Wilhelm Tell

      A retired part of the Forest. Brooks dashing in spray
      over the rocks.

      Enter BERTHA in a hunting dress. Immediately afterwards 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.
   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 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.
   Oh 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 interests 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.
                  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 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 kinsman 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 selfsame lust of conquest that would rob
   You of your liberty endangers mine.
   Oh, 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 could'st 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 giants 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 every 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 springtime 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.

   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.
   Whatever the event, stand by the 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 lightest for thy love.
   One foe fills all our souls with dread; the blow
   That makes one free emancipates us all.

                    [Exeunt severally.

      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.

   LEUTHHOLD.
   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
   Than 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 sconce.

      [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 crossbow, 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 downwards 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 be gone.

      [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 to 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
      around 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 hittest 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 lovest the marvellous. 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.
   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!

   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 offence,
   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 despatch thee,
   And see I graciously repose thy fate
   Upon the skill of thine own practised 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 counselled the delay!

   GESSLER (to TELL).
   Now, to thy task! Men bear not arms for naught.
   '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 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, savior, 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 straightly 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 rebellious, 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).
   Oh, 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 forwards, as though he would
      follow the arrow. His bow drops from his hand. When he sees
      the boy advancing, he hastens to meet him with open arms, and
      embracing him 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.

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

   GESSLER.
   A word, Tell.

      [They are about to lead him off.

   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 the 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 Kuessnacht.

   ROSSELMANN.
   You dare not do it. Nor durst the emperor's self,
   So violate our dearest chartered rights.

   GESSLER.
   Where are they? Has the emperor confirmed them?
   He never has. And only by obedience
   Need you expect to win that favor from him.
   You are all rebels 'gainst the emperor'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 (clinging to him in great agony).
         Oh, father, father, father dear!

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

   STAUFFACHER.
   Hast thou no message, Tell, to send your 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.

      Eastern shore of the Lake of Lucerne; rugged and singularly
      shaped rocks close the prospect to the west. The lake is
      agitated, violent roaring and rushing of wind, with thunder
      and lightning at intervals.

      KUNZ OF GERSAU, FISHERMAN and BOY.

   KUNZ.
   I saw it with these eyes! Believe me, friend,
   It happen'd all precisely as I've said.

   FISHERMAN.
   Tell, made a prisoner, and borne off to Kuessnacht?
   The best man in the land, the bravest arm,
   Had we resolved to strike for liberty!

   KUNZ.
   The Viceroy takes him up the lake in person:
   They were about to go on board, as I
   Left Flueelen; but still the gathering storm,
   That drove me here to land so suddenly,
   Perchance has hindered their abrupt departure.

   FISHERMAN.
   Our Tell in chains, and in the viceroy's power!
   Oh, trust me, Gessler will entomb him where
   He never more shall see the light of day;
   For, Tell once free, the tyrant well may dread
   The just revenge of one so deep incensed.

   KUNZ.
   The old Landamman, too—von Attinghaus—
   They say, is lying at the point of death.

   FISHERMAN.
   Then the last anchor of our hopes gives way!
   He was the only man who dared to raise
   His voice in favor of the people's rights.

   KUNZ.
   The storm grows worse and worse. So, fare ye well!
   I'll go and seek out quarters in the village.
   There's not a chance of getting off to-day.

                        [Exit.

   FISHERMAN.
   Tell dragged to prison, and the baron dead!
   Now, tyranny, exalt thy insolent front—
   Throw shame aside! The voice of truth is silenced,
   The eye that watched for us in darkness closed,
   The arm that should have struck thee down in chains!

   BOY.
   'Tis hailing hard—come, let us to the cottage
   This is no weather to be out in, father!

   FISHERMAN.
   Rage on, ye winds! Ye lightnings, flash your fires!
   Burst, ye swollen clouds! Ye cataracts of heaven,
   Descend, and drown the country! In the germ,
   Destroy the generations yet unborn!
   Ye savage elements, be lords of all!
   Return, ye bears; ye ancient wolves, return
   To this wide, howling waste! The land is yours.
   Who would live here when liberty is gone?

   BOY.
   Hark! How the wind whistles and the whirlpool roars;
   I never saw a storm so fierce as this!

   FISHERMAN.
   To level at the head of his own child!
   Never had father such command before.
   And shall not nature, rising in wild wrath,
   Revolt against the deed? I should not marvel,
   Though to the lake these rocks should bow their heads,
   Though yonder pinnacles, yon towers of ice,
   That, since creation's dawn, have known no thaw,
   Should, from their lofty summits, melt away;
   Though yonder mountains, yon primeval cliffs,
   Should topple down, and a new deluge whelm
   Beneath its waves all living men's abodes!

      [Bells heard.

   BOY.
   Hark! they are ringing on the mountain yonder!
   They surely see some vessel in distress,
   And toll the bell that we may pray for it.

      [Ascends a rock.

   FISHERMAN.
   Woe to the bark that now pursues its course,
   Rocked in the cradle of these storm-tossed waves.
   Nor helm nor steersman here can aught avail;
   The storm is master. Man is like a ball,
   Tossed 'twixt the winds and billows. Far, or near,
   No haven offers him its friendly shelter!
   Without one ledge to grasp, the sheer, smooth rocks
   Look down inhospitably on his despair,
   And only tender him their flinty breasts.

   BOY (calling from above).
   Father, a ship; and bearing down from Flueelen.

   FISHERMAN.
   Heaven pity the poor wretches! When the storm
   Is once entangled in this strait of ours,
   It rages like some savage beast of prey,
   Struggling against its cage's iron bars.
   Howling, it seeks an outlet—all in vain;
   For the rocks hedge it round on every side,
   Walling the narrow pass as high as heaven.

      [He ascends a cliff.

   BOY.
   It is the governor of Uri's ship;
   By its red poop I know it, and the flag.

   FISHERMAN.
   Judgments of Heaven! Yes, it is he himself.
   It is the governor! Yonder he sails,
   And with him bears the burden of his crimes!
   Soon has the arm of the avenger found him;
   Now over him he knows a mightier lord.
   These waves yield no obedience to his voice,
   These rocks bow not their heads before his cap.
   Boy, do not pray; stay not the Judge's arm!

   BOY.
   I pray not for the governor; I pray
   For Tell, who is on board the ship with him.

   FISHERMAN.
   Alas, ye blind, unreasoning elements!
   Must ye, in punishing one guilty head,
   Destroy the vessel and the pilot too?

   BOY.
   See, see, they've cleared the Buggisgrat; but now
   The blast, rebounding from the Devil's Minster,
   Has driven them back on the Great Axenberg.
   I cannot see them now.

   FISHERMAN.
               The Hakmesser
   Is there, that's foundered many a gallant ship.
   If they should fail to double that with skill,
   Their bark will go to pieces on the rocks
   That hide their jagged peaks below the lake.
   They have on board the very best of pilots;
   If any man can save them, Tell is he;
   But he is manacled, both hand and foot.

      [Enter WILLIAM TELL, with his crossbow. He enters
      precipitately, looks wildly round, and testifies the
      most violent agitation. When he reaches the centre
      of the stage, he throws himself upon his knees, and
      stretches out his hands, first towards the earth, then
      towards heaven.

   BOY (observing him).
   See, father! Who is that man, kneeling yonder?

   FISHERMAN.
   He clutches at the earth with both his hands,
   And looks as though he were beside himself.

   BOY (advancing).
   What do I see? Father, come here, and look!

   FISHERMAN (approaches).
   Who is it? God in heaven! What! William Tell,
   How came you hither? Speak, Tell!

   BOY.
                     Were you not
   In yonder ship, a prisoner, and in chains?

   FISHERMAN.
   Were they not bearing you away to Kuessnacht?

   TELL (rising).
   I am released.

   FISHERMAN and BOY.
           Released, oh miracle!

   BOY.
   Whence came you here?

   TELL.
               From yonder vessel!

   FISHERMAN.
                         What?

   BOY.
   Where is the viceroy?

   TELL.
               Drifting on the waves.

   FISHERMAN.
   Is't possible? But you! How are you here?
   How 'scaped you from your fetters and the storm?

   TELL.
   By God's most gracious providence. Attend.

   FISHERMAN and BOY.
   Say on, say on!

   TELL.
            You know what passed at Altdorf?

   FISHERMAN.
   I do—say on!

   TELL.
           How I was seized and bound,
   And ordered by the governor to Kuessnacht.

   FISHERMAN.
   And how with you at Flueelen he embarked.
   All this we know. Say, how have you escaped?

   TELL.
   I lay on deck, fast bound with cords, disarmed,
   In utter hopelessness. I did not think
   Again to see the gladsome light of day,
   Nor the dear faces of my wife and children;
   And eyed disconsolate the waste of waters——

   FISHERMAN.
   Oh, wretched man!

   TELL.
             Then we put forth; the viceroy,
   Rudolph der Harras, and their suite. My bow
   And quiver lay astern beside the helm;
   And just as we had reached the corner, near
   The Little Axen 24, heaven ordained it so,
   That from the Gotthardt's gorge, a hurricane
   Swept down upon us with such headlong force,
   That every rower's heart within him sank,
   And all on board looked for a watery grave.
   Then heard I one of the attendant train,
   Turning to Gessler, in this strain accost him:
   "You see our danger, and your own, my lord
   And that we hover on the verge of death.
   The boatmen there are powerless from fear,
   Nor are they confident what course to take;
   Now, here is Tell, a stout and fearless man,
   And knows to steer with more than common skill.
   How if we should avail ourselves of him
   In this emergency?" The viceroy then
   Addressed me thus: "If thou wilt undertake
   To bring us through this tempest safely, Tell,
   I might consent to free thee from thy bonds."
   I answered, "Yes, my lord, with God's assistance,
   I'll see what can be done, and help us heaven!"
   On this they loosed me from my bonds, and I
   Stood by the helm and fairly steered along;
   Yet ever eyed my shooting-gear askance,
   And kept a watchful eye upon the shore,
   To find some point where I might leap to land
   And when I had descried a shelving crag,
   That jutted, smooth atop, into the lake——

   FISHERMAN.
   I know it. 'Tis at foot of the Great Axen;
   But looks so steep, I never could have dreamed
   'Twere possible to leap it from the boat.

   TELL.
   I bade the men put forth their utmost might,
   Until we came before the shelving crag.
   For there, I said, the danger will be past!
   Stoutly they pulled, and soon we neared the point;
   One prayer to God for his assisting grace,
   And straining every muscle, I brought round
   The vessel's stern close to the rocky wall;
   Then snatching up my weapons, with a bound
   I swung myself upon the flattened shelf,
   And with my feet thrust off, with all my might,
   The puny bark into the hell of waters.
   There let it drift about, as heaven ordains!
   Thus am I here, delivered from the might
   Of the dread storm, and man, more dreadful still.

   FISHERMAN.
   Tell, Tell, the Lord has manifestly wrought
   A miracle in thy behalf! I scarce
   Can credit my own eyes. But tell me, now,
   Whither you purpose to betake yourself?
   For you will be in peril should the viceroy
   Chance to escape this tempest with his life.

   TELL.
   I heard him say, as I lay bound on board,
   His purpose was to disembark at Brunnen;
   And, crossing Schwytz, convey me to his castle.

   FISHERMAN.
   Means he to go by land?

   TELL.
                So he intends.

   FISHERMAN.
   Oh, then, conceal yourself without delay!
   Not twice will heaven release you from his grasp.

   TELL.
   Which is the nearest way to Arth and Kuessnacht?

   FISHERMAN.
   The public road leads by the way of Steinen,
   But there's a nearer road, and more retired,
   That goes by Lowerz, which my boy can show you.

   TELL (gives him his hand).
   May heaven reward your kindness! Fare ye well!

      [As he is going he comes back.

   Did not you also take the oath at Rootli?
   I heard your name, methinks.

   FISHERMAN.
                  Yes, I was there,
   And took the oath of the confederacy;

   TELL.
   Then do me this one favor; speed to Buerglen
   My wife is anxious at my absence—tell her
   That I am free, and in secure concealment.

   FISHERMAN.
   But whither shall I tell her you have fled?

   TELL.
   You'll find her father with her, and some more,
   Who took the oath with you upon the Rootli;
   Bid them be resolute, and strong of heart,
   For Tell is free and master of his arm;
   They shall hear further news of me ere long.

   FISHERMAN.
   What have you, then, in view? Come, tell me frankly!

   TELL.
   When once 'tis done 'twill be in every mouth.

                        [Exit.

   FISHERMAN.
   Show him the way, boy. Heaven be his support!
   Whate'er he has resolved, he'll execute.

                        [Exit.