The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Volume 03
TekstWho beckon'd me, and said, "Redress yourselves.
Expect not justice from the Emperor.
Does he not plunder his own brother's child,
And keep from him his just inheritance?"
The Duke claims his maternal property,
Urging he's now of age, and 'tis full time
That he should rule his people and estates
What is the answer made to him? The king
Places a chaplet on his head; "Behold
The fitting ornament," he cries, "of youth!"
MAUER.
You hear. Expect not from the Emperor
Or right or justice! Then redress yourselves!
REDING.
No other course is left us. Now, advise
What plan most likely to insure success.
FÜRST.
To shake a thraldom off that we abhor,
To keep our ancient rights inviolate,
As we received them from our fathers—this,
Not lawless innovation, is our aim.
Let Cæsar still retain what is his due;
And he that is a vassal, let him pay
The service he is sworn to faithfully.
MEYER.
I hold my land of Austria in fief.
FÜRST.
Continue, then, to pay your feudal dues.
WEIT.
I'm tenant of the lords of Rappersweil.
FÜRST.
Continue, then, to pay them rent and tithe.
RÖSSEL.
Of Zurich's Abbess humble vassal I.
FÜRST.
Give to the cloister what the cloister claims.
STAUFF.
The Empire only is my feudal lord.
FÜRST.
What needs must be, we'll do, but nothing more.
We'll drive these tyrants and their minions hence,
And raze their towering strongholds to the ground,
Yet shed, if possible, no drop of blood.
Let the Emperor see that we were driven to cast
The sacred duties of respect away;
And when he finds we keep within our bounds,
His wrath, belike, may yield to policy;
For truly is that nation to be fear'd
That, arms in hand, is temperate in its wrath.
REDING.
But prithee tell us how may this be done
The enemy is arm'd as well as we,
And, rest assured, he will not yield in peace.
STAUFF.
He will, whene'er he sees us up in arms;
We shall surprise him, ere he is prepared.
MEYER.
Easily said, but not so easily done.
Two strongholds dominate the country—they
Protect the foe, and should the king invade us,
Our task would then be dangerous indeed.
Rossberg and Sarnen both must be secured,
Before a sword is drawn in either Canton.
STAUFF.
Should we delay, the foe would soon be warned.
We are too numerous for secrecy.
MEYER.
There is no traitor in the Forest States.
RÖSSEL.
But even zeal may heedlessly betray.
FÜRST.
Delay it no longer, and the keep at Altdorf
Will be complete—the governor secure.
MEYER.
You think but of yourselves.
SACRISTAN.
You're unjust!
MEYER.
Unjust! said you? Dares Uri taunt us so?
REDING.
Peace, on your oath!
SACRISTAN.
If Schwytz be leagued with Uri,
Why, then, indeed, we must perforce be dumb.
REDING.
And let me tell you, in the Diet's name,
Your hasty spirit much disturbs the peace.
Stand we not all for the same common cause?
WINK.
What, if till Christmas we delay? 'Tis then
The custom for the serfs to throng the castle,
Bringing the governor their annual gifts.
Thus may some ten or twelve selected men
Assemble unobserved, within its walls,
Bearing about their persons pikes of steel
Which may be quickly mounted upon staves;
For arms are not admitted to the fort.
The rest can fill the neighb'ring wood, prepared
To sally forth upon a trumpet's blast,
Soon as their comrades have secured the gate;
And thus the castle will with ease be ours.
MELCH.
The Rossberg I will undertake to scale.
I have a sweetheart in the garrison,
Whom with some tender words I could persuade
To lower me at night a hempen ladder.
Once up, my friends will not be long behind.
REDING.
Are all resolved in favor of delay?
[The majority raise their hands.]
STAUFFACHER (counting them).
Twenty to twelve is the majority.
FÜRST.
If on the appointed day the castles fall,
From mountain on to mountain we shall speed
The fiery signal: in the capital
Of every Canton quickly rouse the Landsturm.[55]
Then, when these tyrants see our martial front,
Believe me, they will never make so bold
As risk the conflict, but will gladly take
Safe conduct forth beyond our boundaries.
STAUFF.
Not so with Gessler. He will make a stand.
Surrounded with his dread array of horse,
Blood will be shed before he quits the field,
And even expell'd he'd still be terrible.
'Tis hard, nay, dangerous, to spare his life.
BAUM.
Place me where'er a life is to be lost;
I owe my life to Tell, and cheerfully
Will pledge it for my country. I have clear'd.
My honor, and my heart is now at rest.
REDING.
Counsel will come with circumstance. Be patient!
Something must still be to the moment left.
Yet, while by night we hold our Diet here,
The morning, see, has on the mountain tops
Kindled her glowing beacon. Let us part,
Ere the broad sun surprise us.
FÜRST.
Do not fear.
The night wanes slowly from these vales of ours.
[All have involuntarily taken off their caps, and contemplate the breaking of day, absorbed in silence.]
RÖSSEL.
By this fair light which greeteth us, before
Those other nations, that, beneath us far,
In noisome cities pent, draw painful breath,
Swear we the oath of our confederacy!
A band of brothers true we swear to be,
Never to part in danger or in death!
[They repeat his words with three fingers raised.]
We swear we will be free, as were our sires,
And sooner die than live in slavery!
[All repeat as before.]
We swear, to put our trust in God Most High,
And not to quail before the might of man!
[All repeat as before, and embrace one another.]
STAUFF.
Now every man pursue his several way
Back to his friends, his kindred, and his home.
Let the herd winter up his flock, and gain
In secret friends for this great league of ours!
What for a time must be endured, endure,
And let the reckoning of the tyrants grow,
Till the great day arrive when they shall pay
The general and particular debt at once.
Let every man control his own just rage,
And nurse his vengeance for the public wrongs:
For he whom selfish interests now engage
Defrauds the general weal of what to it belongs.
[As they are going off in profound silence, in three different directions, the orchestra plays a solemn air. The empty scene remains open for some time, showing the rays of the sun rising over the Glaciers.]
[ILLUSTRATION: THE OATH ON THE RÜTLI As performed at the
Royal Theatre, Dresden 1906.]
* * * * *
ACT III
SCENE I
Court before TELL'S house. TELL with an axe. HEDWIG engaged in her domestic duties. WALTER and WILLIAM in the background, playing with a little cross-bow.
(WALTER Sings).
With his cross-bow, and his quiver,
The huntsman speeds his way,
Over mountain, dale, and river,
At the dawning of the day.
As the eagle, on wild pinion,
Is the king in realms of air,
So the hunter claims dominion
Over crag and forest lair.
Far as ever bow can carry,
Thro' the trackless airy space,
All he sees he makes his quarry,
Soaring bird and beast of chase.
WILLIAM (runs forward).
My string has snapt! Oh, father, mend it, do!
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 learnt 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.
My restless spirit ever yearns for change;
I only feel the flush and joy of life
If I can start 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 the risks you run;
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 crag to crag.
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
Entombed 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 perill'd every hour.
TELL.
The man that bears a quick and steady eye,
And trusts in God, and his own lusty thews,
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—
Axe in the house 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.
[ILLUSTRATION]
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 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.
Little will he that's over cautious do.
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 cross-bow and arrows.]
HEDWIG.
Why take your cross-bow with you? leave it here.
TELL.
I want my right hand, when I want 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 today.
HEDWIG.
Then 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 Shechenthal, 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 Shechen thunder'd 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, his cheek grew pale,
His knees refused their office, and I thought
He would have sunk against the mountain side.
Then, touch'd 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 pass'd 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 today. Go hunt instead!
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 go with father, I.
HEDWIG.
How, Walter! will you leave your mother then?
WALTER.
I'll bring you pretty things from grandpa.
[Exit with his father.]
WILLIAM.
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, then, to speak my mind!
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 this precious chance—
Must hear my doom decided by thy lips,
Though it should part me from thy side forever.
Oh, 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 stamp'd me yet; nor may I take
My place amid the courtly throng of knights,
That, crown'd 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 a tyrant's servile tool.
RUDENZ.
Oh heaven, what words are these?
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 oppress'd?
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 incense and wound me to the core.
It tries me to the utmost not to 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 warp'd 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.
Oh, 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? Oh, Bertha, with thy love
What might I not become!
BERTHA.
Be only that
For which your own high nature destin'd 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 win you—how can you be mine,
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 grace;
Fain would they lay their grasp on my estates
To swell the vast domains which now they hold.
The selfsame lust of conquest, that would rob
You of your liberty, endangers mine.
Ob, friend, I'm mark'd 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,
And marriage bonds I loathe await me there.
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?
Oh, 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.
But if in this calm vale thou canst abide
With me, and bid earth's pomps 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 dream'd 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 unconstrain'd,
Wielding a power that kings might envy thee.
RUDENZ.
And thee I see, thy sex's crowning gem,
With thy sweet woman's 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 keep!
Here are no keeps, here are no bastion'd walls
To part me from a people I can bless.
RUDENZ.
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.
Whate'er ensue, firm by thy people stand!
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
FRIESS.
We keep our watch in vain. Zounds! not a soul
Will pass and do obeisance to the cap.
But yesterday the place swarm'd like a fair;
Now the old green looks like a desert, quite,
Since yonder scarecrow hung upon the pole.
LEUTH.
Only the vilest rabble show themselves,
And wave their tattered caps in mockery at us.
All honest citizens would sooner make
A weary circuit over half the town,
Than bend their backs before our master's cap.
FRIESS.
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 Rösselmann, the priest, was even with me:
Coming just then from some sick man, he takes
His stand before the pole—lifts up the Host—
The Sacrist, too, must tinkle with his bell—
When down they dropp'd on knee—myself and all—
In reverence to the Host, but not the cap.
LEUTH.
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!
FRIESS.
Why not, an't please you, to an empty cap?
You've duck'd, I'm sure, to many an empty sconce.
[HILDEGARD, MECHTHILD, and ELSBETH enter with their children, and station themselves around the pole.]
LEUTH.
And you are a time-serving sneak that takes
Delight in bringing honest folks to harm.
For my part, he that likes may pass the cap:—
I'll shut my eyes and take no note of him.
MECH.
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 where the rivers go,
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 scann'd
Without impediment. The corn grows there
In broad and lovely fields, and all the land
Is like a garden fair to look upon.
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.]
FRIESS.
Stand, I command you, in the Emperor's name!
TELL (seizing the pike).
What would ye? Wherefore do ye stop me thus?
FRIESS.
You've broke the mandate, and with us must go.
LEUTH.
You have not done obeisance to the cap.
TELL.
Friend, let me go.
FRIESS.
Away, away to prison!
WALTER.
Father to prison? Help!
[Calling to the side scene.]
This way, you men!
Good people, help! They're dragging him to prison!
[RÖSSELMANN the Priest, and the SACRISTAN, with three other men, enter.]
SACRIST.
What's here amiss?
RÖSSELMANN.
Why do you seize this man?
FRIESS.
He is an enemy of the King—a traitor.
TELL (seizing him with violence).
A traitor, I?
RÖSSELMANN.
Friend, thou art wrong. 'Tis Tell,
An honest man, and worthy citizen.
WALTER (descries FÜRST and runs up to him).
Grandfather, help, they want to seize my father!
FRIESS. Away to prison!
FÜRST (running in).
Stay, I offer bail.
For God's sake, Tell, what is the matter here?
[MELCHTHAL and STAUFFACHER enter.]
LEUTH.
He has contemn'd the Viceroy's sovereign power,
Refusing flatly to acknowledge it.
STAUFF.
Has Tell done this?
MELCHTHAL.
Villain, you know 'tis false!
LEUTH.
He has not made obeisance to the cap.
FÜRST.
And shall for this to prison? Come, my friend,
Take my security, and let him go.
FRIESS.
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
Him dragged away before our very eyes?
SACRIST.
We are the strongest. Friends, endure it not,
Our countrymen will back us to a man.
FRIESS.
Who dares 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 from our midst to force him, if you dare.
FÜRST and STAUFFACHER.
Peace, peace, friends!
FRIESSHARDT (loudly).
Riot! Insurrection, ho!
[Hunting-horns without.]
WOMEN.
The Governor!
FRIESSHARDT (raising his voice).
Rebellion! Mutiny!
STAUFF.
Roar till you burst, knave!
RÖSSELMANN and MELCHTHAL.
Will you hold your tongue?
FRIESSHARDT (calling still louder).
Help, help, I say, the servants of the law!
FÜRST.
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.]
Theatre, Dresden, 1906.]
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.]
FRIESS.
Dread sir, I am a soldier of your guard,
And station'd sentinel beside the cap;
This man I apprehended in the act
Of passing it without obeisance due;
So as you ordered, I arrested him,
Whereupon to rescue him the people tried.
GESSLER (after a pause).
And do you, Tell, so lightly hold your King,
And me, who act as his vice-regent here,
That you refuse obeisance 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—
From every rival bear the palm away.
WALTER.
That's very truth, 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—make ready, then,
To shoot an apple from the stripling's head!
But take this counsel—look well to thine aim,
See, that thou hit'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?
What 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 cross-bow 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, on a sudden so discreet?
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
Cull'd out for thee a task of special daring.
Another man might pause and hesitate;—
Thou dashest at it, heart and soul, at once.
BERTHA.
Oh, 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!