RUODI. What! and have I not, then, a life to lose, A wife and child at home as well as he? See, how the breakers foam, and toss, and whirl, And the lake eddies up from all its depths! Right gladly would I save the worthy man, But 'tis impossible, as you must see.

BAUMGARTEN (still kneeling). Then must I fall into the tyrant's hands, And with the port of safety close in sight! Yonder it lies! My eyes can measure it, My very voice can echo to its shores. There is the boat to carry me across, Yet must I lie here helpless and forlorn.

KUONI. Look! who comes here?

RUODI. 'Tis Tell, brave Tell, of Buerglen. [5]

[Enter TELL, with a crossbow.

TELL. Who is the man that here implores for aid?

KUONI. He is from Alzellen, and to guard his honor From touch of foulest shame, has slain the Wolfshot! The imperial seneschal, who dwelt at Rossberg. The viceroy's troopers are upon his heels; He begs the boatman here to take him over, But he, in terror of the storm, refuses.

RUODI. Well, there is Tell can steer as well as I. He'll be my judge, if it be possible.

[Violent peals of thunder—the lake becomes more tempestuous.

Am I to plunge into the jaws of hell? I should be mad to dare the desperate act.

TELL. The brave man thinks upon himself the last. Put trust in God, and help him in his need!

RUODI. Safe in the port, 'tis easy to advise. There is the boat, and there the lake! Try you!

TELL. The lake may pity, but the viceroy will not. Come, venture, man!

SHEPHERD and HUNTSMAN. Oh, save him! save him! save him!

RUODI. Though 'twere my brother, or my darling child, I would not go. It is St. Simon's day, The lake is up, and calling for its victim.

TELL. Naught's to be done with idle talking here. Time presses on—the man must be assisted. Say, boatman, will you venture?

RUODI. No; not I.

TELL. In God's name, then, give me the boat! I will With my poor strength, see what is to be done!

KUONI. Ha, noble Tell!

WERNI. That's like a gallant huntsman!

BAUMGARTEN. You are my angel, my preserver, Tell.

TELL. I may preserve you from the viceroy's power But from the tempest's rage another must. Yet you had better fall into God's hands, Than into those of men. [To the herdsman. Herdsman, do thou Console my wife, should aught of ill befall me. I do but what I may not leave undone.

[He leaps into the boat.

KUONI (to the fisherman). A pretty man to be a boatman, truly! What Tell could risk you dared not venture on.

RUODI. Far better men than I would not ape Tell. There does not live his fellow 'mong the mountains.

WERNI (who has ascended a rock). He pushes off. God help thee now, brave sailor! Look how his bark is reeling on the waves!

KUONI (on the shore). The surge has swept clean over it. And now 'Tis out of sight. Yet stay, there 'tis again Stoutly he stems the breakers, noble fellow!

SEPPI. Here come the troopers hard as they can ride!

KUONI. Heavens! so they do! Why, that was help, indeed.

[Enter a troop of horsemen.

FIRST HORSEMAN. Give up the murderer! You have him here!

SECOND HORSEMAN. This way he came! 'Tis useless to conceal him!

RUODI and KUONI. Whom do you mean?

FIRST HORSEMAN (discovering the boat). The devil! What do I see?

WERNI (from above). Is't he in yonder boat ye seek? Ride on, If you lay to, you may o'ertake him yet.

SECOND HORSEMAN. Curse on you, he's escaped!

FIRST HORSEMAN (to the shepherd and fisherman). You helped him off, And you shall pay for it. Fall on their herds! Down with the cottage! burn it! beat it down!

[They rush off.

SEPPI (hurrying after them). Oh, my poor lambs!

KUONI (following him). Unhappy me, my herds!

WERNI. The tyrants!

RUODI (wringing his hands). Righteous Heaven! Oh, when will come Deliverance to this devoted land?

[Exeunt severally.



SCENE II.

A lime-tree in front of STAUFFACHER'S house at Steinen, in Schwytz, upon the public road, near a bridge.

WERNER STAUFFACHER and PFEIFFER, of Lucerne, enter into conversation.

PFEIFFER. Ay, ay, friend Stauffacher, as I have said, Swear not to Austria, if you can help it. Hold by the empire stoutly as of yore, And God preserve you in your ancient freedom!

[Presses his hand warmly and is going.

STAUFFACHER. Wait till my mistress comes. Now do! You are My guest in Schwytz—I in Lucerne am yours.

PFEIFFER. Thanks! thanks! But I must reach Gersau to-day. Whatever grievances your rulers' pride And grasping avarice may yet inflict, Bear them in patience—soon a change may come. Another emperor may mount the throne. But Austria's once, and you are hers forever.

[Exit.

[STAUFEACHER sits down sorrowfully upon a bench under the lime tree. Gertrude, his wife, enters, and finds him in this posture. She places herself near him, and looks at him for some time in silence.

GERTRUDE. So sad, my love! I scarcely know thee now. For many a day in silence I have marked A moody sorrow furrowing thy brow. Some silent grief is weighing on thy heart; Trust it to me. I am thy faithful wife, And I demand my half of all thy cares.

[STAUFFACHER gives her his hand and is silent.

Tell me what can oppress thy spirits thus? Thy toil is blest—the world goes well with thee— Our barns are full—our cattle many a score; Our handsome team of sleek and well-fed steeds, Brought from the mountain pastures safely home, To winter in their comfortable stalls. There stands thy house—no nobleman's more fair! 'Tis newly built with timber of the best, All grooved and fitted with the nicest skill; Its many glistening windows tell of comfort! 'Tis quartered o'er with scutcheons of all hues, And proverbs sage, which passing travellers Linger to read, and ponder o'er their meaning.

STAUFFACHER. The house is strongly built, and handsomely, But, ah! the ground on which we built it totters.

GERTRUDE. Tell me, dear Werner, what you mean by that?

STAUFFACHER. No later since than yesterday, I sat Beneath this linden, thinking with delight, How fairly all was finished, when from Kuessnacht The viceroy and his men came riding by. Before this house he halted in surprise: At once I rose, and, as beseemed his rank, Advanced respectfully to greet the lord, To whom the emperor delegates his power, As judge supreme within our Canton here. "Who is the owner of this house?" he asked, With mischief in his thoughts, for well he knew. With prompt decision, thus I answered him: "The emperor, your grace—my lord and yours, And held by one in fief." On this he answered, "I am the emperor's viceregent here, And will not that each peasant churl should build At his own pleasure, bearing him as freely As though he were the master in the land. I shall make bold to put a stop to this!" So saying he, with menaces, rode off, And left me musing, with a heavy heart, On the fell purpose that his words betrayed.

GERTRUDE. Mine own dear lord and husband! Wilt thou take A word of honest counsel from thy wife? I boast to be the noble Iberg's child, A man of wide experience. Many a time, As we sat spinning in the winter nights, My sisters and myself, the people's chiefs Were wont to gather round our father's hearth, To read the old imperial charters, and To hold sage converse on the country's weal. Then heedfully I listened, marking well What or the wise men thought, or good man wished, And garnered up their wisdom in my heart. Hear then, and mark me well; for thou wilt see, I long have known the grief that weighs thee down. The viceroy hates thee, fain would injure thee, For thou hast crossed his wish to bend the Swiss In homage to this upstart house of princes, And kept them stanch, like their good sires of old, In true allegiance to the empire. Say. Is't not so, Werner? Tell nee, am I wrong?

STAUFFACHER. 'Tis even so. For this doth Gessler hate me.

GERTRUDE. He burns with envy, too, to see thee living Happy and free on thy inheritance, For he has none. From the emperor himself Thou holdest in fief the lands thy fathers left thee. There's not a prince in the empire that can show A better title to his heritage; For thou hast over thee no lord but one, And he the mightiest of all Christian kings. Gessler, we know, is but a younger son, His only wealth the knightly cloak he wears; He therefore views an honest man's good fortune With a malignant and a jealous eye. Long has he sworn to compass thy destruction As yet thou art uninjured. Wilt thou wait Till he may safely give his malice scope? A wise man would anticipate the blow.

STAUFFACHER. What's to be done?

GERTRUDE. Now hear what I advise. Thou knowest well, how here with us in Schwytz, All worthy men are groaning underneath This Gessler's grasping, grinding tyranny. Doubt not the men of Unterwald as well, And Uri, too, are chafing like ourselves, At this oppressive and heart-wearying yoke. For there, across the lake, the Landenberg Wields the same iron rule as Gessler here— No fishing-boat comes over to our side But brings the tidings of some new encroachment, Some outrage fresh, more grievous than the last. Then it were well that some of you—true men— Men sound at heart, should secretly devise How best to shake this hateful thraldom off. Well do I know that God would not desert you, But lend his favor to the righteous cause. Hast thou no friend in Uri, say, to whom Thou frankly may'st unbosom all thy thoughts?

STAUFFACHER. I know full many a gallant fellow there, And nobles, too,—great men, of high repute, In whom I can repose unbounded trust.

[Rising.

Wife! What a storm of wild and perilous thoughts Hast thou stirred up within my tranquil breast? The darkest musings of my bosom thou Hast dragged to light, and placed them full before me, And what I scarce dared harbor e'en in thought, Thou speakest plainly out, with fearless tongue. But hast thou weighed well what thou urgest thus? Discord will come, and the fierce clang of arms, To scare this valley's long unbroken peace, If we, a feeble shepherd race, shall dare Him to the fight that lords it o'er the world. Even now they only wait some fair pretext For setting loose their savage warrior hordes, To scourge and ravage this devoted land, To lord it o'er us with the victor's rights, And 'neath the show of lawful chastisement, Despoil us of our chartered liberties.

GERTRUDE. You, too, are men; can wield a battle-axe As well as they. God ne'er deserts the brave.

STAUFFACHER. Oh wife! a horrid, ruthless fiend is war, That strikes at once the shepherd and his flock.

GERTRUDE. Whate'er great heaven inflicts we must endure; No heart of noble temper brooks injustice.

STAUFFACHER. This house—thy pride—war, unrelenting war, Will burn it down.

GERTRUDE. And did I think this heart Enslaved and fettered to the things of earth, With my own hand I'd hurl the kindling torch.

STAUFFACHER. Thou hast faith in human kindness, wife; but war Spares not the tender infant in its cradle.

GERTRUDE. There is a friend to innocence in heaven Look forward, Werner—not behind you, now!

STAUFFACHER. We men may perish bravely, sword in hand; But oh, what fate, my Gertrude, may be thine?

GERTRUDE. None are so weak, but one last choice is left. A spring from yonder bridge, and I am free!

STAUFFACHER (embracing her). Well may he fight for hearth and home that clasps A heart so rare as thine against his own! What are the hosts of emperors to him! Gertrude, farewell! I will to Uri straight. There lives my worthy comrade, Walter Furst, His thoughts and mine upon these times are one. There, too, resides the noble Banneret Of Attinghaus. High though of blood he be, He loves the people, honors their old customs. With both of these I will take counsel how To rid us bravely of our country's foe. Farewell! and while I am away, bear thou A watchful eye in management at home. The pilgrim journeying to the house of God, And pious monk, collecting for his cloister, To these give liberally from purse and garner. Stauffacher's house would not be hid. Right out Upon the public way it stands, and offers To all that pass an hospitable roof.

[While they are retiring, TELL enters with BAUMGARTEN.

TELL. Now, then, you have no further need of me. Enter yon house. 'Tis Werner Stauffacher's, A man that is a father to distress. See, there he is himself! Come, follow me.

[They retire up. Scene changes.



SCENE III.

A common near Altdorf. On an eminence in the background a castle in progress of erection, and so far advanced that the outline of the whole may be distinguished. The back part is finished; men are working at the front. Scaffolding, on which the workmen are going up and down. A slater is seen upon the highest part of the roof.— All is bustle and activity.

TASKMASTER, MASON, WORKMEN, and LABORERS.

TASKMASTER (with a stick, urging on the workmen). Up, up! You've rested long enough. To work! The stones here, now the mortar, and the lime! And let his lordship see the work advanced When next he comes. These fellows crawl like snails!

[To two laborers with loads.

What! call ye that a load? Go, double it. Is this the way ye earn your wages, laggards?

FIRST WORKMAN. 'Tis very hard that we must bear the stones, To make a keep and dungeon for ourselves!

TASKMASTER. What's that you mutter? 'Tis a worthless race, And fit for nothing but to milk their cows, And saunter idly up and down the mountains.

OLD MAN (sinks down exhausted). I can no more.

TASKMASTER (shaking him). Up, up, old man, to work!

FIRST WORKMAN. Have you no bowels of compassion, thus To press so hard upon a poor old man, That scarce can drag his feeble limbs along?

MASTER MASON and WORKMEN. Shame, shame upon you—shame! It cries to heaven!

TASKMASTER. Mind your own business. I but do my duty.

FIRST WORKMAN. Pray, master, what's to be the name of this Same castle when 'tis built?

TASKMASTER. The keep of Uri; For by it we shall keep you in subjection.

WORKMEN. The keep of Uri.

TASKMASTER. Well, why laugh at that?

SECOND WORKMAN. So you'll keep Uri with this paltry place!

FIRST WORKMAN. How many molehills such as that must first Be piled above each other ere you make A mountain equal to the least in Uri?

[TASKMASTER retires up the stage.

MASTER MASON. I'll drown the mallet in the deepest lake, That served my hand on this accursed pile.

[Enter TELL and STAUFFACHER.

STAUFFACHER. Oh, that I had not lived to see this sight!

TELL. Here 'tis not good to be. Let us proceed.

STAUFFACHER. Am I in Uri, in the land of freedom?

MASTER MASON. Oh, sir, if you could only see the vaults Beneath these towers. The man that tenants them Will never hear the cock crow more.

STAUFFACHER. O God!

MASTER MASON. Look at these ramparts and these buttresses, That seem as they were built to last forever.

TELL. Hands can destroy whatever hands have reared.

[Pointing to the mountains.

That house of freedom God hath built for us.

[A drum is heard. People enter bearing a cap upon a pole, followed by a crier. Women and children thronging tumultuously after them.

FIRST WORKMAN. What means the drum? Give heed!

MASTER MASON. Why here's a mumming! And look, the cap,—what can they mean by that?

CRIER. In the emperor's name, give ear!

WORKMEN. Hush! silence! hush!

CRIER. Ye men of Uri, ye do see this cap! It will be set upon a lofty pole In Altdorf, in the market-place: and this Is the lord governor's good will and pleasure, The cap shall have like honor as himself, And all shall reverence it with bended knee, And head uncovered; thus the king will know Who are his true and loyal subjects here: His life and goods are forfeit to the crown, That shall refuse obedience to the order.

[The people burst out into laughter. The drum beats, and the procession passes on.

FIRST WORKMAN. A strange device to fall upon, indeed! Do reverence to a cap! a pretty farce! Heard ever mortal anything like this?

MASTER MASON. Down to a cap on bended knee, forsooth! Rare jesting this with men of sober sense!

FIRST WORKMAN. Nay, were it but the imperial crown, indeed! But 'tis the cap of Austria! I've seen it Hanging above the throne in Gessler's hall.

MASTER MASON. The cap of Austria! Mark that! A snare To get us into Austria's power, by heaven!

WORKMEN. No freeborn man will stoop to such disgrace.

MASTER MASON. Come—to our comrades, and advise with them!

[They retire up.

TELL (to STAUFFACHER). You see how matters stand: Farewell, my friend!

STAUFFACHER. Whither away? Oh, leave us not so soon.

TELL. They look for me at home. So fare ye well.

STAUFFACHER. My heart's so full, and has so much to tell you.

TELL. Words will not make a heart that's heavy light.

STAUFFACHER. Yet words may possibly conduct to deeds.

TELL. All we can do is to endure in silence.

STAUFFACHER. But shall we bear what is not to be borne?

TELL. Impetuous rulers have the shortest reigns. When the fierce south wind rises from his chasms, Men cover up their fires, the ships in haste Make for the harbor, and the mighty spirit Sweeps o'er the earth, and leaves no trace behind. Let every man live quietly at home; Peace to the peaceful rarely is denied.

STAUFFACHER. And is it thus you view our grievances?

TELL. The serpent stings not till it is provoked. Let them alone; they'll weary of themselves, Whene'er they see we are not to be roused.

STAUFFACHER. Much might be done—did we stand fast together.

TELL. When the ship founders, he will best escape Who seeks no other's safety but his own.

STAUFFACHER. And you desert the common cause so coldly?

TELL. A man can safely count but on himself!

STAUFFACHER. Nay, even the weak grow strong by union.

TELL. But the strong man is the strongest when alone.

STAUFFACHER. Your country, then, cannot rely on you If in despair she rise against her foes.

TELL. Tell rescues the lost sheep from yawning gulfs: Is he a man, then, to desert his friends? Yet, whatsoe'er you do, spare me from council! I was not born to ponder and select; But when your course of action is resolved, Then call on Tell; you shall not find him fail.

[Exeunt severally. A sudden tumult is heard around the scaffolding.

MASTER MASON (running in). What's wrong?

FIRST WORKMAN (running forward). The slater's fallen from the roof.

BERTHA (rushing in). Is he dashed to pieces? Run—save him, help! If help be possible, save him! Here is gold.

[Throws her trinkets among the people.

MASTER MASON. Hence with your gold,—your universal charm, And remedy for ill! When you have torn Fathers from children, husbands from their wives, And scattered woe and wail throughout the land, You think with gold to compensate for all. Hence! Till we saw you we were happy men; With you came misery and dark despair.

BERTHA (to the TASKMASTER, who has returned). Lives he? [TASKMASTER shakes his head. Ill-fated towers, with curses built, And doomed with curses to be tenanted!

[Exit.



SCENE IV.

The House of WALTER FURST. WALTER FURST and ARNOLD VON MELCHTHAL enter simultaneously at different sides.

MELCHTHAL. Good Walter Furst.

FURST. If we should be surprised! Stay where you are. We are beset with spies.

MELCHTHAL. Have you no news for me from Unterwald? What of my father? 'Tis not to be borne, Thus to be pent up like a felon here! What have I done of such a heinous stamp, To skulk and hide me like a murderer? I only laid my staff across the fingers Of the pert varlet, when before my eyes, By order of the governor, he tried To drive away my handsome team of oxen.

FURST. You are too rash by far. He did no more Than what the governor had ordered him. You had transgressed, and therefore should have paid The penalty, however hard, in silence.

MELCHTHAL. Was I to brook the fellow's saucy words? "That if the peasant must have bread to eat; Why, let him go and draw the plough himself!" It cut me to the very soul to see My oxen, noble creatures, when the knave Unyoked them from the plough. As though they felt The wrong, they lowed and butted with their horns. On this I could contain myself no longer, And, overcome by passion, struck him down.

FURST. Oh, we old men can scarce command ourselves! And can we wonder youth shall break its bounds?

MELCHTHAL. I'm only sorry for my father's sake! To be away from him, that needs so much My fostering care! The governor detests him, Because he hath, whene'er occasion served, Stood stoutly up for right and liberty. Therefore they'll bear him hard—the poor old man! And there is none to shield him from their gripe. Come what come may, I must go home again.

FURST. Compose yourself, and wait in patience till We get some tidings o'er from Unterwald. Away! away! I hear a knock! Perhaps A message from the viceroy! Get thee in! You are not safe from Landenberger's [6] arm In Uri, for these tyrants pull together.

MELCHTHAL. They teach us Switzers what we ought to do.

FURST. Away! I'll call you when the coast is clear.

[MELCHTHAL retires.

Unhappy youth! I dare not tell him all The evil that my boding heart predicts! Who's there? The door ne'er opens but I look For tidings of mishap. Suspicion lurks With darkling treachery in every nook. Even to our inmost rooms they force their way, These myrmidons of power; and soon we'll need To fasten bolts and bars upon our doors.

[He opens the door and steps back in surprise as WERNER STAUFFACHER enters.

What do I see? You, Werner? Now, by Heaven! A valued guest, indeed. No man e'er set His foot across this threshold more esteemed. Welcome! thrice welcome, Werner, to my roof! What brings you here? What seek you here in Uri?

STAUFFACHER (shakes FURST by the hand). The olden times and olden Switzerland.

FURST. You bring them with you. See how I'm rejoiced, My heart leaps at the very sight of you. Sit down—sit down, and tell me how you left Your charming wife, fair Gertrude? Iberg's child, And clever as her father. Not a man, That wends from Germany, by Meinrad's Cell, [7] To Italy, but praises far and wide Your house's hospitality. But say, Have you come here direct from Flueelen, And have you noticed nothing on your way, Before you halted at my door?

STAUFFACHER (sits down). I saw A work in progress, as I came along, I little thought to see—that likes me ill.

FURST. O friend! you've lighted on my thought at once.

STAUFFACHER. Such things in Uri ne'er were known before. Never was prison here in man's remembrance, Nor ever any stronghold but the grave.

FURST. You name it well. It is the grave of freedom.

STAUFFACHER. Friend, Walter Furst, I will be plain with you. No idle curiosity it is That brings me here, but heavy cares. I left Thraldom at home, and thraldom meets me here. Our wrongs, e'en now, are more than we can bear. And who shall tell us where they are to end? From eldest time the Switzer has been free, Accustomed only to the mildest rule. Such things as now we suffer ne'er were known Since herdsmen first drove cattle to the hills.

FURST. Yes, our oppressions are unparalleled! Why, even our own good lord of Attinghaus, Who lived in olden times, himself declares They are no longer to be tamely borne.

STAUFFACHER. In Unterwalden yonder 'tis the same; And bloody has the retribution been. The imperial seneschal, the Wolfshot, who At Rossberg dwelt, longed for forbidden fruits— Baumgarten's wife, that lives at Alzellen, He wished to overcome in shameful sort, On which the husband slew him with his axe.

FURST. Oh, Heaven is just in all its judgments still! Baumgarten, say you? A most worthy man. Has he escaped, and is he safely hid?

STAUFFACHER. Your son-in-law conveyed him o'er the lake, And he lies hidden in my house at Steinen. He brought the tidings with him of a thing That has been done at Sarnen, worse than all, A thing to make the very heart run blood!

FURST (attentively). Say on. What is it?

STAUFFACHER. There dwells in Melchthal, then, Just as you enter by the road from Kearns, An upright man, named Henry of the Halden, A man of weight and influence in the Diet.

FURST. Who knows him not? But what of him? Proceed.

STAUFFACHER. The Landenberg, to punish some offence, Committed by the old man's son, it seems, Had given command to take the youth's best pair Of oxen from his plough: on which the lad Struck down the messenger and took to flight.

FURST. But the old father—tell me, what of him?

STAUFFACHER. The Landenberg sent for him, and required He should produce his son upon the spot; And when the old man protested, and with truth, That he knew nothing of the fugitive, The tyrant called his torturers.

FURST (springs up and tries to lead him to the other side). Hush, no more!

STAUFFACHER (with increasing warmth). "And though thy son," he cried, "Has escaped me now, I have thee fast, and thou shalt feel my vengeance." With that they flung the old man to the earth, And plunged the pointed steel into his eyes.

FURST. Merciful heavens!

MELCHTHAL (rushing out). Into his eyes, his eyes?

STAUFFACHER (addresses himself in astonishment to WALTER FURST). Who is this youth?

MELCHTHAL (grasping him convulsively). Into his eyes? Speak, speak!

FURST. Oh, miserable hour!

STAUFFACHER. Who is it, tell me?

[STAUFFACHER makes a sign to him.

It is his son! All righteous heaven!

MELCHTHAL. And I Must be from thence! What! into both his eyes?

FURST. Be calm, be calm; and bear it like a man!

MELCHTHAL. And all for me—for my mad wilful folly! Blind, did you say? Quite blind—and both his eyes?

STAUFFACHER. Even so. The fountain of his sight's dried up. He ne'er will see the blessed sunshine more.

FURST. Oh, spare his anguish!

MELCHTHAL. Never, never more!

[Presses his hands upon his eyes and is silent for some moments; then turning from one to the other, speaks in a subdued tone, broken by sobs.

O the eye's light, of all the gifts of heaven, The dearest, best! From light all beings live— Each fair created thing—the very plants Turn with a joyful transport to the light, And he—he must drag on through all his days In endless darkness! Never more for him The sunny meads shall glow, the flowerets bloom; Nor shall he more behold the roseate tints Of the iced mountain top! To die is nothing, But to have life, and not have sight—oh, that Is misery indeed! Why do you look So piteously at me? I have two eyes, Yet to my poor blind father can give neither! No, not one gleam of that great sea of light, That with its dazzling splendor floods my gaze.

STAUFFACHER. Ah, I must swell the measure of your grief, Instead of soothing it. The worst, alas! Remains to tell. They've stripped him of his all; Naught have they left him, save his staff, on which, Blind and in rags, he moves from door to door.

MELCHTHAL. Naught but his staff to the old eyeless man! Stripped of his all—even of the light of day, The common blessing of the meanest wretch. Tell me no more of patience, of concealment! Oh, what a base and coward thing am I, That on mine own security I thought And took no care of thine! Thy precious head Left as a pledge within the tyrant's grasp! Hence, craven-hearted prudence, hence! And all My thoughts be vengeance, and the despot's blood! I'll seek him straight—no power shall stay me now— And at his hands demand my father's eyes. I'll beard him 'mid a thousand myrmidons! What's life to me, if in his heart's best blood I cool the fever of this mighty anguish.

[He is going.

FURST. Stay, this is madness, Melchthal! What avails Your single arm against his power? He sits At Sarnen high within his lordly keep, And, safe within its battlemented walls, May laugh to scorn your unavailing rage.

MELCHTHAL. And though he sat within the icy domes Of yon far Schreckhorn—ay, or higher, where Veiled since eternity, the Jungfrau soars, Still to the tyrant would I make my way; With twenty comrades minded like myself, I'd lay his fastness level with the earth! And if none follow me, and if you all, In terror for your homesteads and your herds, Bow in submission to the tyrant's yoke, I'll call the herdsmen on the hills around me, And there beneath heaven's free and boundless roof, Where men still feel as men, and hearts are true Proclaim aloud this foul enormity!

STAUFFACHER (to FURST). 'Tis at its height—and are we then to wait Till some extremity——

MELCHTHAL. What extremity Remains for apprehension, where men's eyes Have ceased to be secure within their sockets? Are we defenceless? Wherefore did we learn To bend the crossbow—wield the battle-axe? What living creature, but in its despair, Finds for itself a weapon of defence? The baited stag will turn, and with the show Of his dread antlers hold the hounds at bay; The chamois drags the huntsman down the abyss; The very ox, the partner of man's toil, The sharer of his roof, that meekly bends The strength of his huge neck beneath the yoke, Springs up, if he's provoked, whets his strong horn, And tosses his tormenter to the clouds.

FURST. If the three Cantons thought as we three do, Something might, then, be done, with good effect.

STAUFFACHER. When Uri calls, when Unterwald replies, Schwytz will be mindful of her ancient league. [8]

MELCHTHAL. I've many friends in Unterwald, and none That would not gladly venture life and limb If fairly backed and aided by the rest. Oh, sage and reverend fathers of this land, Here do I stand before your riper years, An unskilled youth whose voice must in the Diet Still be subdued into respectful silence. Do not, because that I am young and want Experience, slight my counsel and my words. 'Tis not the wantonness of youthful blood That fires my spirit; but a pang so deep That even the flinty rocks must pity me. You, too, are fathers, heads of families, And you must wish to have a virtuous son To reverence your gray hairs and shield your eyes With pious and affectionate regard. Do not, I pray, because in limb and fortune You still are unassailed, and still your eyes Revolve undimmed and sparkling in their spheres; Oh, do not, therefore, disregard our wrongs! Above you, too, doth hang the tyrant's sword. You, too, have striven to alienate the land From Austria. This was all my father's crime: You share his guilt and may his punishment.

STAUFFACHER (to FURST). Do then resolve! I am prepared to follow.

FURST. First let us learn what steps the noble lords Von Sillinen and Attinghaus propose. Their names would rally thousands in the cause.

MELCHTHAL. Is there a name within the Forest Mountains That carries more respect than thine—and thine? To names like these the people cling for help With confidence—such names are household words. Rich was your heritage of manly virtue, And richly have you added to its stores. What need of nobles? Let us do the work Ourselves. Although we stood alone, methinks We should be able to maintain our rights.

STAUFFACHER. The nobles' wrongs are not so great as ours. The torrent that lays waste the lower grounds Hath not ascended to the uplands yet. But let them see the country once in arms They'll not refuse to lend a helping hand.

FURST. Were there an umpire 'twixt ourselves and Austria, Justice and law might then decide our quarrel. But our oppressor is our emperor, too, And judge supreme. 'Tis God must help us, then, And our own arm! Be yours the task to rouse The men of Schwytz; I'll rally friends in Uri. But whom are we to send to Unterwald?

MELCHTHAL. Thither send me. Whom should it more concern?

FURST. No, Melchthal, no; thou art my guest, and I Must answer for thy safety.

MELCHTHAL. Let me go. I know each forest track and mountain pass; Friends too I'll find, be sure, on every hand, To give me willing shelter from the foe.

STAUFFACHER. Nay, let him go; no traitors harbor there: For tyranny is so abhorred in Unterwald No minions can be found to work her will. In the low valleys, too, the Alzeller Will gain confederates and rouse the country.

MELCHTHAL. But how shall we communicate, and not Awaken the suspicion of the tyrants?

STAUFFACHER. Might we not meet at Brunnen or at Treib, Hard by the spot where merchant-vessels land?

FURST. We must not go so openly to work. Hear my opinion. On the lake's left bank, As we sail hence to Brunnen, right against The Mytenstein, deep-hidden in the wood A meadow lies, by shepherds called the Rootli, Because the wood has been uprooted there. 'Tis where our Canton boundaries verge on yours;—

[To MELCHTHAL.

Your boat will carry you across from Schwytz.

[To STAUFFACHER.

Thither by lonely by-paths let us wend At midnight and deliberate o'er our plans. Let each bring with him there ten trusty men, All one at heart with us; and then we may Consult together for the general weal, And, with God's guidance, fix our onward course.

STAUFFACHER. So let it be. And now your true right hand! Yours, too, young man! and as we now three men Among ourselves thus knit our hands together In all sincerity and truth, e'en so Shall we three Cantons, too, together stand In victory and defeat, in life and death.

FURST and MELCHTHAL. In life and death.

[They hold their hands clasped together for some moments in silence.

MELCHTHAL. Alas, my old blind father! Thou canst no more behold the day of freedom; But thou shalt hear it. When from Alp to Alp The beacon-fires throw up their flaming signs, And the proud castles of the tyrants fall, Into thy cottage shall the Switzer burst, Bear the glad tidings to thine ear, and o'er Thy darkened way shall Freedom's radiance pour.



ACT II.

SCENE I.

The Mansion of the BARON OF ATTINGHAUSEN. A Gothic hall, decorated with escutcheons and helmets. The BARON, a gray-headed man, eighty-five years old, tall, and of a commanding mien, clad in a furred pelisse, and leaning on a staff tipped with chamois horn. KUONI and six hinds standing round him, with rakes and scythes. ULRICH OF RUDENZ enters in the costume of a knight.

RUDENZ. Uncle, I'm here! Your will?

ATTINGHAUSEN. First let me share, After the ancient custom of our house, The morning-cup with these my faithful servants!

[He drinks from a cup, which is then passed round.

Time was I stood myself in field and wood, With mine own eyes directing all their toil, Even as my banner led them in the fight, Now I am only fit to play the steward; And, if the genial sun come not to me, I can no longer seek it on the mountains. Thus slowly, in an ever-narrowing sphere, I move on to the narrowest and the last, Where all life's pulses cease. I now am but The shadow of my former self, and that Is fading fast—'twill soon be but a name.

KUONI (offering RUDENZ the cup). A pledge, young master! [RUDENZ hesitates to take the cup. Nay, sir, drink it off! One cup, one heart! You know our proverb, sir!

ATTINGHAUSEN. Go, children, and at eve, when work is done, We'll meet and talk the country's business over.

[Exeunt Servants.

Belted and plumed, and all thy bravery on! Thou art for Altdorf—for the castle, boy?

RUDENZ. Yes, uncle. Longer may I not delay——

ATTINGHAUSEN (sitting down). Why in such haste? Say, are thy youthful hours Doled in such niggard measure that thou must Be chary of then to thy aged uncle?

RUDENZ. I see, my presence is not needed here, I am but as a stranger in this house.

ATTINGHAUSEN (gazes fixedly at him for a considerable time). Alas, thou art indeed! Alas, that home To thee has grown so strange! Oh, Uly! Uly! I scarce do know thee now, thus decked in silks, The peacock's feather [9] flaunting in thy cap, And purple mantle round thy shoulders flung; Thou lookest upon the peasant with disdain, And takest with a blush his honest greeting.

RUDENZ. All honor due to him I gladly pay, But must deny the right he would usurp.

ATTINGHAUSEN. The sore displeasure of the king is resting Upon the land, and every true man's heart Is full of sadness for the grievous wrongs We suffer from our tyrants. Thou alone Art all unmoved amid the general grief. Abandoning thy friends, thou takest thy stand Beside thy country's foes, and, as in scorn Of our distress, pursuest giddy joys, Courting the smiles of princes, all the while Thy country bleeds beneath their cruel scourge.

RUDENZ. The land is sore oppressed; I know it, uncle. But why? Who plunged it into this distress? A word, one little easy word, might buy Instant deliverance from such dire oppression, And win the good-will of the emperor. Woe unto those who seal the people's eyes, And make them adverse to their country's good; The men who, for their own vile, selfish ends, Are seeking to prevent the Forest States From swearing fealty to Austria's house, As all the countries round about have done. It fits their humor well, to take their seats Amid the nobles on the Herrenbank; [10] They'll have the Caesar for their lord, forsooth, That is to say, they'll have no lord at all.

ATTINGHAUSEN. Must I hear this, and from thy lips, rash boy!

RUDENZ. You urged me to this answer. Hear me out. What, uncle, is the character you've stooped To fill contentedly through life? Have you No higher pride, than in these lonely wilds To be the Landamman or Banneret, [11] The petty chieftain of a shepherd race? How! Were it not a far more glorious choice To bend in homage to our royal lord, And swell the princely splendors of his court, Than sit at home, the peer of your own vassals, And share the judgment-seat with vulgar clowns?

ATTINGHAUSEN. Ah, Uly, Uly; all too well I see, The tempter's voice has caught thy willing ear, And poured its subtle poison in thy heart.

RUDENZ. Yes, I conceal it not. It doth offend My inmost soul to hear the stranger's gibes, That taunt us with the name of "Peasant Nobles." Think you the heart that's stirring here can brook, While all the young nobility around Are reaping honor under Hapsburg's banner, That I should loiter, in inglorious ease, Here on the heritage my fathers left, And, in the dull routine of vulgar toil, Lose all life's glorious spring? In other lands Deeds are achieved. A world of fair renown Beyond these mountains stirs in martial pomp. My helm and shield are rusting in the hall; The martial trumpet's spirit-stirring blast, The herald's call, inviting to the lists, Rouse not the echoes of these vales, where naught Save cowherd's horn and cattle-bell is heard, In one unvarying, dull monotony.

ATTINGHAUSEN. Deluded boy, seduced by empty show! Despise the land that gave thee birth! Ashamed Of the good ancient customs of thy sires! The day will come, when thou, with burning tears, Wilt long for home, and for thy native hills, And that dear melody of tuneful herds, Which now, in proud disgust, thou dost despise! A day when thou wilt drink its tones in sadness, Hearing their music in a foreign land. Oh! potent is the spell that binds to home! No, no, the cold, false world is not for thee. At the proud court, with thy true heart thou wilt Forever feel a stranger among strangers. The world asks virtues of far other stamp Than thou hast learned within these simple vales. But go—go thither; barter thy free soul, Take land in fief, become a prince's vassal, Where thou might'st be lord paramount, and prince Of all thine own unburdened heritage! O, Uly, Uly, stay among thy people! Go not to Altdorf. Oh, abandon not The sacred cause of thy wronged native land! I am the last of all my race. My name Ends with me. Yonder hang my helm and shield; They will be buried with me in the grave. [12] And must I think, when yielding up my breath, That thou but wait'st the closing of mine eyes, To stoop thy knee to this new feudal court, And take in vassalage from Austria's hands The noble lands, which I from God received Free and unfettered as the mountain air!

RUDENZ. 'Tis vain for us to strive against the king. The world pertains to him:—shall we alone, In mad, presumptuous obstinacy strive To break that mighty chain of lands, which he Hath drawn around us with his giant grasp. His are the markets, his the courts; his too The highways; nay, the very carrier's horse, That traffics on the Gotthardt, pays him toll. By his dominions, as within a net, We are enclosed, and girded round about. —And will the empire shield us? Say, can it Protect itself 'gainst Austria's growing power? To God, and not to emperors, must we look! What store can on their promises be placed, When they, to meet their own necessities, Can pawn, and even alienate the towns That flee for shelter 'neath the eagle's wings? [13] No, uncle. It is wise and wholesome prudence, In times like these, when faction's all abroad, To own attachment to some mighty chief. The imperial crown's transferred from line to line, [14] It has no memory for faithful service: But to secure the favor of these great Hereditary masters, were to sow Seed for a future harvest.

ATTINGHAUSEN. Art so wise? Wilt thou see clearer than thy noble sires, Who battled for fair freedom's costly gem, With life, and fortune, and heroic arm? Sail down the lake to Lucerne, there inquire, How Austria's rule doth weigh the Cantons down. Soon she will come to count our sheep, our cattle, To portion out the Alps, e'en to their summits, And in our own free woods to hinder us From striking down the eagle or the stag; To set her tolls on every bridge and gate, Impoverish us to swell her lust of sway, And drain our dearest blood to feed her wars. No, if our blood must flow, let it be shed In our own cause! We purchase liberty More cheaply far than bondage.

RUDENZ. What can we, A shepherd race, against great Albert's hosts?

ATTINGHAUSEN. Learn, foolish boy, to know this shepherd race! I know them, I have led them on in fight— I saw them in the battle at Favenz. Austria will try, forsooth, to force on us A yoke we are determined not to bear! Oh, learn to feel from what a race thou'rt sprung! Cast not, for tinsel trash and idle show, The precious jewel of thy worth away. To be the chieftain of a freeborn race, Bound to thee only by their unbought love, Ready to stand—to fight—to die with thee, Be that thy pride, be that thy noblest boast! Knit to thy heart the ties of kindred—home— Cling to the land, the dear land of thy sires, Grapple to that with thy whole heart and soul! Thy power is rooted deep and strongly here, But in yon stranger world thou'lt stand alone, A trembling reed beat down by every blast. Oh come! 'tis long since we have seen thee, Uly! Tarry but this one day. Only to-day Go not to Altdorf. Wilt thou? Not to-day! For this one day bestow thee on thy friends.

[Takes his hand.

RUDENZ. I gave my word. Unhand me! I am bound.

ATTINGHAUSEN (drops his hand and says sternly). Bound, didst thou say? Oh yes, unhappy boy, Thou art, indeed. But not by word or oath. 'Tis by the silken mesh of love thou'rt bound.

[RUDENZ turns away.

Ay, hide thee, as thou wilt. 'Tis she, I know, Bertha of Bruneck, draws thee to the court; 'Tis she that chains thee to the emperor's service. Thou think'st to win the noble, knightly maid, By thy apostacy. Be not deceived. She is held out before thee as a lure; But never meant for innocence like thine.

RUDENZ. No more; I've heard enough. So fare you well.

[Exit.

ATTINGHAUSEN. Stay, Uly! Stay! Rash boy, he's gone! I can Nor hold him back, nor save him from destruction. And so the Wolfshot has deserted us;— Others will follow his example soon. This foreign witchery, sweeping o'er our hills, Tears with its potent spell our youth away: O luckless hour, when men and manners strange Into these calm and happy valleys came, To warp our primitive and guileless ways. The new is pressing on with might. The old, The good, the simple, fleeteth fast away. New times come on. A race is springing up, That think not as their fathers thought before! What do I here? All, all are in the grave With whom ere while I moved and held converse; My age has long been laid beneath the sod: Happy the man who may not live to see What shall be done by those that follow me!



SCENE II.

A meadow surrounded by high rocks and wooded ground. On the rocks are tracks, with rails and ladders, by which the peasants are afterwards seen descending. In the background the lake is observed, and over it a moon rainbow in the early part of the scene. The prospect is closed by lofty mountains, with glaciers rising behind them. The stage is dark, but the lake and glaciers glisten in the moonlight.

MELCHTHAL, BAUMGARTEN, WINKELRIED, MEYER VON SARNEN, BURKHART AM BUHEL, ARNOLD VON SEWA, KLAUS VON DER FLUE, and four other peasants, all armed.

MELCHTHAL (behind the scenes). The mountain pass is open. Follow me I see the rock, and little cross upon it: This is the spot; here is the Rootli.

[They enter with torches.

WINKELRIED. Hark!

SEWA. The coast is clear.

MEYER. None of our comrades come? We are the first, we Unterwaldeners.

MELCHTHAL. How far is't in the night?

BAUMGARTEN. The beacon watch Upon the Selisberg has just called two.

[A bell is heard at a distance.

MEYER. Hush! Hark!

BUHEL. The forest chapel's matin bell Chimes clearly o'er the lake from Switzerland.

FLUE. The air is clear, and bears the sound so far.

MELCHTHAL. Go, you and you, and light some broken boughs, Let's bid them welcome with a cheerful blaze.

[Two peasants exeunt.

SEWA. The moon shines fair to-night. Beneath its beams The lake reposes, bright as burnished steel.

BUHEL. They'll have an easy passage.

WINKELRIED (pointing to the lake). Ha! look there! See you nothing?

MEYER. What is it? Ay, indeed! A rainbow in the middle of the night.

MELCHTHAL. Formed by the bright reflection of the moon!

FLUE. A sign most strange and wonderful, indeed! Many there be who ne'er have seen the like.

SEWA. 'Tis doubled, see, a paler one above!

BAUMGARTEN. A boat is gliding yonder right beneath it.

MELCHTHAL. That must be Werner Stauffacher! I knew The worthy patriot would not tarry long.

[Goes with BAUMGARTEN towards the shore.

MEYER. The Uri men are like to be the last.

BUHEL. They're forced to take a winding circuit through The mountains; for the viceroy's spies are out.

[In the meanwhile the two peasants have kindled a fire in the centre of the stage.

MELCHTHAL (on the shore). Who's there? The word?

STAUFFACHER (from below). Friends of the country.

[All retire up the stage, towards the party landing from the boat. Enter STAUFFACHER, ITEL, REDING, HANS AUF DER MAUER, JORG IM HOPE, CONRAD HUNN, ULRICH DER SCHMIDT, JOST VON WEILER, and three other peasants, armed.

ALL. Welcome!

[While the rest remain behind exchanging greetings, MELCHTHAL comes forward with STAUFFACHER.

MELCHTHAL. Oh, worthy Stauffacher, I've looked but now On him, who could not look on me again. I've laid my hands upon his rayless eyes, And on their vacant orbits sworn a vow Of vengeance, only to be cooled in blood.

STAUFFACHER. Speak not of vengeance. We are here to meet The threatened evil, not to avenge the past. Now tell me what you've done, and what secured, To aid the common cause in Unterwald. How stands the peasantry disposed, and how Yourself escaped the wiles of treachery?

MELCHTHAL. Through the Surenen's fearful mountain chain, Where dreary ice-fields stretch on every side, And sound is none, save the hoarse vulture's cry, I reached the Alpine pasture, where the herds From Uri and from Engelberg resort, And turn their cattle forth to graze in common. Still as I went along, I slaked my thirst With the coarse oozings of the lofty glacier, That through the crevices come foaming down, And turned to rest me in the herdsman's cots, [15] Where I was host and guest, until I gained The cheerful homes and social haunts of men. Already through these distant vales had spread The rumor of this last atrocity; And wheresoe'er I went, at every door, Kind words and gentle looks were there to greet me. I found these simple spirits all in arms Against our rulers' tyrannous encroachments. For as their Alps through each succeeding year Yield the same roots,—their streams flow ever on In the same channels,—nay, the clouds and winds The selfsame course unalterably pursue, So have old customs there, from sire to son, Been handed down, unchanging and unchanged; Nor will they brook to swerve or turn aside From the fixed, even tenor of their life. With grasp of their hard hands they welcomed me— Took from the walls their rusty falchions down— And from their eyes the soul of valor flashed With joyful lustre, as I spoke those names, Sacred to every peasant in the mountains, Your own and Walter Fuerst's. Whate'er your voice Should dictate as the right they swore to do; And you they swore to follow e'en to death. So sped I on from house to house, secure In the guest's sacred privilege—and when I reached at last the valley of my home, Where dwell my kinsmen, scattered far and near— And when I found my father stripped and blind, Upon the stranger's straw, fed by the alms Of charity——

STAUFFACHER. Great heaven!

MELCHTHAL. Yet wept I not! No—not in weak and unavailing tears Spent I the force of my fierce, burning anguish; Deep in my bosom, like some precious treasure, I locked it fast, and thought on deeds alone. Through every winding of the hills I crept— No valley so remote but I explored it; Nay, even at the glacier's ice-clad base, I sought and found the homes of living men; And still, where'er my wandering footsteps turned, The self-same hatred of these tyrants met me. For even there, at vegetation's verge, Where the numbed earth is barren of all fruits, There grasping hands had been stretched forth for plunder. Into the hearts of all this honest race, The story of my wrongs struck deep, and now They to a man are ours; both heart and hand. Great things, indeed, you've wrought in little time.

MELCHTHAL. I did still more than this. The fortresses, Rossberg and Sarnen, are the country's dread; For from behind their rocky walls the foe Swoops, as the eagle from his eyrie, down, And, safe himself, spreads havoc o'er the land. With my own eyes I wished to weigh its strength, So went to Sarnen, and explored the castle.

STAUFFACHER. How! Risk thyself even in the tiger's den?

MELCHTHAL. Disguised in pilgrim's weeds I entered it; I saw the viceroy feasting at his board— Judge if I'm master of myself or no! I saw the tyrant, and I slew him not!

STAUFFACHER. Fortune, indeed, has smiled upon your boldness.

[Meanwhile the others have arrived and join MELCHTHAL and STAUFFACHER.

Yet tell me now, I pray, who are the friends, The worthy men, who came along with you? Make me acquainted with them, that we may Speak frankly, man to man, and heart to heart.

MEYER. In the three Cantons, who, sir, knows not you? Meyer of Sarnen is my name; and this Is Struth of Winkelried, my sister's son.

STAUFFACHER. No unknown name. A Winkelried it was Who slew the dragoon in the fen at Weiler, And lost his life in the encounter, too.

WINKELRIED. That, Master Stauffacher, was my grandfather.

MELCHTHAL (pointing to two peasants). These two are men belonging to the convent Of Engelberg, and live behind the forest. You'll not think ill of them, because they're serfs, And sit not free upon the soil, like us. They love the land, and bear a good repute.

STAUFFACHER (to them). Give me your hands. He has good cause for thanks, That unto no man owes his body's service. But worth is worth, no matter where 'tis found.

HUNN. That is Herr Reding, sir, our old Landamman.

MEYER. I know him well. There is a suit between us, About a piece of ancient heritage. Herr Reding, we are enemies in court, Here we are one.

[Shakes his hand.

STAUFFACHER. That's well and bravely said.

WINKELRIED. Listen! They come. Hark to the horn of Uri!

[On the right and left armed men are seen descending the rocks with torches.

MAUER. Look, is not that God's pious servant there? A worthy priest! The terrors of the night, And the way's pains and perils scare not him, A faithful shepherd caring for his flock.

BAUMGARTEN. The Sacrist follows him, and Walter Fuerst. But where is Tell? I do not see him there.

[WALTER FURST, ROSSELMANN the Pastor, PETERMANN the Sacrist, KUONI the Shepherd, WERNI the huntsman, RUODI the Fisherman, and five other countrymen, thirty-three in all, advance and take their places round the fire.

FURST. Thus must we, on the soil our fathers left us, Creep forth by stealth to meet like murderers, And in the night, that should their mantle lend Only to crime and black conspiracy, Assert our own good rights, which yet are clear As is the radiance of the noonday sun.

MELCHTHAL. So be it. What is woven in gloom of night Shall free and boldly meet the morning light.

ROSSELMANN. Confederates! listen to the words which God Inspires my heart withal. Here we are met To represent the general weal. In us Are all the people of the land convened. Then let us hold the Diet, as of old, And as we're wont in peaceful times to do. The time's necessity be our excuse If there be aught informal in this meeting. Still, wheresoe'er men strike for justice, there Is God, and now beneath his heaven we stand.

STAUFFACHER. 'Tis well advised. Let us, then, hold the Diet According to our ancient usages. Though it be night there's sunshine in our cause.

MELCHTHAL. Few though our numbers be, the hearts are here Of the whole people; here the best are met.

HUNN. The ancient books may not be near at hand, Yet are they graven in our inmost hearts.

ROSSELMANN. 'Tis well. And now, then, let a ring be formed, And plant the swords of power within the ground. [16]

MAUER. Let the Landamman step into his place, And by his side his secretaries stand.

SACRIST. There are three Cantons here. Which hath the right To give the head to the united council? Schwytz may contest the dignity with Uri, We Unterwaldeners enter not the field.

MELCHTHAL. We stand aside. We are not suppliants here, Invoking aid from our more potent friends.

STAUFFACHER. Let Uri have the sword. Her banner takes In battle the precedence of our own.

FURST. Schwytz, then, must share the honor of the sword; For she's the honored ancestor of all.

ROSSELMANN. Let me arrange this generous controversy. Uri shall lead in battle—Schwytz in council.

FURST (gives STAUFFACHER his hand). Then take your place.

STAUFFACHER. Not I. Some older man.

HOFE. Ulrich, the smith, is the most aged here.

MAUER. A worthy man, but he is not a freeman; No bondman can be judge in Switzerland.

STAUFFACHER. Is not Herr Reding here, our old Landamman? Where can we find a worthier man than he?

FURST. Let him be Amman and the Diet's chief? You that agree with me hold up your hands!

[All hold up their right hands.

REDING (stepping into the centre). I cannot lay my hands upon the books; But by yon everlasting stars I swear Never to swerve from justice and the right.

[The two swords are placed before him, and a circle formed; Schwytz in the centre, Uri on his right, Unterwald on his left.

REDING (resting on his battle-sword). Why, at the hour when spirits walk the earth, Meet the three Cantons of the mountains here, Upon the lake's inhospitable shore? And what the purport of the new alliance We here contract beneath the starry heaven?

STAUFFACHER (entering the circle). No new alliance do we now contract, But one our fathers framed, in ancient times, We purpose to renew! For know, confederates, Though mountain ridge and lake divide our bounds, And every Canton's ruled by its own laws, Yet are we but one race, born of one blood, And all are children of one common home.

WINKELRIED. Then is the burden of our legends true, That we came hither from a distant land? Oh, tell us what you know, that our new league May reap fresh vigor from the leagues of old.

STAUFFACHER. Hear, then, what aged herdsmen tell. There dwelt A mighty people in the land that lies Back to the north. The scourge of famine came; And in this strait 'twas publicly resolved, That each tenth man, on whom the lot might fall Should leave the country. They obeyed—and forth, With loud lamentings, men and women went, A mighty host; and to the south moved on, Cutting their way through Germany by the sword, Until they gained that pine-clad hills of ours; Nor stopped they ever on their forward course, Till at the shaggy dell they halted, where The Mueta flows through its luxuriant meads. No trace of human creature met their eye, Save one poor hut upon the desert shore, Where dwelt a lonely man, and kept the ferry. A tempest raged—the lake rose mountains high And barred their further progress. Thereupon They viewed the country; found it rich in wood, Discovered goodly springs, and felt as they Were in their own dear native land once more. Then they resolved to settle on the spot; Erected there the ancient town of Schwytz; And many a day of toil had they to clear The tangled brake and forest's spreading roots. Meanwhile their numbers grew, the soil became Unequal to sustain them, and they crossed To the black mountain, far as Weissland, where, Concealed behind eternal walls of ice, Another people speak another tongue. They built the village Stanz, beside the Kernwald The village Altdorf, in the vale of Reuss; Yet, ever mindful of their parent stem, The men of Schwytz, from all the stranger race, That since that time have settled in the land, Each other recognize. Their hearts still know, And beat fraternally to kindred blood.

[Extends his hand right and left.

MAUER. Ay, we are all one heart, one blood, one race!

ALL (joining hands). We are one people, and will act as one.

STAUFFACHER. The nations round us bear a foreign yoke; For they have yielded to the conqueror. Nay, even within our frontiers may be found Some that owe villein service to a lord, A race of bonded serfs from sire to son. But we, the genuine race of ancient Swiss, Have kept our freedom from the first till now, Never to princes have we bowed the knee; Freely we sought protection of the empire.

ROSSELMANN. Freely we sought it—freely it was given. 'Tis so set down in Emperor Frederick's charter.

STAUFFACHER. For the most free have still some feudal lord. There must be still a chief, a judge supreme, To whom appeal may lie in case of strife. And therefore was it that our sires allowed For what they had recovered from the waste, This honor to the emperor, the lord Of all the German and Italian soil; And, like the other freemen of his realm, Engaged to aid him with their swords in war; And this alone should be the freeman's duty, To guard the empire that keeps guard for him.

MELCHTHAL. He's but a slave that would acknowledge more.

STAUFFACHER. They followed, when the Heribann [17] went forth, The imperial standard, and they fought its battles! To Italy they marched in arms, to place The Caesars' crown upon the emperor's head. But still at home they ruled themselves in peace, By their own laws and ancient usages. The emperor's only right was to adjudge The penalty of death; he therefore named Some mighty noble as his delegate, That had no stake or interest in the land. He was called in, when doom was to be passed, And, in the face of day, pronounced decree, Clear and distinctly, fearing no man's hate. What traces here, that we are bondsmen? Speak, If there be any can gainsay my words!

HOFE. No! You have spoken but the simple truth; We never stooped beneath a tyrant's yoke.

STAUFFACHER. Even to the emperor we refused obedience, When he gave judgment in the church's favor; For when the Abbey of Einsiedlen claimed The Alp our fathers and ourselves had grazed, And showed an ancient charter, which bestowed The land on them as being ownerless— For our existence there had been concealed— What was our answer? This: "The grant is void, No emperor can bestow what is our own: And if the empire shall deny us justice, We can, within our mountains, right ourselves!" Thus spake our fathers! And shall we endure The shame and infamy of this new yoke, And from the vassal brook what never king Dared in the fulness of his power attempt? This soil we have created for ourselves, By the hard labor of our hands; we've changed The giant forest, that was erst the haunt Of savage bears, into a home for man; Extirpated the dragon's brood, that wont To rise, distent with venom, from the swamps; Rent the thick misty canopy that hung Its blighting vapors on the dreary waste; Blasted the solid rock; o'er the abyss Thrown the firm bridge for the wayfaring man By the possession of a thousand years The soil is ours. And shall an alien lord, Himself a vassal, dare to venture here, On our own hearths insult us,—and attempt To forge the chains of bondage for our hands, And do us shame on our own proper soil? Is there no help against such wrong as this?

[Great sensation among the people.

Yes! there's a limit to the despot's power! When the oppressed looks round in vain for justice, When his sore burden may no more be borne, With fearless heart he makes appeal to Heaven, And thence brings down his everlasting rights, Which there abide, inalienably his, And indestructible as are the stars. Nature's primeval state returns again, Where man stands hostile to his fellow-man; And if all other means shall fail his need, One last resource remains—his own good sword. Our dearest treasures call to us for aid Against the oppressor's violence; we stand For country, home, for wives, for children here!

ALL (clashing their swords). Here stand we for our homes, our wives, and children.

ROSSELMANN (stepping into the circle). Bethink ye well before ye draw the sword. Some peaceful compromise may yet be made; Speak but one word, and at your feet you'll see The men who now oppress you. Take the terms That have been often tendered you; renounce The empire, and to Austria swear allegiance!

MAUER. What says the priest? To Austria allegiance?

BUHEL. Hearken not to him!

WINKELRLED. 'Tis a traitor's counsel, His country's foe!

REDING. Peace, peace, confederates!

SEWA. Homage to Austria, after wrongs like these!

FLUE. Shall Austria exert from us by force What we denied to kindness and entreaty?

MEYER. Then should we all be slaves, deservedly.

MAUER. Yes! Let him forfeit all a Switzer's rights Who talks of yielding to the yoke of Austria! I stand on this, Landamman. Let this be The foremost of our laws!

MELCHTHAL. Even so! Whoever Shall talk of tamely bearing Austria's yoke, Let him be stripped of all his rights and honors; And no man hence receive him at his hearth!

ALL (raising their right hands). Agreed! Be this the law!

REDING (after a pause). The law it is.

ROSSELMANN. Now you are free—by this law you are free. Never shall Austria obtain by force What she has failed to gain by friendly suit.

WEILER. On with the order of the day! Proceed!

REDING. Confederates! Have all gentler means been tried? Perchance the emperor knows not of our wrongs, It may not be his will that thus we suffer: Were it not well to make one last attempt, And lay our grievances before the throne, Ere we unsheath the sword? Force is at best A fearful thing even in a righteous cause; God only helps when man can help no more.

STAUFFACHER (to CONRAD HUNN). Here you can give us information. Speak!

HUNN. I was at Rheinfeld, at the emperor's palace, Deputed by the Cantons to complain Of the oppression of these governors, And claim the charter of our ancient freedom, Which each new king till now has ratified. I found the envoys there of many a town, From Suabia and the valley of the Rhine, Who all received their parchments as they wished And straight went home again with merry heart. They sent for me, your envoy, to the council, Where I was soon dismissed with empty comfort; "The emperor at present was engaged; Some other time he would attend to us!" I turned away, and passing through the hall, With heavy heart in a recess I saw The Grand Duke John [18] in tears, and by his side The noble lords of Wart and Tegerfeld, Who beckoned me, and said, "Redress yourselves. Expect not justice from the emperor. Does he not plunder his own brother's child, And keep from him his just inheritance?" The duke claims his maternal property, Urging he's now of age, and 'tis full time That he should rule his people and dominions; What is the answer made to him? The king Places a chaplet on his head: "Behold, The fitting ornament," he cries, "of youth!"

MAUER. You hear. Expect not from the emperor Or right, or justice. Then redress yourselves!

REDING. No other course is left us. Now, advise What plan most likely to insure success.

FURST. To shake a thraldom off that we abhor, To keep our ancient rights inviolate, As we received them from our forefathers—this, Not lawless innovation, is our aim. Let Caesar still retain what is his due; And he that is a vassal let him pay The service he is sworn to faithfully.

MEYER. I hold my land of Austria in fief.

FURST. Continue, then, to pay your feudal service.

WEILER. I'm tenant of the lords of Rappersweil.

FURST. Continue, then, to pay them rent and tithe.

ROSSELMANN. Of Zurich's lady, I'm the humble vassal.

FURST. Give to the cloister what the cloister claims.

STAUFFACHER. The empire only is my feudal lord.

FURST. What needs must be, we'll do, but nothing further. We'll drive these tyrants and their minions hence, And raze their towering strongholds to the ground, Yet shed, if possible, no drop of blood. Let the emperor see that we were driven to cast The sacred duties of respect away; And when he finds we keep within our bounds, His wrath, belike, may yield to policy; For truly is that nation to be feared, That, when in arms, is temperate in its wrath.

REDING. But, prithee, tell us how may this be done? The enemy is armed as well as we, And, rest assured, he will not yield in peace.

STAUFFACHER. He will, whene'er he sees us up in arms; We shall surprise him, ere he is prepared.

MEYER. 'Tis easily said, but not so easily done. Two fortresses of strength command the country. They shield the foe, and should the king invade us, The task would then be dangerous indeed. Rossberg and Sarnen both must be secured, Before a sword is drawn in either Canton.

STAUFFACHER. Should we delay, the foe will soon be warned; We are too numerous for secrecy.

MEYER. There is no traitor in the Forest States.

ROSSELMANN. But even zeal may heedlessly betray.

FURST. Delay it longer, and the keep at Altdorf Will be complete,—the governor secure.

MEYER. You think but of yourselves.

SACRISTAN. You are unjust!

MEYER. Unjust! said you? Dares Uri taunt us so?

REDING. Peace, on your oath!

MEYER. If Schwytz be leagued with Uri, Why then, indeed, we must perforce be silent.

REDING. And let me tell you, in the Diet's name, Your hasty spirit much disturbs the peace. Stand we not all for the same common cause?

WINKELRIED. What, if we delay till Christmas? 'Tis then The custom for the serfs to throng the castle, Bringing the governor their annual gifts. Thus may some ten or twelve selected men Assemble unobserved within its walls, Bearing about their persons pikes of steel, Which may be quickly mounted upon staves, For arms are not admitted to the fort. The rest can fill the neighboring wood, prepared To sally forth upon a trumpet's blast, Whene'er their comrades have secured the gate; And thus the castle will be ours with ease.

MELCHTHAL. The Rossberg I will undertake to scale, I have a sweetheart in the garrison, Whom with some tender words I could persuade To lower me at night a hempen ladder. Once up, my friends will not be long behind.

REDING. Are all resolved in favor of delay?

[The majority raise their hands.

STAUFFACHER (counting them). Twenty to twelve is the majority.

FURST. If on the appointed day the castles fall, From mountain on to mountain we shall pass The fiery signal: in the capital Of every Canton quickly rouse the Landsturm. [19] Then, when these tyrants see our martial front, Believe me, they will never make so bold As risk the conflict, but will gladly take Safe conduct forth beyond our boundaries.

STAUFFACHER. Not so with Gessler. He will make a stand. Surrounded with his dread array of horse, Blood will he shed before he quits the field. And even expelled he'd still be terrible. 'Tis hard, indeed 'tis dangerous, to spare him.

BAUMGARTEN. Place me where'er a life is to be lost; I owe my life to Tell, and cheerfully Will pledge it for my country. I have cleared My honor, and my heart is now at rest.

REDING. Counsel will come with circumstance. Be patient. Something must still be trusted to the moment. Yet, while by night we hold our Diet here, The morning, see, has on the mountain-tops Kindled her glowing beacon. Let us part, Ere the broad sun surprise us.

FURST. Do not fear. The night wanes slowly from these vales of ours.

[All have involuntarily taken off their caps, and contemplate the breaking of day, absorbed in silence.

ROSSELMANN. By this fair light, which greeteth us, before Those other nations, that, beneath us far, In noisome cities pent, draw painful breath, Swear we the oath of our confederacy! We swear to be a nation of true brothers, Never to part in danger or in death!

[They repeat his words with three fingers raised.

We swear we will be free, as were our sires, And sooner die than live in slavery!

[All repeat as before.

We swear to put our trust in God Most High, And not to quail before the might of man!

[All repeat as before, and embrace each other.

STAUFFACHER. Now every man pursue his several way Back to his friends his kindred, and his home. Let the herd winter up his flock and gain In silence, friends, for our confederacy! What for a time must be endured, endure. And let the reckoning of the tyrants grow, Till the great day arrive, when they shall pay The general and particular debt at once. Let every man control his own just rage, And nurse his vengeance for the public wrongs; For he whom selfish interest now engage Defrauds the general weal of what to it belongs.

[As they are going off in profound silence, in three different directions, the orchestra plays a solemn air. The empty scene remains open for some time, showing the rays of the sun rising over the glaciers.



ACT III.

SCENE I.

Court before TELL'S house. TELL with an axe. HEDWIG engaged in her domestic duties. WALTER and WILHELM in the background playing with a little cross-bow.

WALTER (sings).

With his cross-bow and his quiver The huntsman speeds his way, Over mountain, dale, and river At the dawning of the day.

As the eagle, on wild pinion, Is the king in realms of air; So the hunter claims dominion Over crag and forest lair.

Far as ever bow can carry Through the trackless, airy space, All he sees he makes his quarry, Soaring bird and beast of chase.

WILHELM (runs forward). My string has snapped! Wilt mend it for me, father?

TELL. Not I; a true-born archer helps himself.

[Boys retire.

HEDWIG. The boys begin to use the bow betimes.

TELL. 'Tis early practice only makes the master.

HEDWIG. Ah! Would to heaven they never learnt the art!

TELL. But they shall learn it, wife, in all its points. Whoe'er would carve an independent way Through life must learn to ward or plant a blow.

HEDWIG. Alas, alas! and they will never rest Contentedly at home.

TELL. No more can I! I was not framed by nature for a shepherd. Restless I must pursue a changing course; I only feel the flush and joy of life In starting some fresh quarry every day.

HEDWIG. Heedless the while of all your wife's alarms As she sits watching through long hours at home. For my soul sinks with terror at the tales The servants tell about your wild adventures. Whene'er we part my trembling heart forebodes That you will ne'er come back to me again. I see you on the frozen mountain steeps, Missing, perchance, your leap from cliff to cliff; I see the chamois, with a wild rebound, Drag you down with him o'er the precipice. I see the avalanche close o'er your head, The treacherous ice give way, and you sink down Entombed alive within its hideous gulf. Ah! in a hundred varying forms does death Pursue the Alpine huntsman on his course. That way of life can surely ne'er be blessed, Where life and limb are perilled every hour.

TELL. The man that bears a quick and steady eye, And trusts to God and his own lusty sinews, Passes, with scarce a scar, through every danger. The mountain cannot awe the mountain child.

[Having finished his work, he lays aside his tools.

And now, methinks, the door will hold awhile. The axe at home oft saves the carpenter.

HEDWIG. Whither away!

[Takes his cap.

TELL. To Altdorf, to your father.

HEDWIG. You have some dangerous enterprise in view? Confess!

TELL. Why think you so?

HEDWIG. Some scheme's on foot, Against the governors. There was a Diet Held on the Rootli—that I know—and you Are one of the confederacy I'm sure.

TELL. I was not there. Yet will I not hold back Whene'er my country calls me to her aid.

HEDWIG. Wherever danger is, will you be placed. On you, as ever, will the burden fall.

TELL. Each man shall have the post that fits his powers.

HEDWIG. You took—ay, 'mid the thickest of the storm— The man of Unterwald across the lake. 'Tis a marvel you escaped. Had you no thought Of wife and children then?

TELL. Dear wife, I bad; And therefore saved the father for his children.

HEDWIG. To brave the lake in all its wrath; 'Twas not To put your trust in God! 'Twas tempting him.

TELL. The man that's over-cautious will do little.

HEDWIG. Yes, you've a kind and helping hand for all; But be in straits and who will lend you aid?

TELL. God grant I ne'er may stand in need of it!

[Takes up his crossbow and arrows.

HEDWIG. Why take your crossbow with you? Leave it here.

TELL. I want my right hand when I want my bow.

[The boys return.

WALTER. Where, father, are you going?

TELL. To grand-dad, boy— To Altdorf. Will you go?

WALTER. Ay, that I will!

HEDWIG. The viceroy's there just now. Go not to Altdorf.

TELL. He leaves to-day.

HEDWIG. Then let him first be gone, Cross not his path. You know he bears us grudge.

TELL. His ill-will cannot greatly injure me. I do what's right, and care for no man's hate.

HEDWIG. 'Tis those who do what's right whom he most hates.

TELL. Because he cannot reach them. Me, I ween, His knightship will be glad to leave in peace.

HEDWIG. Ay! Are you sure of that?

TELL. Not long ago, As I was hunting through the wild ravines Of Shechenthal, untrod by mortal foot,— There, as I took my solitary way Along a shelving ledge of rocks, where 'twas Impossible to step on either side; For high above rose, like a giant wall, The precipice's side, and far below The Shechen thundered o'er its rifted bed;—

[The boys press towards him, looking upon him with excited curiosity.

There, face to face, I met the viceroy. He Alone with me—and I myself alone— Mere man to man, and near us the abyss. And when his lordship had perused my face, And knew the man he had severely fined On some most trivial ground not long before; And saw me, with my sturdy bow in hand, Come striding towards him, then his cheek grew pale, His knees refused their office, and I thought He would have sunk against the mountain side. Then, touched with pity for him, I advanced, Respectfully, and said, "'Tis I, my lord." But ne'er a sound could he compel his lips To frame an answer. Only with his hand He beckoned me in silence to proceed. So I passed on, and sent his train to seek him.

HEDWIG. He trembled then before you? Woe the while You saw his weakness; that he'll not forgive.

TELL. I shun him, therefore, and he'll not seek me.

HEDWIG. But stay away to day. Go hunting rather!

TELL. What do you fear?

HEDWIG. I am uneasy. Stay.

TELL. Why thus distress yourself without a cause?

HEDWIG. Because there is no cause. Tell, Tell! stay here!

TELL. Dear wife, I gave my promise I would go.

HEDWIG. Must you,—then go. But leave the boys with me.

WALTER. No, mother dear, I'm going with my father.

HEDWIG. How, Walter! Will you leave your mother then?

WALTER. I'll bring you pretty things from grandpapa.

[Exit with his father.

WILHELM. Mother, I'll stay with you!

HEDWIG (embracing him). Yes, yes! thou art My own dear child. Thou'rt all that's left to me.

[She goes to the gate of the court, and looks anxiously after TELL and her son for a considerable time.



SCENE II.

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

Enter BERTHA in a hunting dress. Immediately afterwards RUDENZ.

BERTHA. He follows me. Now to explain myself!

RUDENZ (entering hastily). At length, dear lady, we have met alone In this wild dell, with rocks on every side, No jealous eye can watch our interview. Now let my heart throw off this weary silence.

BERTHA. But are you sure they will not follow us?

RUDENZ. See, yonder goes the chase. Now, then, or never! I must avail me of the precious moment,— Must hear my doom decided by thy lips, Though it should part me from thy side forever. Oh, do not arm that gentle face of thine With looks so stern and harsh! Who—who am I, That dare aspire so high as unto thee? Fame hath not stamped me yet; nor may I take My place amid the courtly throng of knights, That, crowned with glory's lustre, woo thy smiles. Nothing have I to offer but a heart That overflows with truth and love for thee.

BERTHA (sternly and with severity). And dare you speak to me of love—of truth? You, that are faithless to your nearest ties! You, that are Austria's slave—bartered and sold To her—an alien, and your country's tyrant!

RUDENZ. How! This reproach from thee! Whom do I seek On Austria's side, my own beloved, but thee?

BERTHA. Think you to find me in the traitor's ranks? Now, as I live, I'd rather give my hand To Gessler's self, all despot though he be, Than to the Switzer who forgets his birth, And stoops to be the minion of a tyrant.

RUDENZ. Oh heaven, what must I hear!

BERTHA. Say! what can lie Nearer the good man's heart than friends and kindred? What dearer duty to a noble soul Than to protect weak, suffering innocence, And vindicate the rights of the oppressed? My very soul bleeds for your countrymen; I suffer with them, for I needs must love them; They are so gentle, yet so full of power; They draw my whole heart to them. Every day I look upon them with increased esteem. But you, whom nature and your knightly vow, Have given them as their natural protector, Yet who desert them and abet their foes, In forging shackles for your native land, You—you it is, that deeply grieve and wound me. I must constrain my heart, or I shall hate you.

RUDENZ. Is not my country's welfare all my wish? What seek I for her but to purchase peace 'Neath Austria's potent sceptre?

BERTHA. Bondage, rather! You would drive freedom from the last stronghold That yet remains for her upon the earth. The people know their own true interests better: Their simple natures are not warped by show, But round your head a tangling net is wound.

RUDENZ. Bertha, you hate me—you despise me!

BERTHA. Nay! And if I did, 'twere better for my peace. But to see him despised and despicable,— The man whom one might love.

RUDENZ. Oh, Bertha! You Show me the pinnacle of heavenly bliss, Then, in a moment, hurl me to despair!

BERTHA. No, no! the noble is not all extinct Within you. It but slumbers,—I will rouse it. It must have cost you many a fiery struggle To crush the virtues of your race within you. But, heaven be praised, 'tis mightier than yourself, And you are noble in your own despite!

RUDENZ. You trust me, then? Oh, Bertha, with thy love What might I not become?

BERTHA. Be only that For which your own high nature destined you. Fill the position you were born to fill;— Stand by your people and your native land. And battle for your sacred rights!

RUDENZ. Alas! How can I hope to win you—to possess you, If I take arms against the emperor? Will not your potent kinsman interpose, To dictate the disposal of your hand?

BERTHA. All my estates lie in the Forest Cantons; And I am free, when Switzerland is free.

RUDENZ. Oh! what a prospect, Bertha, hast thou shown me!

BERTHA. Hope not to win my hand by Austria's favor; Fain would they lay their grasp on my estates, To swell the vast domains which now they hold. The selfsame lust of conquest that would rob You of your liberty endangers mine. Oh, friend, I'm marked for sacrifice;—to be The guerdon of some parasite, perchance! They'll drag me hence to the imperial court That hateful haunt of falsehood and intrigue; There do detested marriage bonds await me. Love, love alone,—your love can rescue me.

RUDENZ. And thou could'st be content, love, to live here, In my own native land to be my own? Oh, Bertha, all the yearnings of my soul For this great world and its tumultuous strife, What were they, but a yearning after thee? In glory's path I sought for thee alone And all my thirst of fame was only love. But if in this calm vale thou canst abide With me, and bid earth's pomps and pride adieu, Then is the goal of my ambition won; And the rough tide of the tempestuous world May dash and rave around these firm-set hills! No wandering wishes more have I to send Forth to the busy scene that stirs beyond. Then may these rocks that girdle us extend Their giants walls impenetrably round, And this sequestered happy vale alone Look up to heaven, and be my paradise!

BERTHA. Now art thou all my fancy dreamed of thee. My trust has not been given to thee in vain.

RUDENZ. Away, ye idle phantoms of my folly! In mine own home I'll find my happiness. Here where the gladsome boy to manhood grew, Where every brook, and tree, and mountain peak, Teems with remembrances of happy hours, In mine own native land thou wilt be mine. Ah, I have ever loved it well, I feel How poor without it were all earthly joys.

BERTHA. Where should we look for happiness on earth, If not in this dear land of innocence? Here, where old truth hath its familiar home, Where fraud and guile are strangers, envy ne'er Shall dim the sparkling fountain of our bliss, And ever bright the hours shall o'er us glide. There do I see thee, in true manly worth, The foremost of the free and of thy peers, Revered with homage pure and unconstrained, Wielding a power that kings might envy thee.

RUDENZ. And thee I see, thy sex's crowning gem, With thy sweet woman grace and wakeful love, Building a heaven for me within my home, And, as the springtime scatters forth her flowers, Adorning with thy charms my path of life, And spreading joy and sunshine all around.

BERTHA. And this it was, dear friend, that caused my grief, To see thee blast this life's supremest bliss, With thine own hand. Ah! what had been my fate, Had I been forced to follow some proud lord, Some ruthless despot, to his gloomy castle! Here are no castles, here no bastioned walls Divide me from a people I can bless.

RUDENZ. Yet, how to free myself; to loose the coils Which I have madly twined around my head?

BERTHA. Tear them asunder with a man's resolve. Whatever the event, stand by the people. It is thy post by birth.

[Hunting horns are heard in the distance.

But bark! The chase! Farewell,—'tis needful we should part—away! Fight for thy land; thou lightest for thy love. One foe fills all our souls with dread; the blow That makes one free emancipates us all.

[Exeunt severally.



SCENE III.

A meadow near Altdorf. Trees in the foreground. At the back of the stage a cap upon a pole. The prospect is bounded by the Bannberg, which is surmounted by a snow-capped mountain.

FRIESSHARDT and LEUTHOLD on guard.

FRIESSHARDT. We keep our watch in vain. There's not a soul Will pass and do obeisance to the cap. But yesterday the place swarmed like a fair; Now the whole green looks like a very desert, Since yonder scarecrow hung upon the pole.

LEUTHHOLD. Only the vilest rabble show themselves, And wave their tattered caps in mockery at us. All honest citizens would sooner make A tedious circuit over half the town Than bend their backs before our master's cap.

FRIESSHARDT. They were obliged to pass this way at noon, As they were coming from the council house. I counted then upon a famous catch, For no one thought of bowing to the cap. But Rosselmann, the priest, was even with me: Coming just then from some sick penitent, He stands before the pole—raises the Host— The Sacrist, too, must tinkle with his bell— When down they dropped on knee—myself and all In reverence to the Host, but not the cap.

LEUTHOLD. Hark ye, companion, I've a shrewd suspicion, Our post's no better than the pillory. It is a burning shame, a trooper should Stand sentinel before an empty cap, And every honest fellow must despise us, To do obeisance to a cap, too! Faith, I never heard an order so absurd!

FRIESSHARDT. Why not, an't please thee, to an empty cap. Thou'st ducked, I'm sure, to many an empty sconce.

[HILDEGARD, MECHTHILD, and ELSBETH enter with their children and station themselves around the pole.

LEUTHOLD. And thou art an officious sneaking knave, That's fond of bringing honest folks to trouble. For my part, he that likes may pass the cap I'll shut my eyes and take no note of him.

MECHTHILD. There hangs the viceroy! Your obeisance, children!

ELSBETH. I would to God he'd go, and leave his cap! The country would be none the worse for it.

FRIESSHARDT (driving them away). Out of the way! Confounded pack of gossips! Who sent for you? Go, send your husbands here, If they have courage to defy the order.

[TELL enters with his crossbow, leading his son WALTER by the hand. They pass the hat without noticing it, and advance to the front of the stage.

WALTER (pointing to the Bannberg). Father, is't true, that on the mountain there, The trees, if wounded with a hatchet, bleed?

TELL. Who says so, boy?

WALTER. The master herdsman, father! He tells us there's a charm upon the trees, And if a man shall injure them, the hand That struck the blow will grow from out the grave.

TELL. There is a charm about them, that's the truth. Dost see those glaciers yonder, those white horns, That seem to melt away into the sky?

WALTER. They are the peaks that thunder so at night, And send the avalanches down upon us.

TELL. They are; and Altdorf long ago had been Submerged beneath these avalanches' weight, Did not the forest there above the town Stand like a bulwark to arrest their fall.

WALTER (after musing a little). And are there countries with no mountains, father?

TELL. Yes, if we travel downwards from our heights, And keep descending in the rivers' courses, We reach a wide and level country, where Our mountain torrents brawl and foam no more, And fair, large rivers glide serenely on. All quarters of the heaven may there be scanned Without impediment. The corn grows there In broad and lovely fields, and all the land Is fair as any garden to the view.

WALTER. But, father, tell me, wherefore haste we not Away to this delightful land, instead Of toiling here, and struggling as we do?

TELL. The land is fair and bountiful as Heaven; But they who till it never may enjoy The fruits of what they sow.

WALTER. Live they not free, As you do, on the land their fathers left them?

TELL. The fields are all the bishop's or the king's.

WALTER. But they may freely hunt among the woods?

TELL. The game is all the monarch's—bird and beast.

WALTER. But they, at least, may surely fish the streams?

TELL. Stream, lake, and sea, all to the king belong.

WALTER. Who is this king, of whom they're so afraid?

TELL. He is the man who fosters and protects them.

WALTER. Have they not courage to protect themselves?

TELL. The neighbor there dare not his neighbor trust.

WALTER. I should want breathing room in such a land, I'd rather dwell beneath the avalanches.

TELL. 'Tis better, child, to have these glacier peaks Behind one's back than evil-minded men!

[They are about to pass on.

WALTER. See, father, see the cap on yonder pole!

TELL. What is the cap to us? Come, let's be gone.

[As he is going, FRIESSHARDT, presenting his pike, stops him.

FRIESSHARDT. Stand, I command you, in the emperor's name.

TELL (seizing the pike). What would ye? Wherefore do ye stop my path?

FRIESSHARDT. You've broke the mandate, and must go with us.

LEUTHOLD. You have not done obeisance to the cap.

TELL. Friend, let me go.

FRIESSHARDT. Away, away to prison!

WALTER. Father to prison! Help! [Calling to the side scene. This way, you men! Good people, help! They're dragging him to prison!

[ROSSELMANN, the priest, and the SACRISTAN, with three other men, enter.

SACRISTAN. What's here amiss?

ROSSELMANN. Why do you seize this man?

FRIESSHARDT. He is an enemy of the king—a traitor!

TELL (seizing him with violence). A traitor, I!

ROSSELMANN. Friend, thou art wrong. 'Tis Tell, An honest man, and worthy citizen.

WALTER (descries FURST, and runs up to him). Grandfather, help! they want to seize my father!

FRIESSHARDT. Away to prison!

FURST (running in). Stay! I offer bail. For God's sake, Tell, what is the matter here?

[MELCHTHAL and STAUFFACHER enter.

LEUTHOLD. He has contemned the viceroy's sovereign power, Refusing flatly to acknowledge it.

STAUFFACHER. Has Tell done this?

MELCHTHAL. Villain, thou knowest 'tis false!

LEUTHOLD. He has not made obeisance to the cap.

FURST. And shall for this to prison? Come, my friend, Take my security, and let him go.

FRIESSHARDT. Keep your security for yourself—you'll need it. We only do our duty. Hence with him.

MELCHTHAL (to the country people). This is too bad—shall we stand by, and see them. Drag him away before our very eyes?

SACRISTAN. We are the strongest. Don't endure it, friends. Our countrymen will back us to a man.

FRIESSHARDT. Who dares resist the governor's commands?

OTHER THREE PEASANTS (running in). We'll help you. What's the matter? Down with them!

[HILDEGARD, MECHTHILD, and ELSBETH return.

TELL. Go, go, good people, I can help myself. Think you, had I a mind to use my strength, These pikes of theirs should daunt me?

MELCHTHAL (to FRIESSHARDT). Only try— Try, if you dare, to force him from amongst us.

FURST and STAUFFACHER. Peace, peace, friends!

FRIESSHARDT (loudly). Riot! Insurrection, ho!

[Hunting horns without.

WOMEN. The governor!

FRIESSHARDT (raising his voice). Rebellion! Mutiny!

STAUFFACHER. Roar, till you burst, knave!

ROSSELMANN and MELCHTHAL. Will you hold your tongue?

FRIESSHARDT (calling still louder). Help, help, I say, the servants of the law!

FURST. The viceroy here! Then we shall smart for this!

[Enter GESSLER on horseback, with a falcon on his wrist; RUDOLPH DER HARRAS, BERTHA, and RUDENZ, and a numerous train of armed attendants, who form a circle of lances around the whole stage.

HARRAS. Room for the viceroy!

GESSLER. Drive the clowns apart. Why throng the people thus? Who calls for help?

[General silence.

Who was it? I will know.

[FRIESSHARDT steps forward.

And who art thou? And why hast thou this man in custody?

[Gives his falcon to an attendant.

FRIESSHARDT. Dread sir, I am a soldier of your guard, And stationed sentinel beside the cap; This man I apprehended in the act Of passing it without obeisance due, So I arrested him, as you gave order, Whereon the people tried to rescue him.

GESSLER (after a pause). And do you, Tell, so lightly hold your king, And me, who act as his vicegerent here, That you refuse the greeting to the cap I hung aloft to test your loyalty? I read in this a disaffected spirit.

TELL. Pardon me, good my lord! The action sprung From inadvertence,—not from disrespect. Were I discreet, I were not William Tell. Forgive me now—I'll not offend again.

GESSLER (after a pause). I hear, Tell, you're a master with the bow,— And bear the palm away from every rival.

WALTER. That must be true, sir! At a hundred yards He'll shoot an apple for you off the tree.

GESSLER. Is that boy thine, Tell?

TELL. Yes, my gracious lord.

GESSLER. Hast any more of them?

TELL. Two boys, my lord.

GESSLER. And, of the two, which dost thou love the most?

TELL. Sir, both the boys are dear to me alike.

GESSLER. Then, Tell, since at a hundred yards thou canst Bring down the apple from the tree, thou shalt Approve thy skill before me. Take thy bow— Thou hast it there at hand—and make thee ready To shoot an apple from the stripling's head! But take this counsel,—look well to thine aim, See that thou hittest the apple at the first, For, shouldst thou miss, thy head shall pay the forfeit.

[All give signs of horror.

TELL. What monstrous thing, my lord, is this you ask? That I, from the head of mine own child!—No, no! It cannot be, kind sir, you meant not that— God in His grace forbid! You could not ask A father seriously to do that thing!

GESSLER. Thou art to shoot an apple from his head! I do desire—command it so.

TELL. What, I! Level my crossbow at the darling head Of mine own child? No—rather let me die!

GESSLER. Or thou must shoot, or with thee dies the boy.

TELL. Shall I become the murderer of my child! You have no children, sir—you do not know The tender throbbings of a father's heart.