The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Volume 03

SCENE II

Baronial mansion of Attinghausen. The BARON upon a couch dying. WALTER FÜRST, STAUFFACHER, MELCHTHAL, and BAUMGARTEN attending round him, WALTER TELL kneeling before the dying man.

FÜRST.

All now is over with him. He is gone.

STAUFF.

He lies not like one dead. The feather, see,

Moves on his lips! His sleep is very calm,

And on his features plays a placid smile.

[BAUMGARTEN goes to the door and speaks with some one.]

FÜRST.

Who's there?

BAUMGARTEN (returning).

 
                    Tell's wife, your daughter, she insists
 

That she must speak with you, and see her boy.

[WALTER TELL rises.]

FÜRST.

I who need comfort—can I comfort her?

Does every sorrow centre on my head?

HEDWIG (forcing her way in).

Where is my child? unhand me! I must see him.

STAUFF.

Be calm! Reflect, you're in the house of death!

HEDWIG (falling upon her boy's neck).

My Walter! Oh, he yet is mine!

WALTER.

Dear mother!

HEDWIG.

And, is it surely so? Art thou unhurt?

[Gazing at him with anxious tenderness.]

And is it possible he aim'd at thee?

How could he do it? Oh, he has no heart—

And he could wing an arrow at his child!

FÜRST.

His soul was rack'd with anguish when he did it.

No choice was left him but to shoot or die!

HEDWIG.

Oh, if he had a father's heart, he would

Have sooner perish'd by a thousand deaths!

STAUFF.

You should be grateful for God's gracious care,

That ordered things so well.

HEDWIG.

 
                       Can I forget
 

What might have been the issue. God in Heaven,

Were I to live for centuries, I still

Should see my boy tied up—his father's mark—

And still the shaft would quiver in my heart.

MELCH.

You know not how the Viceroy taunted him!

HEDWIG.

Oh, ruthless heart of man! Offend his pride,

And reason in his breast forsakes her seat;

In his blind wrath he'll stake upon a cast

A child's existence, and a mother's heart!

BAUM.

Is then your husband's fate not hard enough,

That you embitter it by such reproaches?

Have you no feeling for his sufferings?

HEDWIG (turning to him and gazing full upon him).

Hast thou tears only for thy friend's distress?

Say, where were you when he—my noble Tell—

Was bound in chains? Where was your friendship then?

The shameful wrong was done before your eyes;

Patient you stood, and let your friend be dragg'd,

Ay, from your very hands. Did ever Tell

Act thus to you? Did he stand whining by,

When on your heels the Viceroy's horsemen press'd,

And full before you roared the storm-toss'd lake?

Oh not with idle tears his pity show'd!

Into the boat he sprang, forgot his home,

His wife, his children, and delivered thee!

FÜRST.

It had been madness to attempt his rescue,

Unarmed, and few in numbers as we were.

HEDWIG (casting herself upon his bosom).

Oh, father, and thou, too, hast lost my Tell!

The country—all have lost him! All lament

His loss; and, oh, how he must pine for us!

Heaven keep his soul from sinking to despair!

No friend's consoling voice can penetrate

His dreary dungeon walls. Should he fall sick!

Ah! In the vapors of the murky vault

He must fall sick. Even as the Alpine rose

Grows pale and withers in the swampy air,

There is no life for him but in the sun

And in the breath of Heaven's fresh-blowing airs.

Imprison'd! Liberty to him is breath;

He cannot live in the rank dungeon air!

STAUFF.

Pray you be calm! And hand in hand we'll all

Combine to burst his prison doors.

HEDWIG.

 
                                 He gone,
 

What have you power to do? While Tell was free,

There still, indeed, was hope—weak innocence

Had still a friend, and the oppress'd a stay.

Tell saved you all! You cannot all combined

Release him from his cruel prison bonds.

[The BARON wakes.]

BAUM.

Hush, hush! He starts!

ATTINGHAUSEN (sitting up).

Where is he?

STAUFFACHER.

Who?

ATTINGHAUSEN.

 
                          He leaves me—
 

In my last moments he abandons me.

STAUFF.

He means his nephew. Have they sent for him?

FÜRST.

He has been summoned. Cheer'ly, sir! Take comfort!

He has found his heart at last, and is our own.

ATTING.

Say, has he spoken for his native land?

STAUFF.

Ay, like a hero!

ATTINGHAUSEN.

 
            Wherefore comes he not,
 

That he may take my blessing ere I die?

I feel my life fast ebbing to a close.

STAUFF.

Nay, talk not thus, dear sir! This last short sleep

Has much refresh'd you, and your eye is bright.

ATTING.

Life is but pain, and that has left me now;

My sufferings, like my hopes, have pass'd away.

[Observing the boy.]

What boy is that?

FÜRST.

 
              Bless him. Oh, good my lord!
 

He is my grandson, and is fatherless.

[HEDWIG kneels with the boy before the dying man.]

ATTING.

And fatherless—I leave you all, ay, all!

Oh, wretched fate, that these old eyes should see

My country's ruin, as they close in death!

Must I attain the utmost verge of life,

To feel my hopes go with me to the grave?

STAUFFACHER (to FÜRST).

Shall he depart 'mid grief and gloom like this?

Shall not his parting moments be illumed

By hope's inspiring beams? My noble lord,

Raise up your drooping spirit! We are not

Forsaken quite—past all deliverance.

ATTING.

Who shall deliver you?

FÜRST.

 
                  Ourselves. For know,
 

The Cantons three are to each other pledged,

To hunt the tyrants from the land. The league

Has been concluded, and a sacred oath

Confirms our union. Ere another year

Begins its circling course—the blow shall fall.

In a free land your ashes shall repose.

ATTING.

The league concluded! Is it really so?

MELCH.

On one day shall the Cantons rise together.

All is prepared to strike—and to this hour

The secret closely kept, though hundreds share it;

The ground is hollow 'neath the tyrants' feet;

Their days of rule are number'd, and ere long

No trace will of their hateful sway be left.

ATTING.

Ay, but their castles, how to master them?

MELCH.

On the same day they, too, are doom'd to fall.

ATTING.

And are the nobles parties to this league?

STAUFF.

We trust to their assistance, should we need it;

As yet the peasantry alone have sworn.

ATTING. (raising himself up in great astonishment).

And have the peasantry dared such a deed

On their own charge, without the nobles' aid—

Relied so much on their own proper strength?

Nay then, indeed, they want our help no more;

We may go down to death cheer'd by the thought

That after us the majesty of man

Will live, and be maintain'd by other hands.

[He lays his hand upon the head of the child who is kneeling before him.]

From this boy's head, whereon the apple lay,

Your new and better liberty shall spring;

The old is crumbling down—the times are changing—

And from the ruins blooms a fairer life.

STAUFFACHER (to FÜRST).

See, see, what splendor streams around his eye!

This is not Nature's last expiring flame,

It is the beam of renovated life.

ATTING.

From their old towers the nobles are descending,

And swearing in the towns the civic oath.

In Uechtland and Thurgau the work's begun;

The noble Berne lifts her commanding head,

And Freyburg is a stronghold of the free;

The stirring Zurich calls her guilds to arms;—

And now, behold!—the ancient might of kings

Is shiver'd 'gainst her everlasting walls.

[He speaks what follows with a prophetic tone; his utterance rising into enthusiasm.]

I see the princes and their haughty peers,

Clad all in steel, come striding on to crush

A harmless shepherd race with mailèd hand.

Desp'rate the conflict: 'tis for life or death;

And many a pass will tell to after years

Of glorious victories sealed in foemen's blood.[58]

The peasant throws himself with naked breast,

A willing victim on their serried spears;

They yield—the flower of chivalry's cut down,

And Freedom waves her conquering banner high.

[Grasps the hands of WALTER FÜRST and STAUFFACHER.]

Hold fast together, then—forever fast!

Let freedom's haunts be one in heart and mind!

Set watches on your mountain tops, that league

May answer league, when comes the hour to strike.

Be one—be one—be one—

[He falls back upon the cushion. His lifeless hands continue to grasp those of FÜRST and STAUFFACHER, who regard him for some moments in silence, and then retire, overcome with sorrow. Meanwhile the servants have quietly pressed into the chamber, testifying different degrees of grief. Some kneel down beside him and weep on his body: while this scene is passing, the castle bell tolls.]

RUDENZ (entering hurriedly).

Lives he? Oh say, can he still hear my voice?

Wilhelm von Kaulbach]

FÜRST (averting his face).

You are our seignior and protector now;

Henceforth this castle bears another name.

RUDENZ (gazing at the body with deep emotion).

Oh, God! Is my repentance, then, too late?

Could he not live some few brief moments more,

To see the change that has come o'er my heart?

Oh, I was deaf to his true counselling voice,

While yet he walked on earth. Now he is gone—

Gone, and for ever—leaving me the debt—

The heavy debt I owe him—undischarged!

Oh, tell me! did he part in anger with me?

STAUFF.

When dying, he was told what you had done,

And bless'd the valor that inspired your words!

RUDENZ (kneeling down beside the dead body).

Yes, sacred relics of a man beloved!

Thou lifeless corpse! Here, on thy death-cold hand,

Do I abjure all foreign ties for ever!

And to my country's cause devote myself.

I am a Switzer, and will act as one,

With my whole heart and soul.

[Rises.]

 
                              Mourn for our friend,
 

Our common parent, yet be not dismay'd!

'Tis not alone his lands that I inherit—

His heart—his spirit, have devolved on me;

And my young arm shall execute the task,

Which in his hoary age he could not pay.

Give me your hands, ye venerable sires!

Thine, Melchthal, too! Nay, do not hesitate,

Nor from me turn distrustfully away.

Accept my plighted vow—my knightly oath!

FÜRST.

Give him your hands, my friends! A heart like his,

That sees and owns its error, claims our trust.

MELCH.

You ever held the peasantry in scorn;

What surety have we, that you mean us fair?

RUDENZ.

Oh, think not of the error of my youth!

STAUFFACHER (to MELCHTHAL).

Be one! They were our father's latest words.

See they be not forgotten!

MELCHTHAL.

 
                        Take my hand—
 

peasant's hand—and with it, noble sir,

The gage and the assurance of a man!

Without us, sir, what would the nobles be?

Our order is more ancient, too, than yours!

RUDENZ.

I honor it—will shield it with my sword!

MELCH.

The arm, my lord, that tames the stubborn earth,

And makes its bosom blossom with increase,

Can also shield its owner's breast at need.

RUDENZ.

Then you shall shield my breast, and I will yours,

Thus each be strengthen'd by the other's strength.

Yet wherefore talk we, while our native land

Is still to alien tyranny a prey?

First let us sweep the foemen from the soil,

Then reconcile our difference in peace!

[After a moment's pause.]

How! You are silent! Not a word for me?

And have I yet no title to your trust?—

Then must I force my way, despite your will,

Into the League you secretly have form'd.

You've held a Diet on the Rootli—I

Know this—know all that was transacted there;

And though not trusted with your secret, I

Have kept it closely like a sacred pledge.

Trust me—I never was my country's foe,

Nor would I ever have against you stood!

Yet you did wrong—to put your rising off.

Time presses! We must strike, and swiftly too!

Already Tell is lost through your delay.

STAUFF.

We swore that we should wait till Christmastide.

RUDENZ.

I was not there—I did not take the oath.

If you delay, I will not!

MELCHTHAL.

What! You would—

RUDENZ.

I count me now among the country's chiefs,

And my first duty is to guard your rights.

FÜRST.

Your nearest and your holiest duty is

Within the earth to lay these dear remains.

RUDENZ.

When we have set the country free, we'll place

Our fresh victorious wreaths upon his bier.

Oh, my dear friends, 'tis not your cause alone!—

with the tyrants have a cause to fight,

That more concerns myself. My Bertha's gone,

Has disappear'd—been carried off by stealth—

Stolen from amongst us by their ruffian hands!

STAUFF.

So fell an outrage has the tyrant dared

Against a lady free and nobly born?

RUDENZ.

Alas! my friends, I promised help to you,

And I must first implore it for myself!

She that I love, is stolen—is forced away,

And who knows where she's by the tyrant hid,

Or with what outrages his ruffian crew

May force her into nuptials she detests?

Forsake me not!—Oh, help me to her rescue!

She loves you! Well, oh well, has she deserved,

That all should rush to arms in her behalf!

STAUFF.

What course do you propose?

RUDENZ.

 
                          Alas! I know not.
 

In the dark mystery that shrouds her fate—

In the dread agony of this suspense,

Where I can grasp at naught of certainty—

One single ray of comfort beams upon me.

From out the ruins of the tyrant's power

Alone can she be rescued from the grave.

Their strongholds must be levell'd, every one,

Ere we can penetrate her dungeon walls.

MELCH.

Come, lead us on! We follow! Why defer

Until tomorrow what today may do?

Tell's arm was free when we at Rootli swore.

This foul enormity was yet undone.

And change of circumstance brings change of vow;

Who such a coward as to waver still?

RUDENZ (to WALTER FÜRST).

Meanwhile to arms, and wait in readiness

The fiery signal on the mountain tops!

For swifter than a boat can scour the lake

Shall you have tidings of our victory;

And when you see the welcome flames ascend,

Then, like the lightning, swoop upon the foe,

And lay the despots and their creatures low!

SCENE III

The pass near Küssnacht, sloping down from behind, with rocks on either side. The travelers are visible upon the heights, before they appear on the stage. Rocks all around the stage. Upon one of the foremost a projecting cliff overgrown with brushwood.

TELL (enters with his cross-bow).

Through this ravine he needs must come. There is

No other way to Küssnacht. Here I'll do it!

The ground is everything I could desire.

Yon elder bush will hide me from his view,

And from that point my shaft is sure to hit.

The straitness of the gorge forbids pursuit.

Now, Gessler, balance thine account with Heaven!

Thou must away from earth—thy sand is run.

Quiet and harmless was the life I led,

My bow was bent on forest game alone;

No thoughts of murder rested on my soul.

But thou hast scared me from my dream of peace;

The milk of human kindness thou hast turn'd

To rankling poison in my breast, and made

Appalling deeds familiar to my soul.

He who could make his own child's head his mark,

Can speed his arrow to his foeman's heart.

My boys, poor innocents, my loyal wife,

Must be protected, tyrant, from thy rage!

When last I drew my bow—with trembling hand—

And thou, with fiendishly remorseless glee

Forced me to level at my own boy's head,

When I, imploring pity, writhed before thee,

Then in the anguish of my soul, I vow'd

A fearful oath, which met God's ear alone,

That when my bow next wing'd an arrow's flight,

Its aim should be thy heart. The vow I made,

Amid the hellish torments of that moment,

I hold a sacred debt, and I will pay it.

Thou art my lord, my Emperor's delegate;

Yet would the Emperor not have stretch'd his power

So far as thou halt done. He sent thee here

To deal forth law—stern law—for he is wroth,

But not to wanton with unbridled will

In every cruelty, with fiend-like joy:—

There lives a God to punish and avenge.

Come forth, thou bringer once of bitter pangs,

My precious jewel now—my chiefest treasure—

A mark I'll set thee, which the cry of grief

Could never penetrate—but thou shalt pierce it—

And thou, my trusty bow-string, that so oft

For sport has served me faithfully and well,

Desert me not in this dread hour of need—

Only be true this once, my own good cord,

That hast so often wing'd the biting shaft:—

For shouldst thou fly successless from my hand,

I have no second to send after thee.

[Travelers pass over the stage.]

I'll sit me down upon this bench of stone,

Hewn for the way-worn traveler's brief repose—

For here there is no home. Men hurry past

Each other, with quick step and careless look,

Nor stay to question of their grief. Here goes

The merchant, all anxiety—the pilgrim,

With scantly furnished scrip—the pious monk,

The scowling robber, and the jovial player,

The carrier with his heavy-laden horse

That comes to us from the far haunts of men;

For every road conducts to the world's end.

They all push onward—every man intent

On his own several business—mine is murder.

[Sits down.]

Time was, my dearest children, when with joy

You hail'd your father's safe return to home

From his long mountain toils; for, when he came,

He ever brought with him some little gift—

A lovely Alpine flower—a curious bird—

Or elf-bolt, such as on the hills are found.

But now he goes in quest of other game,

Sits in this gorge, with murder in his thoughts,

And for his enemy's life-blood lies in wait.

But still it is of you alone he thinks,

Dear children. 'Tis to guard your innocence,

To shield you from the tyrant's fell revenge,

He bends his bow to do a deed of blood!

[Rises.]

Well—I am watching for a noble prey!

Does not the huntsman, with unflinching heart,

Roam for whole days, when winter frosts are keen,

Leap at the risk of death from rock to rock—

And climb the jagged, slippery steeps, to which

His limbs are glued by his own streaming blood—

And all to hunt a wretched chamois down?

A far more precious prize is now my aim—

The heart of that dire foe, who seeks my life.

[Sprightly music heard in the distance, which comes gradually nearer.]

From my first years of boyhood I have used

The bow—been practised in the archer's feats;

The bull's eye many a time my shafts have hit,

And many a goodly prize have I brought home

From competitions. But this day I'll make

My master-shot, and win what's best to win

In the whole circuit of our mountain range.

[A bridal party passes over the stage, and goes up the pass. TELL gazes at it, leaning on his bow. He is joined by STUSSI the Ranger.]

STUSSI.

There goes the cloister bailiff's bridal train

Of Mörlischachen. A rich fellow he!

And has some half score pastures on the Alps.

He goes to fetch his bride from Imisee.

At Küssnacht there will be high feast tonight.

Come with us—ev'ry honest man is asked.

TELL.

A gloomy guest fits not a wedding feast.

STUSSI.

If you've a trouble, dash it from your heart!

Take what Heaven sends! The times are heavy now,

And we must snatch at pleasure as it flies.

Here 'tis a bridal, there a burial.

TELL.

And oft the one close on the other treads.

STUSSI.

So runs the world we live in. Everywhere

Mischance befalls and misery enough.

In Glarus there has been a landslip, and

A whole side of the Glärnisch has fallen in.

TELL.

How! Do the very hills begin to quake?

There is stability for naught on earth.

STUSSI.

Of strange things, too, we hear from other parts.

I spoke with one but now, from Baden come,

Who said a knight was on his way to court,

And, as he rode along, a swarm of wasps

Surrounded him, and settling on his horse,

So fiercely stung the beast, that it fell dead,

And he proceeded to the court on foot.

TELL.

The weak are also furnish'd with a sting.

ARMGART (enters with several children, and places herself at the entrance of the pass).

STUSSI.

'Tis thought to bode disaster to the land—

Some horrid deeds against the course of nature.

TELL.

Why, every day brings forth such fearful deeds;

There needs no prodigy to herald them.

STUSSI.

Ay, happy he, who tills his field in peace,

And sits at home untroubled with his kin.

TELL.

The very meekest cannot be at peace

If his ill neighbor will not let him rest.

[TELL looks frequently with restless expectation toward the top of the pass.]

STUSSI.

So fare you well! You're waiting someone here?

TELL.

I am.

STUSSI.

 
       God speed you safely to your home!
 

You are from Uri, are you not? His grace

The governor's expected thence today.

TRAVELER (entering).

Look not to see the governor today.

The streams are flooded by the heavy rains,

And all the bridges have been swept away.

[TELL rises.]

ARMGART (coming forward).

Gessler not coming?

STUSSI.

Want you aught with him?

ARMGART.

Alas, I do!

STUSSI.

Why then, thus place yourself

Where you obstruct his passage down the pass?

ARMGART.

Here he cannot escape me. He must hear me.

FRIESSHARDT (coming hastily down the pass and calls upon the stage).

Make way, make way! My lord, the governor,

Is close behind me, riding down the pass.

[Exit TELL.]

ARMGART (excitedly).

The Viceroy comes!

[She goes toward the pass with her children. GESSLER and RUDOLPH DER HARRAS appear on horseback at the upper end of the pass.]

STUSSI (to FRIESSHARDT).

How got ye through the stream,

When all the bridges have been carried down?

FRIESS.

We've fought, friend, with the tempest on the lake;

An Alpine torrent's nothing after that.

STUSSI.

How! Were you out, then, in that dreadful storm?

FRIESS.

We were! I'll not forget it while I live.

STUSSI.

Stay, speak—

FRIESS.

I can't—must to the castle haste,

And tell them, that the governor's at hand.

[Exit.]

STUSSI.

If honest men, now, had been in the ship,

It had gone down with every soul on board:—

Some folks are proof 'gainst fire and water both.

[Looking round.]

Where has the huntsman gone with whom I spoke?

[Exit.]

Enter GESSLER and RUDOLPH DER HARRAS on horseback

GESSLER.

Say what you will; I am the Emperor's liege,

And how to please him my first thought must be.

He did not send me here to fawn and cringe,

And coax these boors into good humor. No!

Obedience he must have. The struggle's this:

Is king or peasant to be sovereign here?

ARMGART.

Now is the moment! Now for my petition!

GESSLER.

'Twas not in sport that I set up the cap

In Altdorf—or to try the people's hearts—

All this I knew before. I set it up

That they might learn to bend those stubborn necks

They carry far too proudly—and I placed

What well I knew their pride could never brook

Full in the road, which they perforce must pass,

That, when their eye fell on it, they might call

That lord to mind whom they too much forget.

HARRAS.

But surely, sir, the people have some rights—

GESSLER.

This is no time to settle what they are.

Great projects are at work, and hatching now.

The Imperial house seeks to extend its power.

Those vast designs of conquest which the sire

Has gloriously begun, the son will end.

This petty nation is a stumbling-block—

One way or other, it must be put down.

[They are about to pass on. ARMGART throws herself down before GESSLER.]

ARMGART.

Mercy, lord governor! Oh, pardon, pardon!

GESSLER.

Why do you cross me on the public road?

Stand back, I say.

ARMGART.

 
                My husband lies in prison;
 

My wretched orphans cry for bread. Have pity,

Pity, my lord, upon our sore distress!

HARRAS.

Who are you? and your husband, what is he?

ARMGART.

A poor wild hay-man of the Rigiberg,

Kind sir, who on the brow of the abyss,

Mows the unowner'd grass from craggy shelves,

To which the very cattle dare not climb.

HARRAS (to GESSLER).

By Heaven! a sad and pitiable life!

I pray you set the wretched fellow free.

How great soever may be his offence,

His horrid trade is punishment enough.

[To ARMGART.]

You shall have justice. To the castle bring

Your suit. This is no place to deal with it.

ARMGART.

No, no, I will not stir from where I stand,

Until your grace gives me my husband back.

Six months already has he been shut up,

And waits the sentence of a judge in vain.

GESSLER.

How! would you force me, woman? Hence! Begone!

ARMGART.

Justice, my lord! Ay, justice! Thou are judge,

Vice-regent of the Emperor—of Heaven.

Then do thy duty—as thou hopest for justice

From Him who rules above, show it to us!

GESSLER.

Hence! Drive this insolent rabble from my sight!

ARMGART (seizing his horse's reins).

No, no, by Heaven, I've nothing more to lose.—

Thou stir'st not, Viceroy, from this spot, until

Thou dost me fullest justice. Knit thy brows,

And roll thine eyes—I fear not. Our distress

Is so extreme, so boundless, that we care

No longer for thine anger.

GESSLER.

 
                           Woman, hence!
 

Give way, or else my horse shall ride you down.

ARMGART.

Well, let it!—there—

[Throws her children and herself upon the ground before him.]

 
                               Here on the ground I lie,
 

I and my children. Let the wretched orphans

Be trodden by thy horse into the dust!

It will not be the worst that thou hast done.

HARRAS.

Are you mad, woman?

ARMGART (continuing with vehemence).

 
                            Many a day thou hast
 

Trampled the Emperor's lands beneath thy feet.

Oh, I am but a woman! Were I man,

I'd find some better thing to do, than here

Lie grovelling in the dust.

[The music of the bridal party is again heard from the top of the pass, but more softly.]

GESSLER.

 
                   Where are my knaves?
 

Drag her away, lest I forget myself,

And do some deed I may repent me of.

HARRAS.

My lord, the servants cannot force their way;

The pass is block'd up by a bridal train.

GESSLER.

Too mild a ruler am I to this people,

Their tongues are all too bold—nor have they yet

Been tamed to due submission, as they shall be.

I must take order for the remedy;

I will subdue this stubborn mood of theirs,

This braggart spirit of freedom I will crush,

I will proclaim a new law through the land;

I will—

[An arrow pierces him—he puts his hand on his heart, and is about to sink—with a feeble voice.]

Oh God, have mercy on my soul!

HARRAs.

My lord! my lord! Oh God! What's this? Whence came it?

ARMGART (starts up).

Dead, dead! He reels, he falls! 'Tis in his heart!

HARRAS (springs from his horse).

Horror of horrors! Heavenly powers! Sir knight,

Address yourself for mercy to your God!

You are a dying man.

GESSLER.

That shot was Tell's.

[He slides from his horse into the arms of RUDOLPH DER HARRAS, who lays him down upon the beach. TELL appears above upon the rocks.]

TELL.

Thou know'st the marksman—I, and I alone.

Now are our homesteads free, and innocence

From thee is safe: thou'lt be our curse no more.

[TELL disappears. People rush in.]

STUSSI.

What is the matter? Tell me what has happen'd?

ARMGART.

The Viceroy's shot—pierced by a cross-bow bolt!

PEOPLE (running in).

Who has been shot?

[While the foremost of the marriage party are coming on the stage, the hindmost are still upon the heights. The music continues.]

HARRAS.

He's bleeding fast to death.

Away, for help—pursue the murderer!

Unhappy man, is this to be your end?

You would not listen to my warning words.

STUSSI.

By Heaven, his cheek is pale! Life's ebbing fast.

MANY VOICES.

Who did the deed?

HARRAS.

What! Are the people mad,

That they make music to a murder? Silence!

[Music breaks off suddenly. People continue to flock in.]

Speak, if you can, my lord. Have you no charge

To trust me with?

[GESSLER makes signs with his hand, which he repeats with vehemence, when he finds they are not understood.]

 
                  Where shall I take you to?
 

To Küssnacht? What you say I can't make out.

Oh, do not grow impatient! Leave all thought

Of earthly things and make your peace with Heaven.

[The whole marriage party gather round the dying man.]

STUSSI.

See there! how pale he grows! Death's gathering now

About his heart—his eyes grow dim and glazed.

ARMGART (holds up a child).

Look, children, how a tyrant dies!

HARRAS.

 
                      Mad hag!
 

Have you no touch of feeling, that your eyes

Gloat on a sight so horrible as this?

Help me—take hold. What, will not one assist

To pull the torturing arrow from his breast?

WOMEN.

What! touch the man whom God's own hand has struck!

HARRAS.

All curses light on you! [Draws his sword.]

STUSSI (seizes his arm).

 
                 Gently, sir knight!
 

Your power is at end. 'Twere best forbear.

Our country's foe has fallen. We will brook

No further violence. We are free men.

ALL.

The country's free.

HARRAS.

And is it come to this?

Fear and obedience at an end so soon?

[To the soldiers of the guard who are thronging in.]

You see, my friends, the bloody piece of work

Has here been done. 'Tis now too late for help,

And to pursue the murderer were vain.

We've other things to think of. On to Küssnacht,

And let us save that fortress for the king!

For in a moment such as this, all ties

Of order, fealty and faith are rent,

And we can trust to no man's loyalty.

[As he is going out with the soldiers, six FRATRES MISERICORDIÆ appear.]

ARMGART.

Here comes the brotherhood of mercy. Room!

STUSSI.

The victim's slain, and now the ravens stoop.

BROTHERS OF MERCY (form a semicircle round the body, and sing in solemn tones).

Death hurries on with hasty stride,

 
  No respite man from him may gain,
 

He cuts him down, when life's full tide

 
  Is throbbing strong in every vein.
 

Prepared or not the call to hear,

 
  He must before his Judge appear.
 

[While they are repeating the two last lines, the curtain falls.]