand upon the wreck of tyranny;
And gallantly have we fulfilled the oath,
Which we at Rootli swore, Confederates!
FURST.
The work is but begun. We must be firm.
For, be assured, the king will make all speed
To avenge his Viceroy's death, and reinstate,
By force of arms, the tyrant we've expelled.
MELCHTHAL.
Why let him come, with all his armaments!
The foe within has fled before our arms;
We'll give him welcome warmly from without!
RUODI.
The passes to the country are but few;
And these we'll boldly cover with our bodies.
BAUMGARTEN.
We are bound by an indissoluble league,
And all his armies shall not make us quail.
Enter Rosselmann and Stauffacher.
ROSSELMANN
(speaking as he enters).
These are the awful judgments of the Lord!
PEASANTS.
What is the matter?
ROSSELMANN.
In what times we live!
FURST.
Say on, what is it? Ha, Werner, is it you?
What tidings?
PEASANTS.
What is the matter?
ROSSELMANN.
Hear and wonder!
STAUFFACHER.
We are released from one great cause of dread.
ROSSELMANN.
The Emperor is murdered.
FURST.
Gracious Heaven!
[Peasants rise up and throng round Stauffacher.
ALL.
Murdered the Emperor? What! The Emperor! Hear!
MELCHTHAL.
Impossible! How came you by the news?
STAUFFACHER.
'Tis true! Near Bruck, by the assassin's hand,
King Albert fell. A most trustworthy man,
John Müller, from Schaffhausen, brought the news.
FURST.
Who dared commit so horrible a deed?
STAUFFACHER.
The doer makes the deed more dreadful still.
It was his nephew, his own brother's child,
Duke John of Austria, who struck the blow.
MELCHTHAL.
What drove him to so dire a parricide?
STAUFFACHER
The Emperor kept his patrimony back,
Despite his urgent importunities;
'Twas said, indeed, he never meant to give it,
But with a mitre to appease the duke.
However this may be, the duke gave ear
To the ill counsel of his friends in arms;
And with the noble lords, Von Eschenbach,
Von Tegerfeld, Von Wart and Palm, resolved,
Since his demands for justice were despised,
With his own hands to take revenge at least.
FURST.
But say, how compassed he the dreadful deed?
STAUFFACHER.
The king was riding down from Stein to Baden,
Upon his way to join the court at Rheinfeld,—
With him a train of high-born gentlemen,
And the young Princes John and Leopold.
And when they'd reached the ferry of the Reuss,
The assassins forced their way into the boat,
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His highness landed, and was riding on
Across a fresh plowed field—where once, they say,
A mighty city stood in pagan times—
With Hapsburg's ancient turrets full in sight,
Where all the grandeur of his line had birth—
When Duke John plunged a dagger in his throat,
Palm ran him through the body with his lance,
Eschenbach cleft his skull at one fell blow,
And down he sank, all weltering in his blood,
On his own soil, by his own kinsmen slain.
Those on the opposite bank, who saw the deed,
Being parted by the stream, could only raise
An unavailing cry of loud lament
But a poor woman, sitting by the way,
Raised him, and on her breast he bled to death.
MELCHTHAL.
Thus has he dug his own untimely grave,
Who sought insatiably to grasp at all.
STAUFFACHER.
The country round is filled with dire alarm.
The mountain passes are blockaded all,
And sentinels on every frontier set;
E'en ancient Zurich barricades her gates,
That for these thirty years have open stood,
Dreading the murderers, and the avengers more.
For cruel Agnes comes, the Hungarian queen.
To all her sex's tenderness a stranger,
Armed with the thunders of the church, to wreak
Dire vengeance for her parent's royal blood,
On the whole race of those that murdered him,—
Upon their servants, children, children's children,—
Nay, on the stones that build their castle walls.
Deep has she sworn a vow to immolate
Whole generations on her father's tomb,
And bathe in blood as in the dew of May.
MELCHTHAL.
Know you which way the murderers have fled?
STAUFFACHER.
No sooner had they done the deed, than they
Took flight, each following a different route,
And parted, ne'er to see each other more.
Duke John must still be wandering in the mountains.
FURST.
And thus their crime has yielded them no fruits.
Revenge is barren. Of itself it makes
The dreadful food it feeds on; its delight
Is murder—its satiety despair.
STAUFFACHER.
The assassins reap no profit by their crime;
But we shall pluck with unpolluted hands
The teeming fruits of their most bloody deed.
For we are ransomed from our heaviest fear;
The direst foe of liberty has fallen,
And, 'tis reported that the crown will pass
From Hapsburg's house into another line;
The Empire is determined to assert
Its old prerogative of choice, I hear.
FURST and several others.
Has any one been named to you?
STAUFFACHER.
The Count
Of Luxembourg is widely named already.
FURST.
'Tis well we stood so staunchly by the Empire!
Now we may hope for justice, and with cause.
STAUFFACHER.
The Emperor will need some valiant friends,
And he will shelter us from Austria's vengeance.
[The peasantry embrace. Enter Sacristan with Imperial messenger.
SACRISTAN.
Here are the worthy chiefs of Switzerland!
ROSSELMANN and several others.
Sacrist, what news?
SACRISTAN.
A courier brings this letter.
ALL
(to Walter Furst).
Open and read it.
FURST
(reading).
“To the worthy men
Of Uri, Schwytz, and Unterwald, the Queen
Elizabeth sends grace and all good wishes!”
MANY VOICES.
What wants the queen with us? Her reign is done.
FURST
(reads).
“In the great grief and doleful widowhood,
In which the bloody exit of her lord
Has plunged her majesty, she still remembers
The ancient faith and love of Switzerland.”
MELCHTHAL.
She ne'er did that, in her prosperity.
ROSSELMANN.
Hush, let us hear!
FURST
(reads).
“And she is well assured,
Her people will in due abhorrence hold
The perpetrators of this damnèd deed.
On the three Cantons, therefore, she relies,
That they in nowise lend the murderers aid;
But rather, that they loyally assist,
To give them up in the avenger's hand,
Remembering the love and grace, which they
Of old received from Rudolph's princely house.”
[Symptoms of dissatisfaction among the peas antry.
MANY VOICES.
The love and grace!
STAUFFACHER.
Grace from the father we, indeed, received,
But what have we to boast of from the son?
Did he confirm the charter of our freedom,
As all preceding emperors had done?
Did he judge righteous judgment, or afford
Shelter, or stay, to innocence oppressed?
Nay, did he e'en give audience to the envoys
We sent, to lay our grievances before him?
Not one of all these things e'er did the king.
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By resolute valor, our necessities
Had never touched him. Gratitude to him!
Within these vales he sowed not gratitude.
He stood upon an eminence—he might
Have been a very father to his people,
But all his aim and pleasure was to raise
Himself and his own house: and now may those
Whom he has aggrandized, lament for him!
FURST.
We will not triumph in his fall, nor now
Recall to mind the wrongs we have endured.
Far be't from us! Yet, that we should avenge
The sovereign's death, who never did us good,
And hunt down those who never molested us,
Becomes us not, nor is our duty. Love
Must bring its offerings free, and unconstrained;
From all enforcèd duties death absolves—
And unto him we are no longer bound.
MELCHTHAL.
And if the queen laments within her bower,
Accusing Heaven in sorrow's wild despair;
Here see a people, from its anguish freed,
To that same Heaven send up its thankful praise.
For who would reap regrets, must sow affection.
[Exit the Imperial Courier.
STAUFFACHER
(to the people).
But where is Tell? Shall he, our freedom's founder,
Alone be absent from our festival?
He did the most—endured the worst of all.
Come—to his dwelling let us all repair,
And bid the saviour of our country hail!
[Exeunt omnes.
The Urphede was an oath of peculiar force. When a man, who was at feud with another, invaded his lands and was worsted, he often made terms with his enemy by swearing the Urphede, by which he bound himself to depart, and never to return with a hostile intention.
Scene II.
Interior of Tell's cottage. A fire burning on the hearth. The open door shows the scene outside.Hedwig, Walter, and Wilhelm.
HEDWIG.
Boys, dearest boys! your father comes to-day.
He lives, is free, and we, and all are free
The country owes its liberty to him!
WALTER.
And I, too, mother bore my part in it;
I shall be named with him. My father's shaft
Went closely by my life, but yet I shook not!
HEDWIG
(embracing him).
Yes, yes, thou art restored to me again!
Twice have I given thee birth,—twice suffered all
A mother's agonies for thee, my child!
But this is past—I have you both, boys, both!
And your dear father will be back to-day.
[A monk appears at the door.
WILHELM.
See, mother, yonder stands a holy friar;
He's asking alms, no doubt.
HEDWIG.
Go lead him in,
That we may give him cheer, and make him feel
That he has come into the house of joy.
[Exit, and returns immediately with a cup.
WILHELM
(to the monk).
Come in, good man. Mother will give you food!
WALTER.
Come in and rest, then go refreshed away!
MONK
(glancing round in terror, with unquiet looks).
Where am I? In what country?
WALTER.
Have you lost
Your way, that you are ignorant of this?
You are at Bürglen, in the land of Uri,
Just at the entrance of the Scheckenthal.
MONK
(to Hedwig).
Are you alone? Your husband, is he here?
HEDWIG.
I momently expect him. But what ails you?
You look as one whose soul is ill at ease.
Whoe'er you be, you are in want—take that.
[Offers him the cup.
MONK.
Howe'er my sinking heart may yearn for food.
I will taste nothing till you've promised me—
HEDWIG.
Touch not my dress, nor yet advance one step.
Stand off, I say, if you would have me hear you.
MONK.
Oh, by this hearth's bright hospitable blaze,
By your dear children's heads, which I embrace—
[Grasps the boys.
HEDWIG.
Stand back, I say! What is your purpose, man?
Back from my boys! You are no monk,—no, no.
Beneath that robe content and peace should dwell,
But neither lives within that face of thine.
MONK.
I am the veriest wretch that breaths on earth.
HEDWIG.
The heart is never deaf to wretchedness;
But thy look freezes up my inmost soul.
WALTER
(springs up).
Mother, my father!
HEDWIG.
Oh, my God!
[Is about to follow, trembles and stops.
WILHELM
(running after his brother).
My father!
WALTER
(without).
Thou'rt here once more!
WILHELM
(without).
My father, my dear father!
TELL
(without).
Yes, here I am once more! Where is your mother?
[They enter.
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There at the door she stands, and can no further,
She trembles so with terror and with joy.
TELL.
Oh Hedwig, Hedwig, mother of my children!
God has been kind and helpful in our woes.
No tyrant's hand shall e'er divide us more.
HEDWIG
(falling on his neck).
Oh, Tell, what have I suffered for thy sake!
[Monk becomes attentive.
TELL.
Forget it now, and live for joy alone!
I'm here again with you! This is my cot!
I stand again on mine own hearth!
WILHELM.
But father,
Where is your crossbow left? I see it not.
TELL.
Nor shalt thou ever see it more, my boy.
It is suspended in a holy place,
And in the chase shall ne'er be used again.
HEDWIG.
Oh, Tell! Tell!
[Steps back, dropping his hand.
TELL.
What alarms thee, dearest wife?
HEDWIG.
How—how dost thou return to me? This hand—
Dare I take hold of it? This hand—O God!
TELL
(with firmness and animation).
Has shielded you and set my country free;
Freely I raise it in the face of Heaven.
[Monk gives a sudden start—he looks at him.
Who is this friar here?
HEDWIG.
Ah, I forgot him.
Speak thou with him; I shudder at his presence.
MONK
(stepping nearer).
Are you that Tell that slew the governor?
TELL.
Yes, I am he. I hide the fact from no man.
MONK.
You are that Tell! Ah! it is God's own hand
That hath conducted me beneath your roof.
TELL
(examining him closely).
You are no monk. Who are you?
MONK.
You have slain
The governor, who did you wrong. I, too,
Have slain a foe, who late denied me justice.
He was no less your enemy than mine.
I've rid the land of him.
TELL
(drawing back).
Thou art—oh, horror!
In—children, children—in without a word.
Go, my dear wife! Go! Go! Unhappy man,
Thou shouldst be—
HEDWIG.
Heav'ns, who is it?
TELL.
Do not ask.
Away! away! the children must not hear it.
Out of the house—away! Thou must not rest
'Neath the same roof with this unhappy man!
HEDWIG.
Alas! What is it? Come!
[Exit with the children.
TELL
(to the Monk).
Thou art the Duke
Of Austria—I know it. Thou hast slain
The Emperor, thy uncle, and liege lord.
JOHN.
He robbed me of my patrimony.
TELL.
How!
Slain him—thy king, thy uncle! And the earth
Still bears thee! And the sun still shines on thee!
JOHN.
Tell, hear me, ere you—
TELL.
Reeking with the blood
Of him that was thy Emperor, and kinsman,
Durst thou set foot within my spotless house?
Show thy fell visage to a virtuous man,
And claim the rites of hospitality?
JOHN.
I hoped to find compassion at your hands.
You also took revenge upon your foe!
TELL.
Unhappy man! And dar'st thou thus confound
Ambition's bloody crime, with the dread act
To which a father's direful need impelled him?
Hadst thou to shield thy children's darling heads?
To guard thy fireside's sanctuary—ward off
The last, worst doom from all that thou didst love?
To Heaven I raise my unpolluted hands,
To curse thine act and thee! I have avenged
That holy nature which thou hast profaned.
I have no part with thee. Thou art a murderer;
I've shielded all that was most dear to me.
JOHN.
You cast me off to comfortless despair!
TELL.
My blood runs cold e'en while I talk with thee.
Away! Pursue thine awful course! Nor longer
Pollute the cot where innocence abides!
[John turns to depart.
JOHN.
I cannot live, and will no longer thus!
TELL.
And yet my soul bleeds for thee—gracious Heaven!
So young, of such a noble line, the grandson
Of Rudolph, once my lord and emperor,
An outcast—murderer—standing at my door,
The poor man's door—a suppliant, in despair!
[Covers his face.
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If thou hast power to weep, oh let my fate
Move your compassion—it is horrible.
I am—say, rather was—a prince. I might
Have been most happy, had I only curbed
The impatience of my passionate desires.
But envy gnawed my heart—I saw the youth
Of mine own cousin Leopold endowed
With honor, and enriched with broad domains
The while myself, that was in years his equal,
Was kept in abject and disgraceful nonage.
TELL.
Unhappy man, thy uncle knew thee well
When he withheld both land and subjects from thee!
Thou, by thy mad and desperate act hast set
A fearful seal upon his sage resolve.
Where are the bloody partners of thy crime?
JOHN.
Where'er the demon of revenge has borne them;
I have not seen them since the luckless deed.
TELL.
Know'st thou the Empire's ban is out,—that thou
Art interdicted to thy friends, and given
An outlawed victim to thine enemies?
JOHN.
Therefore I shun all public thoroughfares,
And venture not to knock at any door—
I turn my footsteps to the wilds, and through
The mountains roam, a terror to myself.
From mine own self I shrink with horror back,
Should a chance brook reflect my ill-starred form
If thou hast pity for a fellow-mortal—
[Falls down before him.
TELL.
Stand up, stand up!
JOHN.
Not till thou shalt extend
Thy hand in promise of assistance to me.
TELL.
Can I assist thee? Can a sinful man?
Yet get thee up—how black soe'er thy crime,—
Thou art a man. I, too, am one. From Tell
Shall no one part uncomforted. I will
Do all that lies within my power.
JOHN
(springs up and grasps him ardently by the hand).
O Tell,
You save me from the terrors of despair.
TELL.
Let go my hand! Thou must away. Thou canst not
Remain here undiscovered, and discovered.
Thou canst not count on succor. Which way, then,
Wilt bend thy steps? Where dost thou hope to find
A place of rest?
JOHN.
Alas! alas! I know not.
TELL.
Hear, then, what Heaven suggesteth to my heart.
Thou must to Italy,—to Saint Peter's city—
There cast thyself at the Pope's feet,—confess
Thy guilt to him, and ease thy laden soul!
JOHN.
But will he not surrender me to vengeance?
TELL.
Whate'er he does, receive as God's decree.
JOHN.
But how am I to reach that unknown land?
I have no knowledge of the way, and dare not
Attach myself to other travelers.
TELL.
I will describe the road, and mark me well!
You must ascend, keeping along the Reuss,
Which from the mountains dashes wildly down.
JOHN
(in alarm).
What! See the Reuss? The witness of my deed!
TELL.
The road you take lies through the river's gorge,
And many a cross proclaims where travelers
Have perished 'neath the avalanche's fall.
JOHN.
I have no fear for nature's terrors, so
I can appease the torments of my soul.
TELL.
At every cross, kneel down and expiate
Your crime with burning penitential tears—
And if you 'scape the perils of the pass,
And are not whelmed beneath the drifted snows,
That from the frozen peaks come sweeping down,
You'll reach the bridge, that hangs in drizzling spray
Then if it yield not 'neath your heavy guilt,
When you have left it safely in your rear,
Before you frowns the gloomy Gate of Rocks,
Where never sun did shine. Proceed through this
And you will reach a bright and gladsome vale.
Yet must you hurry on with hasty steps,
For in the haunts of peace you must not linger.
JOHN.
O Rudolph, Rudolph, royal grandsire! thus
Thy grandson first sets foot within thy realms!
TELL.
Ascending still, you gain the Gotthardt's heights,
On which the everlasting lakes repose,
That from the streams of Heaven itself are fed,
There to the German soil you bid farewell;
And thence, with rapid course, another stream
Leads you to Italy, your promised land.
[Ranz des Vaches sounded on Alp-horns is heard without.
But I hear voices! Hence!
HEDWIG
(hurrying in).
Where art thou, Tell?
Our father comes, and in exulting bands
All the confederates approach.
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(covering himself).
Woe's me!
I dare not tarry 'mid this happiness!
TELL.
Go, dearest wife, and give this man to eat.
Spare not your bounty. For his road is long,
And one where shelter will be hard to find.
Quick! they approach.
HEDWIG.
Who is he?
TELL.
Do not ask!
And when he quits thee, turn thine eyes away,
That they may not behold the road he takes.
[Duke John advances hastily toward Tell, but he beckons him aside and exit. When both have left the stage, the scene changes, and discloses in
Scene III.
The whole valley before Tell's house, the heights which inclose it occupied by peasants, grouped into tableaux. Some are seen crossing a lofty bridge, which crosses the Schechen. Walter Furst with the two boys. Werner and Stauffacher come forward. Others throng after them. When Tell appears, all receive him with loud cheers.ALL.
Long live brave Tell, our shield, our liberator.
[While those in front are crowding round Tell and embracing him, Rudenz and Bertha appear. The former salutes the peasantry, the latter embraces Hedwig. The music from the mountains continues to play. When it has stopped, Bertha steps into the centre of the crowd.
BERTHA.
Peasants! Confederates! Into your league
Receive me here, that happily am the first
To find protection in the land of freedom.
To your brave hands I now intrust my rights.
Will you protect me as your citizen?
PEASANTS.
Ay, that we will, with life and fortune both!
BERTHA.
'Tis well! And to this youth I give my hand.
A free Swiss maiden to a free Swiss man!
Rudenz.
And from this moment all my serfs are free!
[Music and the curtain falls.
| Wilhelm Tell | |