[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 notes all he does.]

WALTER (beneath the lime tree).

Shoot, father, shoot! fear not!

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 push'd too far Is sure to miss its aim, however good, As snaps the bow that's all too straitly bent.

GESSLER.

Peace, till your counsel's ask'd for!

RUDENZ.

I will speak! Ay, and I dare! I reverence my king; But acts like these must make his name abhorr'd. He sanctions not this cruelty. I dare Avouch the fact. And you outstep your powers In handling thus my harmless countrymen.

GESSLER.

Ha! thou grow'st, bold, methinks!

RUDENZ.

I have been dumb To all the oppressions I was doomed to see. I've closed mine eyes to shut them from my view, 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 achiev'd 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 sort. 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.]

ROeSSEL.

The boy's alive!

MANY VOICES.

The apple has been struck!

[WALTER FUeRST 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 forward, as if still following 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!

FUeRST (to father and son).

My children, my dear children!

STAUFFACHER.

God be praised!

LEUTH.

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 Long as these 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.

ROeSSEL.

The shot was good. But woe to him who drove The man to tempt his God by such a feat!

STAUFF.

Cheer up, Tell, rise! You've nobly freed yourself, And now may go in quiet to your home.

ROeSSEL.

Come, to the mother let us bear her son!

[They are about to lead him off.]

GESSLER.

A word, Tell.

TELL. Sir, your pleasure?

GESSLER.

Thou didst place A second arrow in thy belt—nay, nay! I saw it well. Thy purpose with it? Speak!

TELL (confused).

It is a 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 miss'd.

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'll have thee carried hence, and safely penn'd, 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 reveal'd?

GESSLER.

Well, let us see if it will save him twice! Remove him to my ship; I'll follow straight; At Kuessnacht I will see him safely lodged.

ROeSSEL.

You dare not do't. Nor durst the Emperor's self So violate our dearest chartered rights.

GESSLER.

Where are they? Has the Emp'ror confirm'd them? He never has. And only by obedience May you that favor hope to win from him. You are all rebels 'gainst the Emp'ror'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. If you are wise, be silent and obey!

[Exit, followed by BERTHA, RUDENZ, HARRAS, and attendants. FRIESSHARDT and LEUTHOLD remain.]

FUeRST (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.

STAUFF.

Alas! alas! Our every hope is gone. With you we all are fettered and enchain'd.

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 TELL (clinging to him in great agony).

Oh, father, father, father dear!

TELL (pointing to Heaven).

Thy father is on high—appeal to Him!

STAUFF.

Have you 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.]



ACT IV

SCENE I

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.

FISHER.

How! Tell a prisoner, and to Kuessnacht borne? The best man in the land, the bravest arm, Had we for liberty to strike a blow!

KUNZ.

The Viceroy takes him up the lake in person: They were about to go on board, as I Started from Flueelen; but the gathering storm, That drove me here to land so suddenly, May well have hindered them from setting out.

FISHER.

Our Tell in chains, and in the Viceroy's power! O, trust me, Gessler will entomb him where He never more shall see the light of day; For, Tell once free, the tyrant well might dread The just revenge of one so deeply wrong'd.

KUNZ.

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

FISHER.

Then the last anchor of our hopes gives way! He was the only man that 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 today.

[Exit.]

FISHER.

Tell dragg'd to prison, and the Baron dead! Now, tyranny, exalt thy brazen front— Throw every shame aside! Truth's voice is dumb! The eye that watch'd for us, in darkness closed, The arm that should have struck thee down, in chains!

BOY.

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

FISHER.

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!

FISHER.

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.]

FISHER.

Woe to the bark that now pursues its course, Rock'd in the cradle of these storm-tost waves! Nor helm nor steersman here can aught avail; The storm is master. Man is like a ball, Toss'd '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: from Flueelen bearing down.

FISHER.

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 gorge 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.

FISHER.

Judgments of Heaven! Yes, it is he himself, It is the Governor! Yonder he sails, And with him bears the burden of his crimes. The avenger's arm has not been slow to strike! 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's with him there on board the ship.

FISHER.

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

BOY.

See, see, they've clear'd the Buggisgrat;[56] but now The blast, rebounding from the Devil's Minster,[56] Has driven them back on the Great Axenberg.[56] I cannot see them now.

FISHERMAN.

The Hakmesser[56] Is there, that's founder'd 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. The best of pilots, boy, they have on board. If man could save them, Tell is just the man, But he is manacled both hand and foot.

[Enter WILLIAM TELL, with his cross-bow. 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 toward the earth, then toward Heaven.]

BOY (observing him).

See, father! A man on's knees, who can it be?

FISHER.

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

BOY (advancing).

What do I see? Come father, come 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?

FISHER.

Were they not carrying you to Kuessnacht, Tell?

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.

FISHER.

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.

FISHER.

I do—say on!

TELL.

How I was seized and bound, And order'd by the governor to Kuessnacht.

FISHER.

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

TELL.

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

FISHER.

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,[57] Heaven ordain'd it so, That from the Gotthardt's gorge, a hurricane Swept down upon us with such headlong force That every oarsman's heart within him sank, And all on board look'd for a watery grave. Then heard I one of the attendant train, Turning to Gessler, in this wise 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 Address'd me thus: "If thou wilt undertake To bring us through this tempest safely, Tell, I might consent to free thee from thy bonds." I answer'd, "Yes, my lord; so help me God, I'll see what can be done." On this they loosed The cords that bound me, and I took my place Beside the helm, and steered as best I could, 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—

FISHER.

I know it. At the foot of the Great Axen; So steep it looks, I never could have dreamt That from a boat a man could leap to it.

TELL.

I bade the men to row with all their force Until we came before the shelving ledge. For there, I said, the danger will be past! Stoutly they pull'd, and soon we near'd 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 watery hell. There let it drift about, as Heaven ordains! Thus am I here, deliver'd from the might Of the dread storm, and man's more dreadful still.

FISHER.

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 propose to betake yourself? For you will be in peril, should perchance The Viceroy 'scape this tempest with his life.

TELL.

I heard him say, as I lay bound on board, At Brunnen he proposed to disembark, And, crossing Schwytz, convey me to his castle.

FISHER.

Means he to go by land?

TELL.

So he intends.

FISHER.

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?

FISHER.

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 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.

FISHER.

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 resolute and strong of heart— For Tell is free and master of his arm; They shall hear further news of me ere long.

FISHER.

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

TELL.

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

[Exit.]

FISHER.

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

[Exit.]

SCENE II

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

FUeRST.

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.]

FUeRST.

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.]

FUeRST.

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!

FUeRST.

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!

FUeRST.

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?

FUeRST.

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?

FUeRST.

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 FUeRST).

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?

FUeRST.

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 FUeRST).

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 mailed 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 FUeRST 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 FUeRST 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?



FUeRST (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!

FUeRST.

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.

FUeRST.

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 FUeRST).

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 Kuessnacht, 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 Kuessnacht. 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 Moerlischachen. A rich fellow he! And has some half score pastures on the Alps. He goes to fetch his bride from Imisee. At Kuessnacht 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 Glaernisch 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 Kuessnacht? 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 Kuessnacht, 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 MISERICORDIAE 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.]

ACT V

SCENE I

A common near Altdorf. In the background to the right the Keep of Uri, with the scaffold still standing, as in the Third Scene of the first Act. To the left, the view opens upon numerous mountains, on all of which signal fires are burning. Day is breaking, and distant bells are heard ringing in several directions.

RUODI, KUONI, WERNI, MASTER MASON, and many other country people, also women and children.

RUODI.

See there! The beacons on the mountain heights!

MASON.

Hark how the bells above the forest toll!

RUODI.

The enemy's routed.

MASON.

And the forts are storm'd.

RUODI.

And we of Uri, do we still endure Upon our native soil the tyrant's keep? Are we the last to strike for liberty?

MASON.

Shall the yoke stand, that was to curb our necks? Up! Tear it to the ground!

ALL.

Down, down with it!

RUODI.

Where is the Stier of Uri?

URI.

Here. What would ye?

RUODI.

Up to your tower, and wind us such a blast As shall resound afar, from peak to peak; Rousing the echoes of each glen and hill, To rally swiftly all the mountain men!

[Exit STIER OF URI—Enter WALTER FUeRST.]

FUeRST.

Stay, stay, my friends! As yet we have not learn'd What has been done in Unterwald and Schwytz. Let's wait till we receive intelligence!

RUODI.

Wait, wait for what? The accursed tyrant's dead. And on us freedom's glorious day has dawn'd!

MASON.

How! Are these flaming signals not enough, That blaze on every mountain top around?

RUODI.

Come all, fall to—come, men and women, all! Destroy the scaffold! Burst the arches! Down, Down with the walls, let not a stone remain!

MASON.

Come, comrades, come! We built it, and we know How best to hurl it down.

ALL.

Come! Down with it!

[They fall upon the building on every side.]

FUeRST.

The floodgate's burst. They're not to be restrained.

[Enter MELCHTHAL and BAUMGARTEN.]

MELCH.

What! Stands the fortress still, when Sarnen lies In ashes, and the Rossberg's in our hands?

FUeRST.

You, Melchthal, here? D'ye bring us liberty? Are all the Cantons from our tyrants freed?

MELCH.

We've swept them from the soil. Rejoice, my friend, Now, at this very moment, while we speak, There's not one tyrant left in Switzerland!

FUeRST.

How did you get the forts into your power?

MELCH.

Rudenz it was who by a bold assault With manly valor mastered Sarnen's keep. The Rossberg I had storm'd the night before. But hear what chanced! Scarce had we driven the foe Forth from the keep, and given it to the flames, That now rose crackling upwards to the skies, When from the blaze rush'd Diethelm, Gessler's page, Exclaiming, "Lady Bertha will be burnt!"

FUeRST.

Good heavens!

[The beams of the scaffold are heard falling.]

MELCH.

'Twas she herself. Here had she been By Gessler's orders secretly immured. Up sprang Rudenz in frenzy. For even now The beams and massive posts were crashing down, And through the stifling smoke the piteous shrieks Of the unhappy lady.

FUeRST.

Is she saved?

MELCH.

'Twas not a time to hesitate or pause! Had he been but our baron, and no more, We should have been most chary of our lives; But he was our confederate, and Bertha Honor'd the people. So, without a thought, We risk'd the worst, and rush'd into the flames.

FUeRST.

But is she saved?

MELCH.

She is. Rudenz and I Bore her between us from the blazing pile, With crashing timbers toppling all around. And when she had revived, the danger past, And raised her eyes to look upon the sun, The baron fell upon my breast; and then A silent vow between us two was sworn, A vow that, welded in yon furnace heat, Will last through ev'ry shock of time and fate.

FUeRST.

Where is the Landenberg?

MELCHTHAL.

Across the Bruenig. 'Twas not my fault he bore his sight away, He who had robb'd my father of his eyes! He fled—I followed—overtook him soon, And dragg'd him to my father's feet. The sword Already quiver'd o'er the caitiff's head, When from the pity of the blind old man, He wrung the life which, craven-like, he begged. He swore URPHEDE,[59] never to return He'll keep his oath, for he has felt our arm.

FUeRST.

Oh, well for you, you have not stain'd with blood Our spotless victory!

CHILDREN (running across the stage with fragments of wood).

We're free! we're free!

FUeRST.

Oh! what a joyous scene! These children will Remember it when all their heads are gray.

[Girls bring in the cap upon a pole. The whole stage is filled with people.]

RUODI.

Here is the cap, to which we were to bow!

BAUM.

What shall we do with it? Do you decide!

FUeRST.

Heavens! 'Twas beneath this cap my grandson stood!

SEVERAL VOICES.

Destroy the emblem of the tyrant's power! Let it be burnt!

FUeRST.

No. Rather be preserved; 'Twas once the instrument of despots—now 'Twill of our freedom be a lasting sign.

[Peasants, men, women, and children, some standing, others sitting upon the beams of the shattered scaffold, all picturesquely grouped, in a large semicircle.]

MELCH.

Thus now, my friends, with light and merry hearts, We stand upon the wreck of tyranny; And gloriously the work has been fulfilled Which we at Rootli pledged ourselves to do.

FUeRST.

No, not fulfilled. The work is but begun: Courage and concord firm, we need them both; For, be assured, the king will make all speed, To avenge his Viceroy's death, and reinstate, By force of arms, the tyrant we've expell'd.

MELCH.

Why let him come, with all his armaments! The foe's expelled that press'd us from within; The foe without we are prepared to meet?

RUODI.

The passes to our Cantons are but few; These with our bodies we will block, we will!

BAUM.

Knit are we by a league will ne'er be rent, And all his armies shall not make us quail.

[Enter ROeSSELMANN and STAUFFACHER.]

ROeSSELMANN (speaking as he enters).

These are the awful judgments of the Lord!

PEASANT.

What is the matter?

ROeSSELMANN.

In what times we live!

FUeRST.

Say on, what is't? Ha, Werner, is it you? What tidings?

PEASANT.

What's the matter?

ROeSSELMANN.

Hear and wonder!

STAUFF.

We are released from one great cause of dread.

ROeSSEL.

The Emperor is murdered.

FUeRST.

Gracious Heaven!

[PEASANTS rise up and throng round STAUFFACHER.]

ALL.

Murder'd!—the Emp'ror? What! The Emp'ror! Hear!

MELCH.

Impossible! How came you by the news?

STAUFF.

'Tis true! Near Bruck, by the assassin's hand, King Albert fell. A most trustworthy man, John Mueller, from Schaffhausen, brought the news.

FUeRST.

Who dared commit so horrible a deed?

STAUFF.

The doer makes the deed more dreadful still; It was his nephew, his own brother's son, Duke John of Austria, who struck the blow.

MELCH.

What drove him to so dire a parricide?

STAUFF.

The Emp'ror kept his patrimony back, Despite his urgent importunities; 'Twas said, he meant to keep it for himself, And with a mitre to appease the duke. However this may be, the duke gave ear To the ill counsel of his friends in arms; And with the noble lords, Von Eschenbach, Von Tegerfeld, Von Wart and Palm, resolved, Since his demands for justice were despised, With his own hands to take revenge at least.

FUeRST.

But say—the dreadful deed, how was it done?

STAUFF.

The king was riding down from Stein to Baden. Upon his way to join the court at Rheinfeld— With him a train of high-born gentlemen, And the young Princes John and Leopold; And when they'd reach'd the ferry of the Reuss, The assassins forced their way into the boat, To separate the Emperor from his suite. His highness landed, and was riding on Across a fresh plough'd field—where once, they say, A mighty city stood in Pagan times— With Habsburg's ancient turrets full in sight, That was the cradle of his princely race. When Duke John plunged a dagger in his throat, Palm ran him thro' the body with his lance, And Eschenbach, to end him, clove his skull; So down he sank, all weltering in his blood, On his own soil, by his own kinsmen slain. Those on the opposite bank beheld the deed, But, parted by the stream, could only raise An unavailing cry of loud lament. A poor old woman, sitting by the way, Raised him, and on her breast he bled to death.

MELCH.

Thus has he dug his own untimely grave, Who sought insatiably to grasp at all.

STAUFF.

The country round is fill'd with dire alarm, The passes are blockaded everywhere, And sentinels on ev'ry frontier set; E'en ancient Zurich barricades her gates, That have stood open for these thirty years, Dreading the murd'rers and th' avengers more. For cruel Agnes comes, the Hungarian queen, By all her sex's tenderness untouch'd, Arm'd with the thunders of the ban, to wreak Dire vengeance for her parent's royal blood On the whole race of those that murder'd him— Their servants, children, children's children—yea, Upon the stones that built their castle walls. Deep has she sworn a vow to immolate Whole generations on her father's tomb, And bathe in blood as in the dew of May.

MELCH.

Is't known which way the murderers have fled?

STAUFF.

No sooner had they done the deed, than they Took flight each following a different route, And parted ne'er to see each other more. Duke John must still be wand'ring in the mountains.

FUeRST.

And thus their crime has borne no fruit for them. Revenge bears never fruit. Itself, it is The dreadful food it feeds on; its delight Is murder—its satiety despair.

STAUFF.

The assassins reap no profit by their crime; But we shall pluck with unpolluted hands The teeming fruits of their most bloody deed. For we are ransomed from our heaviest fear; The direst foe of liberty has fallen, And, 'tis reported, that the crown will pass From Habsburg's house into another line; The Empire is determined to assert Its old prerogative of choice, I hear.

FUeRST and several others.

Is any named?

STAUFFACHER.

The Count of Luxembourg's Already chosen by the general voice.

FUeRST.

'Tis well we stood so staunchly by the Empire! Now we may hope for justice, and with cause.

STAUFF.

The Emperor will need some valiant friends. He will 'gainst Austria's vengeance be our shield.

[The peasantry embrace. Enter SACRISTAN with Imperial messenger.]

SACRIST.

Here are the worthy chiefs of Switzerland!

ROeSSELMANN and several others.

Sacrist, what news?

SACRISTAN.

A courier brings this letter.

ALL (to WALTER FUeRST).

Open and read it.

FUeRST (reading).

"To the worthy men Of Uri, Schwytz, and Unterwald, the Queen Elizabeth sends grace and all good wishes!"

MANY VOICES.

What wants the queen with us? Her reign is done.

FUeRST (reads).

"In the great grief and doleful widowhood, In which the bloody exit of her lord Has plunged the queen, still in her mind she bears The ancient faith and love of Switzerland."

MELCH.

She ne'er did that in her prosperity.

ROeSSEL.

Hush, let us hear!

FUeRST (reads).

"And she is well assured, Her people will in due abhorrence hold The perpetrators of this damned deed. On the three Cantons, therefore, she relies, That they in nowise lend the murderers aid; But rather, that they loyally assist, To give them up to the avenger's hand, Remembering the love and grace which they Of old received from Rudolph's royal house."

[Symptoms of dissatisfaction among the peasantry.]

MANY VOICES.

The love and grace!

STAUFF.

Grace from the father we, indeed, received, But what have we to boast of from the song Did he confirm the charter of our freedom, As all preceding emperors had done? Did he judge righteous judgment, or afford Shelter, or stay, to innocence oppress'd? Nay, did he e'en give audience to the men We sent to lay our grievances before him? Not one of all these things did the king do, And had we not ourselves achieved our rights By our own stalwart hands, the wrongs we bore Had never touch'd him. Gratitude to him! Within these vales he sowed no seeds of that; He stood upon an eminence—he might Have been a very father to his people, But all his aim and pleasure was to raise Himself and his own house: and now may those Whom he has aggrandized, lament for him;

FUeRST.

We will not triumph in his fall, nor now Recall to mind the wrongs that we endured. Far be't from us! Yet, that we should avenge The sovereign's death, who never did us good, And hunt down those who ne'er molested us, Becomes us not, nor is our duty. Love Must be a tribute free, and unconstrain'd; From all enforced duties death absolves, And unto him we owe no further debt.

MELCH.

And if the queen laments within her bower, Accusing Heaven in sorrow's wild despair; Here see a people, from its anguish freed, To that same Heav'n send up its thankful praise. Who would reap tears must sow the seeds of love.

[Exit the Imperial Courier.]

STAUFFACHER (to the people).

But where is Tell? Shall he, our freedom's founder, Alone be absent from our festival? He did the most—endured the worst of all. Come—to his dwelling let us all repair, And bid the Savior of our country hail!

[Exeunt omnes.]

SCENE II

Interior of TELL's cottage. A fire burning on the hearth. The open door shows the scene outside.

HEDWIG, WALTER, and WILLIAM

HEDWIG.

My own dear boys! your father comes today; 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 must be named with him. My father's shaft Ran my life close, but yet I never flinch'd.

HEDWIG (embracing him).

Yes, yes, thou art restored to me again! Twice have I seen thee given to my sad eyes, Twice suffered all a mother's pangs for thee! But this is past—I have you both, boys, both! And your dear father will be back today.

[A monk appears at the door.]

WILLIAM.

See, mother, yonder stands a holy friar; He comes for 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.]

WILLIAM (to the monk).

Come in, good man. Mother will give you food!

WALTER.

Come in and rest, then go refresh'd away!

MONK (glancing round in terror, with unquiet looks).

Where am I? In what country? Tell me.

WALTER.

How! Are you bewildered, that you know not where? You are at Buerglen, in the land of Uri, Just at the entrance of the Shechenthal.

MONK. (to HEDWIG).

Are you alone? Your husband, is he here?

HEDWIG.

I am expecting him. But what ails you, man? There's something in your looks, that omens ill! Whoe'er you be, you are in want—take that.

[Offers him the cup.]

MONK.

Howe'er my sinking heart may yearn for food, Nought will I taste till you have promised first—

HEDWIG.

Touch not my garments, come not near me, monk! You must stand farther back, if I'm to 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 the robe you wear peace should abide, But peace abides not in such looks as yours.

MONK.

I am the wretchedest of living men.

HEDWIG.

The heart is never deaf to wretchedness; But your look freezes up my inmost soul.

WALTER (springs up).

Mother, here's father!

HEDWIG.

Oh, my God!

[Is about to follow, trembles and stops.]

WILLIAM (running after his brother).

My father!

WALTER (without).

Here, here once more!

WILLIAM (without).

My father, my dear father!

TELL (without).

Yes, here once more! Where is your mother, boys?

[They enter.]

WALTER.

There at the door she stands, and can no further, She trembles so with terror and with joy.

TELL.

Oh Hedwidg, 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 anguish have I borne for thee!

[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 upon mine own hearth stone!

WILLIAM.

But, father, where's your cross-bow? Not with you?

TELL.

Thou shalt not ever see it more, my boy. Within a holy shrine it has been placed, 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 the Tell who slew the governor?

TELL.

Yes, I am he. I hide the fact from no man.

MONK.

And you are 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 robb'd me of my rights. He was no less your enemy than mine. I've rid the land of him.

TELL (drawing back).

You are—oh, horror! In—children, children—in, without a word, Go, my dear wife! Go! Go! Unhappy man, You should be—

HEDWIG.

Heav'ns, who is it?

TELL.

Do not ask. Away! away! the children must not hear it. Out of the house—away! You 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).

You are the Duke Of Austria—I know it. You have slain The Emperor, your uncle, and liege lord.

JOHN.

He robb'd me of my patrimony.

TELL.

How! Slain him—your king, your uncle! And the earth Still bears you! And the sun still shines on you!

JOHN.

Tell, hear me, ere you—

TELL.

Reeking with the blood Of him that was your Emperor, your kinsman, Dare you set foot within my spotless house, Dare to a honest man to show your face, And claim the rites of hospitality?

JOHN.

I hoped to find compassion at your hands. You took, like me, revenge upon your foe!

TELL.

Unhappy man! Dare you confound the crime Of blood-imbued ambition with the act Forced on a father in mere self-defence? Have you to shield your children's darling heads, To guard your fireside's sanctuary—ward off The last, the direst doom from all you loved? To Heaven I raise my unpolluted hands, To curse your act and you! I have avenged That holy nature which you have profaned. I have no part with you. You murdered, I Have shielded all that was most dear to me.

JOHN.

You cast me off to comfortless despair!

TELL.

I shrink with horror while I talk with you. Hence, on the dread career you have begun, Cease to pollute the home of innocence!

[JOHN turns to depart.]

JOHN.

I cannot and I will not live this life!

TELL.

And yet my soul bleeds for you. 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.]

JOHN.

If you have 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 curb'd The impatience of my passionate desires: But envy gnaw'd my heart—I saw the youth Of mine own cousin Leopold endow'd With honor, and enrich'd with broad domains, The while myself, of equal age with him, In abject slavish nonage was kept back.

TELL.

Unhappy man, your uncle knew you well, When from you land and subjects he withheld! You, by your mad and desperate act have set A fearful seal upon his wise resolve. Where are the bloody partners of your crime?

JOHN.

Where'er the avenging furies may have borne them; I have not seen them since the luckless deed.

TELL.

Know you the Empire's ban is out—that you Are interdicted to your friends, and given An outlaw'd victim to your enemies!

JOHN.

Therefore I shun all public thoroughfares, And venture not to knock at any door— I turn my footsteps to the wilds, and through The mountains roam, a terror to myself. From mine own self I shrink with horror back, If in a brook I see my ill-starr'd form. If you have pity or a human heart—

[Falls down before him.]

TELL.

Stand up, stand up! I say.

JOHN.

Not till you give Your hand in promise of assistance to me.

TELL.

Can I assist you? Can a sinful man? Yet get ye up—how black soe'er your crime— You are 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! You must away. You cannot Remain here undiscover'd, and, discover'd, You cannot count on succor. Which way, then, Would you be going? Where do you hope to find A place of rest?

DUKE JOHN.

Alas! I know not where.

TELL.

Hear, then, what Heaven unto my heart suggests. You must to Italy—to Saint Peter's City— There cast yourself at the Pope's feet—confess Your guilt to him, and ease your laden soul!

JOHN.

Will he not to the avengers yield me up?

TELL.

Whate'er he does, accept it as from God.

JOHN.

But how am I to reach that unknown land? I have no knowledge of the way, and dare not Attach myself to other travelers.

TELL.

I will describe the road, so 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 travelers Have been by avalanches done to death.

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 whelm'd beneath the drifted snows, That from the frozen peaks come sweeping down, You'll reach the bridge that's drench'd with drizzling spray. Then if it give not way beneath your 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, You must not linger in the haunts of peace.

JOHN.

O Rudolph, Rudolph, royal grandsire! thus Thy grandson first sets foot within thy realms!

TELL.

Ascending still, you gain the Gotthardt's heights, Where are the tarns, the everlasting tarns, That from the streams of Heaven itself are fed, There to the German soil you bid farewell; And thence, with swift descent, 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? My father comes, and in exulting bands All the confederates approach.

DUKE JOHN (covering himself).

Woe's me! I dare not tarry 'mong these happy men!

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 you, turn your eyes away, So that they do not see which way he goes.

[DUKE JOHN advances hastily toward TELL, but he beckons him aside and goes out. When both have left the stage, the scene changes.]

SCENE III

The whole valley before TELL's house, the heights which inclose it occupied by peasants, grouped into tableaux. Some are seen crossing a lofty bridge, which crosses the Shechen. WALTER FUeRST 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 Savior!

[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 front 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, who was happily the first That found deliverance 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 goods!

BERTHA. 'Tis well!

And now to him (turning to RUDENZ) I frankly 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:

[Footnote 36: Permission The Macmillan Co., New York, and G. Bell & Sons, Ltd., London.]

[Footnote 37: 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.]

[Footnote 38: A steep rock, standing on the north of Ruetli, and nearly opposite to Brumen.]

[Footnote 39: 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 Burvogt, or Seneschal, of the Castle of Rossberg. He was killed by Baumgarten in the manner, and for the cause, mentioned in the text.]

[Footnote 40: 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."]

[Footnote 41: Buerglen, the birthplace and residence of Tell. A chapel, erected in 1522, remains on the spot formerly occupied by his house.]

[Footnote 42: 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.]

[Footnote 43: A cell built in the 9th century, by Meinrad, Count of Hohenzollern, the founder of the Convent of Einsiedeln, subsequently alluded to in the text.]

[Footnote 44: 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 13th 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.]

[Footnote 45: The Austrian knights were in the habit of wearing a plum 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.]

[Footnote 46: The bench reserved for the nobility.]

[Footnote 47: 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.]

[Footnote 48: According to the custom by which, when the last male descendent of a noble family died, his sword, helmet, and shield, were buried with him.]

[Footnote 49: 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.]

[Footnote 50: An allusion to the circumstance of the Imperial Crown not being hereditary, but conferred by election on one of the Counts of the Empire.]

[Footnote 51: 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.]

[Footnote 52: It was the custom at the meetings of the Landes Gemeinde, or Diet, to set swords upright in the ground as emblems of authority.]

[Footnote 53: The Heribann was a muster of warriors similar to the arriere ban of France.]

[Footnote 54: A The Duke of Suabia, who soon afterward assassinated his uncle for withholding his patrimony from him.]

[Footnote 55: A sort of national militia.]

[Footnote 56: Rocks on shore of Lake Lucerne.]

[Footnote 57: 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.]

[Footnote 58: 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.]

* * * * *



THE HOMAGE OF THE ARTS

A MASQUE

Dedicated in all reverence to her Imperial Highness, the Crown Princess of Weimar, MARIA PAULOWNA, Grand-Duchess of Russia, and produced at the Court Theatre in Weimar, November 12, 1804.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

A FATHER. A MOTHER. A YOUTH. A MAIDEN. CHORUS OF COUNTRY PEOPLE. GENIUS. THE SEVEN ARTS.

The scene is laid in a country place. In the centre of the stage, an orange-tree, laden with fruit and bedecked with ribbons. The country people are setting it firmly in the earth, while maidens and children, on each side, hold it erect by means of garlands of flowers.



THE HOMAGE OF THE ARTS (1804)

TRANSLATED BY A. I. DU P. COLEMAN, A.M.

Professor of English Literature, College of the City of New York

THE FATHER

Blossom, blossom, bountiful tree With thy golden apples gay, Which from lands so far away We have brought for ours to see! Fullest fruitage ever bearing, May thy branches ne'er decay!

ALL

Blossom, blossom, bountiful tree, Shooting upward strong and free!

THE YOUTH

With the fragrant bloom united, Proudly hang the golden store! May it stand by storms unblighted, May it grow from more to more!

ALL

May it stand by storms unblighted, May it grow from more to more!

THE MOTHER

Mother Earth, O hear my word! Guard the tender nursling now. Thou that lead'st the speckled herd, God of the fields, to thee we bow!

THE MAIDEN

Gentle Dryads, guard its growing, Guard it, guard it, Pan most high! Mountain nymphs, your gifts bestowing, Shield it when the storms are blowing— Bid their fury pass it by!

ALL

Gentle Dryads, guard its growing, Guard it, guard it, Pan most high!

THE YOUTH

May kind skies smile down upon it, Always clear and always blue! Sun, send out thy softest radiance! Feed it, Earth, with all thy dew!

ALL

Sun, send out thy softest radiance! Feed it, Earth, with all thy dew!

THE FATHER

Joy, sweet joy, and life new-springing May'st thou still to all be bringing— Joy it was that set thee here. May thy gifts of nectar gather Children's children, like their father, And all bless thee for thy cheer!

ALL

Joy, sweet joy, and life new-springing May'st thou still to all be bringing— Joy it was that set thee here!

[They dance in picturesque groups around the tree. The orchestral music accompanies the dance, and gradually passes into a more elevated style, as there appear in the background from above GENIUS and the Goddesses of the Seven Arts. The country people retire to the sides of the stage, GENIUS comes down to the centre, with PAINTING, SCULPTURE, and ARCHITECTURE on his right, POETRY, DRAMA, MUSIC, and DANCING on his left.]



THE ARTS

We come from a far land— Still wandering, roaming From people to people, From ages to ages; We are seeking a home that shall always endure— In peaceful possession To find our expression, In stillness creating, No power abating— Yet we still seek in vain for a dwelling secure.

THE YOUTH

Who are these my eyes behold, Like a troop of fairies nigh— Forms whose beauty ne'er was told! Beats my heart, I know not why!

GENIUS

Where weapons are clashing And trumpets are blown, Where hearts are with hate and with madness o'erflowing, Where mortals are wand'ring, their goal never knowing, Thence turn we our footsteps, in haste to be gone.

ARTS

We hate the deceivers, Despisers of heaven; We seek among mortals Who to virtue are given. Where pure hearts have welcome To give to a friend, We will build habitations To dwell without end.

THE MAIDEN

What is this strange feeling? What can it betoken? By some hidden power my nature is moved, They call to my heart like the friends I have loved— Yet never before with these strangers I've spoken.

THE COUNTRY PEOPLE

What is this strange feeling? What can it betoken?

GENIUS

Ah, but yonder see I mortals, Come to revel with delight. Look—with ribbons and with garlands Richly is the tree bedight! Surely joy their bosom fills—

[To the country people.]

Tell me what it is you do.

THE FATHER

Shepherds are we of these hills, And a feast we keep, 'tis true.

GENIUS

What the feast? I fain would hear!

THE MOTHER

In honor of our lady dear, Great as good, and good as great, Who, to bless our humble vale, From her high imperial station Has descended—her we hail!

THE YOUTH

For her charms our jubilation, Kindness like the sun's warm rays!

GENIUS

Wherefore do you plant a tree?

THE YOUTH

Ah, it comes of foreign race, And its heart toward home is yearning; That is why we fear its turning From its new abiding-place.

GENIUS

That is why you plant it deep, With the soil its roots encase, That its blessings you may keep In its new abiding-place?

THE MAIDEN

To her native land that bind her Many, many are the ties— All that she has left behind her In her childhood's paradise: All her mother's fond embraces, And the love of noble brothers, And her sisters' tender bosoms. Can we then in equal measures, Can the world, supply a price For such pleasures, For such treasures?

GENIUS

Love can reach to any distance, Is not bound by far or near. As the fire is undiminished When another flame is kindled With its heat, to glow more clear, So that has no tie to bind her, Which of old she held most dear: Though she has left love behind her, She will find love dwelling here.

THE MOTHER

She has come from halls of state, Rich with gold and crystal sheen; Can our hills please one so great, Where for gold we boast but sunshine, And our wealth is meadows green?

GENIUS

In a heart of princely kind Much is hidden from your sense. Know, then, that a noble mind Puts the greatness into living, Never needs to draw it thence.

THE YOUTH

Oh, lovely strangers, teach us to retain her! Oh, teach us to find favor in her sight! We long with perfumed garlands to enchain her Within our homeland, never to take flight.

GENIUS

A noble heart soon finds itself at home— Creates, in stillness working, its own world: And as the tree takes hold upon the earth With eager grasping roots, and soon is fast, So will a great and doubly royal nature By its own noble deeds take hold on life. Love's tender ties soon knit themselves anew— For where is happiness, there too is home!

ALL THE COUNTRY PEOPLE

Oh, handsome stranger, say how we may chain her, The fairest, in our quiet vale retain her!

GENIUS

Courage! The help you seek is nigh at hand. All is not strange to her in this new land. Me she will know, and my attendant train, When we have made our names and office plain.

[GENIUS comes forward. The Seven Arts follow him and form a semi-circle about him. As they do so, they display their attributes, which until this moment have been concealed beneath their robes.]

GENIUS (addressing the Crown Princess)

Lo, I am Genius—beauty's lord alone— And these that follow me the sister Arts. 'Tis we that deck the altar and the throne; We crown the work that springs from human hearts. Long have we dealt with thine imperial line; And she, the noble dame that gave thee birth, With spotless hand a dedicated shrine Still keeps for us, a sacred spot of earth. We follow thee obedient to her sending; For happiness through us finds perfect ending.

ARCHITECTURE (a mural crown on her head, a golden ship in her right hand)

By Neva's flood thou saw'st me sit at home: Thy great forefather called me to his side— And there I built for him a second Rome; Through me it grew to be an empire's pride. A paradise of stately pleasure-grounds Arose beneath the magic of my wand; And now the busy hum of life resounds Where once a desert stretched on every hand. The thunder of the cannon of thy fleet Alarms the hoary Neptune in his ancient seat.

SCULPTURE (a small image of victory in her hand)

Me too hast thou beheld with wondering eyes, That did the old Olympian world restore. Upon a cliff that age and storm defies Its mighty image stands for evermore.

(Shows the Victory)

Lo, Victory's image, by my fingers shaped! Thy lordly brother grasps it in his hand: And round her form his conquering banners draped, See Alexander bear her through the land! I strive, but end with lifeless imitation— He builds of savage hordes a mighty nation.

PAINTING

And me, most noble, thou wilt know again— The fond creator of depicted form; Know very life in all its colors plain Upon my canvas glowing fresh and warm. Yea, through the eyes I can deceive the heart, My skill can cheat the senses without wronging And still the beating of the lover's heart— Present the very face for which he's longing: Wide as the poles asunder though they go, They are not quite alone, my help who know.

POETRY

Through farthest space I fly on soaring pinion; I know no limits; naught disputes my rule Or bids me stay. I hold supreme dominion O'er realms of thought—the Word my winged tool. All things that move in heaven above, on earth, Are to my penetrating eyes displayed— Though in the secret depths they have their birth. No bar across the poet's path is laid. But I have found, in all my age-long quest, Naught fairer than a pure soul in a lovely breast.

MUSIC (with the lyre)

The might of tones that tremble on the strings, Thou know'st it well—for thou canst wield it too. What fills the quivering heart when music sings Can find in me alone its utterance true. A sweet enchantment plays on every sense When my harmonious flood has reached its height— Until the enraptured soul would fain go hence And from the lips, soft sighing, take its flight. Where I set up my ladder, built of sound, A way to scale the dizziest heights is found.

DANCING (with the cymbals)

In solemn stillness brooding, the Divine Is by a silent soul perceived at rest: Yet life and youth for gladsome motion pine— They must expression find, must thus be blest. Led by soft beauty's chain, they follow me To lose themselves within the sinuous maze. On Zephyr's wings I raise the body free; In dancing steps I teach symmetric grace. Grace is the gift I bear within my hand; All things that move I lead with magic wand.

DRAMA (with the double mask)

The mask of Janus have I in my keeping— On one side sorrow, on the other joy; For man must alternate 'twixt bliss and weeping, And with the dark is mixed a light alloy. In all its deeps profound, its dizzy heights, Life's tale before thine eyes I can unroll, And make thee turn, richer for these great sights, Into the peaceful silence of thy soul. Who the whole world in one wide view surveys, In his own heart no civil strife dismays.

GENIUS

And all of us who here appear before you, Majestic sisterhood of noble arts, For leave to serve you, Princess, would implore you: Do but command, and we will play our parts. As Theban walls obeyed the lyre's sweet sounding, So here the senseless stone shall live at thine— A world of beauty rise, thine eyes astounding.

ARCHITECTURE

Tall columns stand in well-proportioned line.

SCULPTURE

The marble shape beneath the mallet's blow.

PAINTING

Fresh life upon the painted canvas show.

MUSIC

For thee the stream of harmonies shall spring.

DANCING

Light dances follow close the vibrant string. DRAMA

The whole world'll pass 'fore thee on the stage.

POETRY

And fancy with her magic equipage Shall bear thee, ravished, to the fields on high.

PAINTING

And as the magic rainbow in the sky Conjures its colors from the gorgeous sun, So will we, each for all, and all as one, With mystic sevenfold wealth of pageantry, Weave for thee, Lady, life's great tapestry.

ALL THE ARTS (embracing one another)

For strength must wed with strength, and so impart Beauty to life and life to forms of art.

* * * * *



HISTORY AND LITERATURE

THE THIRTY YEARS' WAR—THE LAST CAMPAIGNS OF GUSTAVUS ADOLPHUS (1792)[59]

TRANSLATED BY THE REV. A. J. W. MORRISON, M.A.

The glorious battle of Leipzig effected a great change in the conduct of Gustavus Adolphus, as well as in the opinion which both friends and foes entertained of him. Successfully had he confronted the greatest general of the age, and had matched the strength of his tactics and the courage of his Swedes against the elite of the imperial army, the most experienced troops in Europe. From this moment he felt a firm confidence in his own powers—self-confidence has always been the parent of great actions. In all his subsequent operations more boldness and decision are observable; greater determination, even amidst the most unfavorable circumstances, a more lofty tone toward his adversaries, a more dignified bearing toward his allies, and even in his clemency, something of the forbearance of a conqueror. His natural courage was further heightened by the pious ardor of his imagination. He saw in his own cause that of heaven, and in the defeat of Tilly beheld the decisive interference of Providence against his enemies, and in himself the instrument of divine vengeance. Leaving his crown and his country far behind, he advanced on the wings of victory into the heart of Germany, which for centuries had seen no foreign conqueror within its bosom. The warlike spirit of its inhabitants, the vigilance of its numerous princes, the artful confederation of its states, the number of its strong castles, its many and broad rivers, had long restrained the ambition of its neighbors; and frequently as its extensive frontier had been attacked, its interior had been free from hostile invasion. The Empire had hitherto enjoyed the equivocal privilege of being its own enemy, though invincible from without. Even now, it was merely the disunion of its members, and the intolerance of religious zeal, that paved the way for the Swedish invader. The bond of union between the states, which alone had rendered the Empire invincible, was now dissolved; and Gustavus derived from Germany itself the power by which he subdued it. With as much courage as prudence, he availed himself of all that the favorable moment afforded; and equally at home in the cabinet and the field, he tore asunder the web of the artful policy, with as much ease, as he shattered walls with the thunder of his cannon. Uninterruptedly he pursued his conquests from one end of Germany to the other, without breaking the line of posts which commanded a secure retreat at any moment; and whether on the banks of the Rhine, or at the mouth of the Lech, alike maintaining his communication with his hereditary dominions.



The consternation of the Emperor and the League at Tilly's defeat at Leipzig, was scarcely greater than the surprise and embarrassment of the allies of the King of Sweden at his unexpected success. It was beyond both their expectations and their wishes. Annihilated in a moment was that formidable army which, while it checked his progress and set bounds to his ambition, rendered him in some measure dependent on themselves. He now stood in the heart of Germany, alone, without a rival or without an adversary who was a match for him. Nothing could stop his progress, or check his pretensions, if the intoxication of success should tempt him to abuse his victory. If formerly they had dreaded the Emperor's irresistible power, there was no less cause now to fear everything for the Empire from the violence of a foreign conqueror, and for the Catholic Church from the religious zeal of a Protestant king. The distrust and jealousy of some of the combined powers, which a stronger fear of the Emperor had for a time repressed, now revived; and scarcely had Gustavus Adolphus merited, by his courage and success, their confidence, when they began covertly to circumvent all his plans. Through a continual struggle with the arts of enemies, and the distrust of his own allies, must his victories henceforth be won; yet resolution, penetration, and prudence made their way through all impediments. But while his success excited the jealousy of his more powerful allies, France and Saxony, it gave courage to the weaker, and emboldened them openly to declare their sentiments and join his party. Those who could neither vie with Gustavus Adolphus in importance, nor suffer from his ambition, expected the more from the magnanimity of their powerful ally, who enriched them with the spoils of their enemies and protected them against the oppression of their stronger neighbors. His strength covered their weakness, and, inconsiderable in themselves, they acquired weight and influence from their union with the Swedish hero. This was the case with most of the free cities, and particularly with the weaker Protestant states. It was these that introduced the king into the heart of Germany; these covered his rear, supplied his troops with necessaries, received them into their fortresses, while they exposed their own lives in his battles. His prudent regard to their national pride, his popular deportment, some brilliant acts of justice, and his respect for the laws, were so many ties by which he bound the German Protestants to his cause; while the crying atrocities of the Imperialists, the Spaniards, and the troops of Lorraine, powerfully contributed to set his own conduct and that of his army in a favorable light.

If Gustavus Adolphus owed his success chiefly to his own genius, at the same time, it must be owned, he was greatly favored by fortune and by circumstances. Two great advantages gave him a decided superiority over the enemy. While he removed the scene of war into the lands of the League, drew their youth as recruits, enriched himself with booty, and used the revenues of their fugitive princes as his own, he at once took from the enemy the means of effectual resistance and maintained an expensive war with little cost to himself. And, moreover, while his opponents, the princes of the League, divided among themselves, and governed by different and often conflicting interests, acted without unanimity, and therefore without energy; while their generals were deficient in authority, their troops in obedience, the operations of their scattered armies without concert; while the general was separated from the lawgiver and the statesman—these several functions were united in Gustavus Adolphus, the only source from which authority flowed, the sole object to which the eye of the warrior turned, the soul of his party, the inventor as well as the executor of his plans. In him, therefore, the Protestants had a centre of unity and harmony, which was altogether wanting to their opponents. No wonder, then, if favored by such advantages, at the head of such an army, with such a genius to direct it, and guided by such political prudence, Gustavus Adolphus was irresistible.

With the sword in one hand and mercy in the other, he traversed Germany as a conqueror, a lawgiver, and a judge, in as short a time almost as the tourist of pleasure. The keys of towns and fortresses were delivered to him, as if to the native sovereign. No fortress was inaccessible; no river checked his victorious career. He conquered by the very terror of his name. The Swedish standards were planted along the whole stream of the Main: the Lower Palatinate was free, the troops of Spain and Lorraine had fled across the Rhine and the Moselle. The Swedes and Hessians poured like a torrent into the territories of Mentz, of Wuertzburg, and Bamberg, and three fugitive bishops, at a distance from their sees, suffered dearly for their unfortunate attachment to the Emperor. It was now the turn for Maximilian, the leader of the League, to feel in his own dominions the miseries he had inflicted upon others. Neither the terrible fate of his allies, nor the peaceful overtures of Gustavus, who, in the midst of conquest, ever held out the hand of friendship, could conquer the obstinacy of this prince. The torrent of war now poured into Bavaria. Like the banks of the Rhine, those of the Lecke and the Donau were crowded with Swedish troops. Creeping into his fortresses, the defeated Elector abandoned to the ravages of the foe his dominions, hitherto unscathed by war, and on which the bigoted violence of the Bavarians seemed to invite retaliation. Munich itself opened its gates to the invincible monarch, and the fugitive Palatine, Frederick V., in the forsaken residence of his rival, consoled himself for a time for the loss of his dominions.