SCENE II.
Interior of TELL'S cottage. A fire burning on the hearth.
The open door shows the scene outside.
HEDWIG, WALTER, and WILHELM.
HEDWIG.
Boys, dearest boys! your father comes to-day.
He lives, is free, and we and all are free!
The country owes its liberty to him!
WALTER.
And I too, mother, bore my part in it;
I shall be named with him. My father's shaft
Went closely by my life, but yet I shook not!
HEDWIG (embracing him).
Yes, yes, thou art restored to me again.
Twice have I given thee birth, twice suffered all
A mother's agonies for thee, my child!
But this is past; I have you both, boys, both!
And your dear father will be back to-day.
[A monk appears at the door.
WILHELM.
See, mother, yonder stands a holy friar;
He's asking alms, no doubt.
HEDWIG.
Go lead him in,
That we may give him cheer, and make him feel
That he has come into the house of joy.
[Exit, and returns immediately with a cup.
WILHELM (to the monk).
Come in, good man. Mother will give you food.
WALTER.
Come in, and rest, then go refreshed away!
MONK (glancing round in terror, with unquiet looks).
Where am I? In what country?
WALTER.
Have you lost
Your way, that you are ignorant of this?
You are at Buerglen, in the land of Uri,
Just at the entrance of the Sheckenthal.
MONK (to HEDWIG).
Are you alone? Your husband, is he here?
HEDWIG.
I momently expect him. But what ails you?
You look as one whose soul is ill at ease.
Whoe'er you be, you are in want; take that.
[Offers him the cup.
MONK.
Howe'er my sinking heart may yearn for food,
I will take nothing till you've promised me——
HEDWIG.
Touch not my dress, nor yet advance one step.
Stand off, I say, if you would have me hear you.
MONK.
Oh, by this hearth's bright, hospitable blaze,
By your dear children's heads, which I embrace——
[Grasps the boys.
HEDWIG.
Stand back, I say! What is your purpose, man?
Back from my boys! You are no monk,—no, no.
Beneath that robe content and peace should dwell,
But neither lives within that face of thine.
MONK.
I am the veriest wretch that breathes on earth.
HEDWIG.
The heart is never deaf to wretchedness;
But thy look freezes up my inmost soul.
WALTER (springs up).
Mother, my father!
HEDWIG.
Oh, my God!
[Is about to follow, trembles and stops.
WILHELM (running after his brother).
My father!
WALTER (without).
Thou'rt here once more!
WILHELM (without).
My father, my dear father!
TELL (without).
Yes, here I am once more! Where is your mother?
[They enter.
WALTER.
There at the door she stands, and can no further,
She trembles so with terror and with joy.
TELL.
Oh Hedwig, Hedwig, mother of my children!
God has been kind and helpful in our woes.
No tyrant's hand shall e'er divide us more.
HEDWIG (falling on his neck).
Oh, Tell, what have I suffered for thy sake!
[Monk becomes attentive.
TELL.
Forget it now, and live for joy alone!
I'm here again with you! This is my cot
I stand again on mine own hearth!
WILHELM.
But, father,
Where is your crossbow left? I see it not.
TELL.
Nor shalt thou ever see it more, my boy.
It is suspended in a holy place,
And in the chase shall ne'er be used again.
HEDWIG.
Oh, Tell, Tell!
[Steps back, dropping his hand.
TELL.
What alarms thee, dearest wife?
HEDWIG.
How—how dost thou return to me? This hand—
Dare I take hold of it? This hand—Oh God!
TELL (with firmness and animation).
Has shielded you and set my country free;
Freely I raise it in the face of Heaven.
[MONK gives a sudden start—he looks at him.
Who is this friar here?
HEDWIG.
Ah, I forgot him.
Speak thou with him; I shudder at his presence.
MONK (stepping nearer).
Are you that Tell that slew the governor?
TELL.
Yes, I am he. I hide the fact from no man.
MONK.
You are that Tell! Ah! it is God's own hand
That hath conducted me beneath your roof.
TELL (examining him closely).
You are no monk. Who are you?
MONK.
You have slain
The governor, who did you wrong. I too,
Have slain a foe, who late denied me justice.
He was no less your enemy than mine.
I've rid the land of him.
TELL (drawing back).
Thou art—oh horror!
In—children, children—in without a word.
Go, my dear wife! Go! Go! Unhappy man,
Thou shouldst be——
HEIWIG.
Heavens, who is it?
TELL.
Do not ask.
Away! away! the children must not hear it.
Out of the house—away! Thou must not rest
'Neath the same roof with this unhappy man!
HEDWIG.
Alas! What is it? Come!
[Exit with the children.
TELL (to the MONK).
Thou art the Duke
Of Austria—I know it. Thou hast slain
The emperor, thy uncle, and liege lord.
DUKE JOHN.
He robbed me of my patrimony.
TELL.
How!
Slain him—thy king, thy uncle! And the earth
Still bears thee! And the sun still shines on thee!
DUKE JOHN.
Tell, hear me, ere you——
TELL.
Reeking with the blood
Of him that was thy emperor and kinsman,
Durst thou set foot within my spotless house?
Show thy fell visage to a virtuous man,
And claim the rites of hospitality?
DUKE JOHN.
I hoped to find compassion at your hands.
You also took revenge upon your foe!
TELL.
Unhappy man! And dar'st thou thus confound
Ambition's bloody crime with the dread act
To which a father's direful need impelled him?
Hadst thou to shield thy children's darling heads?
To guard thy fireside's sanctuary—ward off
The last, worst doom from all that thou didst love?
To heaven I raise my unpolluted hands,
To curse thine act and thee! I have avenged
That holy nature which thou hast profaned.
I have no part with thee. Thou art a murderer;
I've shielded all that was most dear to me.
DUKE JOHN.
You cast me off to comfortless despair!
TELL.
My blood runs cold even while I talk with thee.
Away! Pursue thine awful course! Nor longer
Pollute the cot where innocence abides!
[DUKE JOHN turns to depart.
DUKE JOHN.
I cannot live, and will no longer thus!
TELL.
And yet my soul bleeds for thee—gracious heaven!
So young, of such a noble line, the grandson
Of Rudolph, once my lord and emperor,
An outcast—murderer—standing at my door,
The poor man's door—a suppliant, in despair!
[Covers his face.
DUKE JOHN.
If thou hast power to weep, oh let my fate
Move your compassion—it is horrible.
I am—say, rather was—a prince. I might
Have been most happy had I only curbed
The impatience of my passionate desires;
But envy gnawed my heart—I saw the youth
Of mine own cousin Leopold endowed
With honor, and enriched with broad domains,
The while myself, that was in years his equal,
Was kept in abject and disgraceful nonage.
TELL.
Unhappy man, thy uncle knew thee well,
When he withheld both land and subjects from thee;
Thou, by thy mad and desperate act hast set
A fearful seal upon his sage resolve.
Where are the bloody partners of thy crime?
DUKE JOHN.
Where'er the demon of revenge has borne them;
I have not seen them since the luckless deed.
TELL.
Know'st thou the empire's ban is out,—that thou
Art interdicted to thy friends, and given
An outlawed victim to thine enemies!
DUKE JOHN.
Therefore I shun all public thoroughfares,
And venture not to knock at any door—
I turn my footsteps to the wilds, and through
The mountains roam, a terror to myself.
From mine own self I shrink with horror back,
Should a chance brook reflect my ill-starred form.
If thou hast pity for a fellow-mortal——
[Falls down before him.
TELL.
Stand up, stand up!
DUKE JOHN.
Not till thou shalt extend
Thy hand in promise of assistance to me.
TELL.
Can I assist thee? Can a sinful man?
Yet get thee up,—how black soe'er thy crime,
Thou art a man. I, too, am one. From Tell
Shall no one part uncomforted. I will
Do all that lies within my power.
DUKE JOHN (springs up and grasps him ardently by the hand).
Oh, Tell,
You save me from the terrors of despair.
TELL.
Let go my hand! Thou must away. Thou canst not
Remain here undiscovered, and discovered
Thou canst not count on succor. Which way, then,
Wilt bend thy steps? Where dost thou hope to find
A place of rest?
DUKE JOHN.
Alas! alas! I know not.
TELL.
Hear, then, what heaven suggested to my heart,
Thou must to Italy,—to Saint Peter's city,—
There cast thyself at the pope's feet,—confess
Thy guilt to him, and ease thy laden soul!
DUKE JOHN.
But will he not surrender me to vengeance!
TELL.
Whate'er he does receive as God's decree.
DUKE JOHN.
But how am I to reach that unknown land?
I have no knowledge of the way, and dare not
Attach myself to other travellers.
TELL.
I will describe the road, and mark me well
You must ascend, keeping along the Reuss,
Which from the mountains dashes wildly down.
DUKE JOHN (in alarm).
What! See the Reuss? The witness of my deed!
TELL.
The road you take lies through the river's gorge,
And many a cross proclaims where travellers
Have perished 'neath the avalanche's fall.
DUKE JOHN.
I have no fear for nature's terrors, so
I can appease the torments of my soul.
TELL.
At every cross kneel down and expiate
Your crime with burning penitential tears
And if you 'scape the perils of the pass,
And are not whelmed beneath the drifted snows
That from the frozen peaks come sweeping down,
You'll reach the bridge that hangs in drizzling spray;
Then if it yield not 'neath your heavy guilt,
When you have left it safely in your rear,
Before you frowns the gloomy Gate of Rocks,
Where never sun did shine. Proceed through this,
And you will reach a bright and gladsome vale.
Yet must you hurry on with hasty steps,
For in the haunts of peace you must not linger.
DUKE JOHN.
Oh, Rudolph, Rudolph, royal grandsire! thus
Thy grandson first sets foot within thy realms!
TELL.
Ascending still you gain the Gotthardt's heights,
On which the everlasting lakes repose,
That from the streams of heaven itself are fed,
There to the German soil you bid farewell;
And thence, with rapid course, another stream
Leads you to Italy, your promised land.
[Ranz des Vaches sounded on Alp-horns is heard without.
But I hear voices! Hence!
HEDWIG (hurrying in).
Where art thou, Tell?
Our father comes, and in exulting bands
All the confederates approach.
DUKE JOHN (covering himself).
Woe's me!
I dare not tarry 'mid this happiness!
TELL.
Go, dearest wife, and give this man to eat.
Spare not your bounty. For his road is long,
And one where shelter will be hard to find.
Quick! they approach.
HEDWIG.
Who is he?
TELL.
Do not ask
And when he quits thee, turn thine eyes away
That they may not behold the road he takes.
[DUKE JOHN advances hastily towards TELL, but he beckons
him aside and exit. When both have left the stage, the
scene changes, and discloses in—
The open door shows the scene outside.
HEDWIG, WALTER, and WILHELM.
HEDWIG.
Boys, dearest boys! your father comes to-day.
He lives, is free, and we and all are free!
The country owes its liberty to him!
WALTER.
And I too, mother, bore my part in it;
I shall be named with him. My father's shaft
Went closely by my life, but yet I shook not!
HEDWIG (embracing him).
Yes, yes, thou art restored to me again.
Twice have I given thee birth, twice suffered all
A mother's agonies for thee, my child!
But this is past; I have you both, boys, both!
And your dear father will be back to-day.
[A monk appears at the door.
WILHELM.
See, mother, yonder stands a holy friar;
He's asking alms, no doubt.
HEDWIG.
Go lead him in,
That we may give him cheer, and make him feel
That he has come into the house of joy.
[Exit, and returns immediately with a cup.
WILHELM (to the monk).
Come in, good man. Mother will give you food.
WALTER.
Come in, and rest, then go refreshed away!
MONK (glancing round in terror, with unquiet looks).
Where am I? In what country?
WALTER.
Have you lost
Your way, that you are ignorant of this?
You are at Buerglen, in the land of Uri,
Just at the entrance of the Sheckenthal.
MONK (to HEDWIG).
Are you alone? Your husband, is he here?
HEDWIG.
I momently expect him. But what ails you?
You look as one whose soul is ill at ease.
Whoe'er you be, you are in want; take that.
[Offers him the cup.
MONK.
Howe'er my sinking heart may yearn for food,
I will take nothing till you've promised me——
HEDWIG.
Touch not my dress, nor yet advance one step.
Stand off, I say, if you would have me hear you.
MONK.
Oh, by this hearth's bright, hospitable blaze,
By your dear children's heads, which I embrace——
[Grasps the boys.
HEDWIG.
Stand back, I say! What is your purpose, man?
Back from my boys! You are no monk,—no, no.
Beneath that robe content and peace should dwell,
But neither lives within that face of thine.
MONK.
I am the veriest wretch that breathes on earth.
HEDWIG.
The heart is never deaf to wretchedness;
But thy look freezes up my inmost soul.
WALTER (springs up).
Mother, my father!
HEDWIG.
Oh, my God!
[Is about to follow, trembles and stops.
WILHELM (running after his brother).
My father!
WALTER (without).
Thou'rt here once more!
WILHELM (without).
My father, my dear father!
TELL (without).
Yes, here I am once more! Where is your mother?
[They enter.
WALTER.
There at the door she stands, and can no further,
She trembles so with terror and with joy.
TELL.
Oh Hedwig, Hedwig, mother of my children!
God has been kind and helpful in our woes.
No tyrant's hand shall e'er divide us more.
HEDWIG (falling on his neck).
Oh, Tell, what have I suffered for thy sake!
[Monk becomes attentive.
TELL.
Forget it now, and live for joy alone!
I'm here again with you! This is my cot
I stand again on mine own hearth!
WILHELM.
But, father,
Where is your crossbow left? I see it not.
TELL.
Nor shalt thou ever see it more, my boy.
It is suspended in a holy place,
And in the chase shall ne'er be used again.
HEDWIG.
Oh, Tell, Tell!
[Steps back, dropping his hand.
TELL.
What alarms thee, dearest wife?
HEDWIG.
How—how dost thou return to me? This hand—
Dare I take hold of it? This hand—Oh God!
TELL (with firmness and animation).
Has shielded you and set my country free;
Freely I raise it in the face of Heaven.
[MONK gives a sudden start—he looks at him.
Who is this friar here?
HEDWIG.
Ah, I forgot him.
Speak thou with him; I shudder at his presence.
MONK (stepping nearer).
Are you that Tell that slew the governor?
TELL.
Yes, I am he. I hide the fact from no man.
MONK.
You are that Tell! Ah! it is God's own hand
That hath conducted me beneath your roof.
TELL (examining him closely).
You are no monk. Who are you?
MONK.
You have slain
The governor, who did you wrong. I too,
Have slain a foe, who late denied me justice.
He was no less your enemy than mine.
I've rid the land of him.
TELL (drawing back).
Thou art—oh horror!
In—children, children—in without a word.
Go, my dear wife! Go! Go! Unhappy man,
Thou shouldst be——
HEIWIG.
Heavens, who is it?
TELL.
Do not ask.
Away! away! the children must not hear it.
Out of the house—away! Thou must not rest
'Neath the same roof with this unhappy man!
HEDWIG.
Alas! What is it? Come!
[Exit with the children.
TELL (to the MONK).
Thou art the Duke
Of Austria—I know it. Thou hast slain
The emperor, thy uncle, and liege lord.
DUKE JOHN.
He robbed me of my patrimony.
TELL.
How!
Slain him—thy king, thy uncle! And the earth
Still bears thee! And the sun still shines on thee!
DUKE JOHN.
Tell, hear me, ere you——
TELL.
Reeking with the blood
Of him that was thy emperor and kinsman,
Durst thou set foot within my spotless house?
Show thy fell visage to a virtuous man,
And claim the rites of hospitality?
DUKE JOHN.
I hoped to find compassion at your hands.
You also took revenge upon your foe!
TELL.
Unhappy man! And dar'st thou thus confound
Ambition's bloody crime with the dread act
To which a father's direful need impelled him?
Hadst thou to shield thy children's darling heads?
To guard thy fireside's sanctuary—ward off
The last, worst doom from all that thou didst love?
To heaven I raise my unpolluted hands,
To curse thine act and thee! I have avenged
That holy nature which thou hast profaned.
I have no part with thee. Thou art a murderer;
I've shielded all that was most dear to me.
DUKE JOHN.
You cast me off to comfortless despair!
TELL.
My blood runs cold even while I talk with thee.
Away! Pursue thine awful course! Nor longer
Pollute the cot where innocence abides!
[DUKE JOHN turns to depart.
DUKE JOHN.
I cannot live, and will no longer thus!
TELL.
And yet my soul bleeds for thee—gracious heaven!
So young, of such a noble line, the grandson
Of Rudolph, once my lord and emperor,
An outcast—murderer—standing at my door,
The poor man's door—a suppliant, in despair!
[Covers his face.
DUKE JOHN.
If thou hast power to weep, oh let my fate
Move your compassion—it is horrible.
I am—say, rather was—a prince. I might
Have been most happy had I only curbed
The impatience of my passionate desires;
But envy gnawed my heart—I saw the youth
Of mine own cousin Leopold endowed
With honor, and enriched with broad domains,
The while myself, that was in years his equal,
Was kept in abject and disgraceful nonage.
TELL.
Unhappy man, thy uncle knew thee well,
When he withheld both land and subjects from thee;
Thou, by thy mad and desperate act hast set
A fearful seal upon his sage resolve.
Where are the bloody partners of thy crime?
DUKE JOHN.
Where'er the demon of revenge has borne them;
I have not seen them since the luckless deed.
TELL.
Know'st thou the empire's ban is out,—that thou
Art interdicted to thy friends, and given
An outlawed victim to thine enemies!
DUKE JOHN.
Therefore I shun all public thoroughfares,
And venture not to knock at any door—
I turn my footsteps to the wilds, and through
The mountains roam, a terror to myself.
From mine own self I shrink with horror back,
Should a chance brook reflect my ill-starred form.
If thou hast pity for a fellow-mortal——
[Falls down before him.
TELL.
Stand up, stand up!
DUKE JOHN.
Not till thou shalt extend
Thy hand in promise of assistance to me.
TELL.
Can I assist thee? Can a sinful man?
Yet get thee up,—how black soe'er thy crime,
Thou art a man. I, too, am one. From Tell
Shall no one part uncomforted. I will
Do all that lies within my power.
DUKE JOHN (springs up and grasps him ardently by the hand).
Oh, Tell,
You save me from the terrors of despair.
TELL.
Let go my hand! Thou must away. Thou canst not
Remain here undiscovered, and discovered
Thou canst not count on succor. Which way, then,
Wilt bend thy steps? Where dost thou hope to find
A place of rest?
DUKE JOHN.
Alas! alas! I know not.
TELL.
Hear, then, what heaven suggested to my heart,
Thou must to Italy,—to Saint Peter's city,—
There cast thyself at the pope's feet,—confess
Thy guilt to him, and ease thy laden soul!
DUKE JOHN.
But will he not surrender me to vengeance!
TELL.
Whate'er he does receive as God's decree.
DUKE JOHN.
But how am I to reach that unknown land?
I have no knowledge of the way, and dare not
Attach myself to other travellers.
TELL.
I will describe the road, and mark me well
You must ascend, keeping along the Reuss,
Which from the mountains dashes wildly down.
DUKE JOHN (in alarm).
What! See the Reuss? The witness of my deed!
TELL.
The road you take lies through the river's gorge,
And many a cross proclaims where travellers
Have perished 'neath the avalanche's fall.
DUKE JOHN.
I have no fear for nature's terrors, so
I can appease the torments of my soul.
TELL.
At every cross kneel down and expiate
Your crime with burning penitential tears
And if you 'scape the perils of the pass,
And are not whelmed beneath the drifted snows
That from the frozen peaks come sweeping down,
You'll reach the bridge that hangs in drizzling spray;
Then if it yield not 'neath your heavy guilt,
When you have left it safely in your rear,
Before you frowns the gloomy Gate of Rocks,
Where never sun did shine. Proceed through this,
And you will reach a bright and gladsome vale.
Yet must you hurry on with hasty steps,
For in the haunts of peace you must not linger.
DUKE JOHN.
Oh, Rudolph, Rudolph, royal grandsire! thus
Thy grandson first sets foot within thy realms!
TELL.
Ascending still you gain the Gotthardt's heights,
On which the everlasting lakes repose,
That from the streams of heaven itself are fed,
There to the German soil you bid farewell;
And thence, with rapid course, another stream
Leads you to Italy, your promised land.
[Ranz des Vaches sounded on Alp-horns is heard without.
But I hear voices! Hence!
HEDWIG (hurrying in).
Where art thou, Tell?
Our father comes, and in exulting bands
All the confederates approach.
DUKE JOHN (covering himself).
Woe's me!
I dare not tarry 'mid this happiness!
TELL.
Go, dearest wife, and give this man to eat.
Spare not your bounty. For his road is long,
And one where shelter will be hard to find.
Quick! they approach.
HEDWIG.
Who is he?
TELL.
Do not ask
And when he quits thee, turn thine eyes away
That they may not behold the road he takes.
[DUKE JOHN advances hastily towards TELL, but he beckons
him aside and exit. When both have left the stage, the
scene changes, and discloses in—
SCENE III.
The whole valley before TELL'S house, the heights which enclose
it occupied by peasants, grouped into tableaux. Some are seen
crossing a lofty bridge which crosses to the Sechen. WALTER
FURST with the two boys. WERNER and STAUFFACHER come forward.
Others throng after them. When TELL appears all receive him
with loud cheers.
ALL.
Long live brave Tell, our shield, our liberator.
[While those in front are crowding round TELL and embracing him,
RUDENZ and BERTHA appear. The former salutes the peasantry, the
latter embraces HEDWIG. The music, from the mountains continues
to play. When it has stopped, BERTHA steps into the centre of
the crowd.
BERTHA.
Peasants! Confederates! Into your league
Receive me here that happily am the first
To find protection in the land of freedom.
To your brave hands I now intrust my rights.
Will you protect me as your citizen?
PEASANTS.
Ay, that we will, with life and fortune both!
BERTHA.
'Tis well! And to this youth I give my hand.
A free Swiss maiden to a free Swiss man!
RUDENZ.
And from this moment all my serfs are free!
[Music and the curtain falls.
it occupied by peasants, grouped into tableaux. Some are seen
crossing a lofty bridge which crosses to the Sechen. WALTER
FURST with the two boys. WERNER and STAUFFACHER come forward.
Others throng after them. When TELL appears all receive him
with loud cheers.
ALL.
Long live brave Tell, our shield, our liberator.
[While those in front are crowding round TELL and embracing him,
RUDENZ and BERTHA appear. The former salutes the peasantry, the
latter embraces HEDWIG. The music, from the mountains continues
to play. When it has stopped, BERTHA steps into the centre of
the crowd.
BERTHA.
Peasants! Confederates! Into your league
Receive me here that happily am the first
To find protection in the land of freedom.
To your brave hands I now intrust my rights.
Will you protect me as your citizen?
PEASANTS.
Ay, that we will, with life and fortune both!
BERTHA.
'Tis well! And to this youth I give my hand.
A free Swiss maiden to a free Swiss man!
RUDENZ.
And from this moment all my serfs are free!
[Music and the curtain falls.
FOOTNOTES.
1 The German is Thalvogt, Ruler of the Valley—the name given
figuratively to a dense gray mist which the south wind sweeps into the
valleys from the mountain tops. It is well known as the precursor of
stormy weather.
2 A steep rock standing on the north of Ruetli, and nearly opposite to
Brumen.
3 In German, Wolfenschiessen—a young man of noble family, and a
native of Unterwalden, who attached himself to the house of Austria and
was appointed Burgvogt, or seneschal, of the castle of Rossberg. He was
killed by Baumgarten in the manner and for the cause mentioned in the
text.
4 Literally, the Foehn is loose! "When," says Mueller, in his History
of Switzerland, "the wind called the Foehn is high the navigation of the
lake becomes extremely dangerous. Such is its vehemence that the laws of
the country require that the fires shall be extinguished in the houses
while it lasts, and the night watches are doubled. The inhabitants lay
heavy stones upon the roofs of their houses to prevent their being blown
away."
5 Buerglen, the birthplace and residence of Tell. A chapel erected in
1522 remains on the spot formerly occupied by his house.
6 Berenger von Landenberg, a man of noble family in Thurgau and
governor of Unterwald, infamous for his cruelties to the Swiss, and
particularly to the venerable Henry of the Halden. He was slain at the
battle of Morgarten in 1315.
7 A cell built in the ninth century by Meinrad, Count Hohenzollern,
the founder of the Convent of Einsiedlen, subsequently alluded to in the
text.
8 The League, or Bond, of the Three Cantons was of very ancient
origin. They met and renewed it from time to time, especially when their
liberties were threatened with danger. A remarkable instance of this
occurred in the end of the thirteenth century, when Albert of Austria
became emperor, and when, possibly, for the first time, the bond was
reduced to writing. As it is important to the understanding of many
passages of the play, a translation is subjoined of the oldest known
document relating to it. The original, which is in Latin and German, is
dated in August, 1291, and is under the seals of the whole of the men of
Schwytz, the commonalty of the vale of Uri, and the whole of the men of
the upper and lower vales of Stanz.
THE BOND.
Be it known to every one, that the men of the Dale of Uri, the Community
of Schwytz, as also the men of the mountains of Unterwald, in
consideration of the evil times, have full confidently bound themselves,
and sworn to help each other with all their power and might, property and
people, against all who shall do violence to them, or any of them. That
is our Ancient Bond.
Whoever hath a Seignior, let him obey according to the conditions of his
service.
We are agreed to receive into these dales no Judge who is not a
countryman and indweller, or who hath bought his place.
Every controversy amongst the sworn confederates shall be determined by
some of the sagest of their number, and if any one shall challenge their
judgment, then shall he be constrained to obey it by the rest.
Whoever intentionally or deceitfully kills another shall be executed, and
whoever shelters him shall be banished.
Whoever burns the property of another shall no longer be regarded as a
countryman, and whoever shelters him shall make good the damage done.
Whoever injures another, or robs him, and hath property in our country,
shall make satisfaction out of the same.
No one shall distrain a debtor without a judge, nor any one who is not
his debtor, or the surety for such debtor.
Every one in these dales shall submit to the judge, or we, the sworn
confederates, all will take satisfaction for all the injury occasioned by
his contumacy. And if in any internal division the one party will not
accept justice, all the rest shall help the other party. These decrees
shall, God willing, endure eternally for our general advantage.
9 The Austrian knights were in the habit of wearing a plume of
peacocks' feathers in their helmets. After the overthrow of the Austrian
dominion in Switzerland it was made highly penal to wear the peacock's
feather at any public assembly there.
10 The bench reserved for the nobility.
11 The Landamman was an officer chosen by the Swiss Gemeinde, or Diet,
to preside over them. The Banneret was an officer intrusted with the
keeping of the state banner, and such others as were taken in battle.
12 According to the custom by which, when the last male descendant of
a noble family died, his sword, helmet, and shield were buried with him.
13 This frequently occurred. But in the event of an imperial city
being mortgaged for the purpose of raising money it lost its freedom, and
was considered as put out of the realm.
14 An allusion to the circumstance of the imperial crown not being
hereditary, but conferred by election on one of the counts of the empire.
15 These are the cots, or shealings, erected by the herdsmen for
shelter while pasturing their herds on the mountains during the summer.
These are left deserted in winter, during which period Melchthal's
journey was taken.
16 It was the custom at the meetings of the Landes Gemeinde, or Diet,
to set swords upright in the ground as emblems of authority.
17 The Heribann was a muster of warriors similar to the arriere ban in
France.
18 The Duke of Suabia, who soon afterwards assassinated his uncle, for
withholding his patrimony from him.
19 A sort of national militia.
[20, 21, 22, 23] Rocks on the shore of the Lake of Lucerne.
24 A rock on the shore of the lake of Lucerne.
25 An allusion to the gallant self-devotion of Arnold Struthan of
Winkelried at the battle of Sempach (9th July, 1386), who broke the
Austrian phalanx by rushing on their lances, grasping as many of them as
he could reach, and concentrating them upon his breast. The confederates
rushed forward through the gap thus opened by the sacrifice of their
comrade, broke and cut down their enemy's ranks, and soon became the
masters of the field. "Dear and faithful confederates, I will open you a
passage. Protect my wife and children," were the words of Winkelried as
he rushed to death.
26 The Urphede was an oath of peculiar force. When a man who was at
feud with another, invaded his lands and was worsted, he often made terms
with his enemy by swearing the Urphede, by which he bound himself to
depart and never to return with a hostile intention;
figuratively to a dense gray mist which the south wind sweeps into the
valleys from the mountain tops. It is well known as the precursor of
stormy weather.
2 A steep rock standing on the north of Ruetli, and nearly opposite to
Brumen.
3 In German, Wolfenschiessen—a young man of noble family, and a
native of Unterwalden, who attached himself to the house of Austria and
was appointed Burgvogt, or seneschal, of the castle of Rossberg. He was
killed by Baumgarten in the manner and for the cause mentioned in the
text.
4 Literally, the Foehn is loose! "When," says Mueller, in his History
of Switzerland, "the wind called the Foehn is high the navigation of the
lake becomes extremely dangerous. Such is its vehemence that the laws of
the country require that the fires shall be extinguished in the houses
while it lasts, and the night watches are doubled. The inhabitants lay
heavy stones upon the roofs of their houses to prevent their being blown
away."
5 Buerglen, the birthplace and residence of Tell. A chapel erected in
1522 remains on the spot formerly occupied by his house.
6 Berenger von Landenberg, a man of noble family in Thurgau and
governor of Unterwald, infamous for his cruelties to the Swiss, and
particularly to the venerable Henry of the Halden. He was slain at the
battle of Morgarten in 1315.
7 A cell built in the ninth century by Meinrad, Count Hohenzollern,
the founder of the Convent of Einsiedlen, subsequently alluded to in the
text.
8 The League, or Bond, of the Three Cantons was of very ancient
origin. They met and renewed it from time to time, especially when their
liberties were threatened with danger. A remarkable instance of this
occurred in the end of the thirteenth century, when Albert of Austria
became emperor, and when, possibly, for the first time, the bond was
reduced to writing. As it is important to the understanding of many
passages of the play, a translation is subjoined of the oldest known
document relating to it. The original, which is in Latin and German, is
dated in August, 1291, and is under the seals of the whole of the men of
Schwytz, the commonalty of the vale of Uri, and the whole of the men of
the upper and lower vales of Stanz.
THE BOND.
Be it known to every one, that the men of the Dale of Uri, the Community
of Schwytz, as also the men of the mountains of Unterwald, in
consideration of the evil times, have full confidently bound themselves,
and sworn to help each other with all their power and might, property and
people, against all who shall do violence to them, or any of them. That
is our Ancient Bond.
Whoever hath a Seignior, let him obey according to the conditions of his
service.
We are agreed to receive into these dales no Judge who is not a
countryman and indweller, or who hath bought his place.
Every controversy amongst the sworn confederates shall be determined by
some of the sagest of their number, and if any one shall challenge their
judgment, then shall he be constrained to obey it by the rest.
Whoever intentionally or deceitfully kills another shall be executed, and
whoever shelters him shall be banished.
Whoever burns the property of another shall no longer be regarded as a
countryman, and whoever shelters him shall make good the damage done.
Whoever injures another, or robs him, and hath property in our country,
shall make satisfaction out of the same.
No one shall distrain a debtor without a judge, nor any one who is not
his debtor, or the surety for such debtor.
Every one in these dales shall submit to the judge, or we, the sworn
confederates, all will take satisfaction for all the injury occasioned by
his contumacy. And if in any internal division the one party will not
accept justice, all the rest shall help the other party. These decrees
shall, God willing, endure eternally for our general advantage.
9 The Austrian knights were in the habit of wearing a plume of
peacocks' feathers in their helmets. After the overthrow of the Austrian
dominion in Switzerland it was made highly penal to wear the peacock's
feather at any public assembly there.
10 The bench reserved for the nobility.
11 The Landamman was an officer chosen by the Swiss Gemeinde, or Diet,
to preside over them. The Banneret was an officer intrusted with the
keeping of the state banner, and such others as were taken in battle.
12 According to the custom by which, when the last male descendant of
a noble family died, his sword, helmet, and shield were buried with him.
13 This frequently occurred. But in the event of an imperial city
being mortgaged for the purpose of raising money it lost its freedom, and
was considered as put out of the realm.
14 An allusion to the circumstance of the imperial crown not being
hereditary, but conferred by election on one of the counts of the empire.
15 These are the cots, or shealings, erected by the herdsmen for
shelter while pasturing their herds on the mountains during the summer.
These are left deserted in winter, during which period Melchthal's
journey was taken.
16 It was the custom at the meetings of the Landes Gemeinde, or Diet,
to set swords upright in the ground as emblems of authority.
17 The Heribann was a muster of warriors similar to the arriere ban in
France.
18 The Duke of Suabia, who soon afterwards assassinated his uncle, for
withholding his patrimony from him.
19 A sort of national militia.
[20, 21, 22, 23] Rocks on the shore of the Lake of Lucerne.
24 A rock on the shore of the lake of Lucerne.
25 An allusion to the gallant self-devotion of Arnold Struthan of
Winkelried at the battle of Sempach (9th July, 1386), who broke the
Austrian phalanx by rushing on their lances, grasping as many of them as
he could reach, and concentrating them upon his breast. The confederates
rushed forward through the gap thus opened by the sacrifice of their
comrade, broke and cut down their enemy's ranks, and soon became the
masters of the field. "Dear and faithful confederates, I will open you a
passage. Protect my wife and children," were the words of Winkelried as
he rushed to death.
26 The Urphede was an oath of peculiar force. When a man who was at
feud with another, invaded his lands and was worsted, he often made terms
with his enemy by swearing the Urphede, by which he bound himself to
depart and never to return with a hostile intention;