GESSLER. How now, Tell, so discreet upon a sudden I had been told thou wert a visionary,— A wanderer from the paths of common men. Thou lovest the marvellous. So have I now Culled out for thee a task of special daring. Another man might pause and hesitate; Thou dashest at it, heart and soul, at once.

BERTHA. Oh, do not jest, my lord, with these poor souls! See, how they tremble, and how pale they look, So little used are they to hear thee jest.

GESSLER. Who tells thee that I jest?

[Grasping a branch above his head.

Here is the apple. Room there, I say! And let him take his distance— Just eighty paces-as the custom is Not an inch more or less! It was his boast, That at a hundred he could bit his man. Now, archer, to your task, and look you miss not!

HARRAS: Heavens! this grows serious—down, boy, on your knees, And beg the governor to spare your life.

FURST (aside to MELCHTHAL, who can scarcely restrain his impatience). Command yourself—be calm, I beg of you!

BERTHA (to the governor). Let this suffice you, sir! It is inhuman To trifle with a father's anguish thus. Although this wretched man had forfeited Both life and limb for such a slight offence, Already has he suffered tenfold death. Send him away uninjured to his home; He'll know thee well in future; and this hour He and his children's children will remember.

GESSLER. Open a way there—quick! Why this delay? Thy life is forfeited; I might despatch thee, And see I graciously repose thy fate Upon the skill of thine own practised hand. No cause has he to say his doom is harsh, Who's made the master of his destiny. Thou boastest of thy steady eye. 'Tis well! Now is a fitting time to show thy skill. The mark is worthy, and the prize is great. To hit the bull's-eye in the target; that Can many another do as well as thou; But he, methinks, is master of his craft Who can at all times on his skill rely, Nor lets his heart disturb or eye or hand.

FURST. My lord, we bow to your authority; But, oh, let justice yield to mercy here. Take half my property, nay, take it all, But spare a father this unnatural doom!

WALTER. Grandfather, do not kneel to that bad man! Say, where am I to stand? I do not fear; My father strikes the bird upon the wing, And will not miss now when 'twould harm his boy!

STAUFFACHER. Does the child's innocence not touch your heart?

ROSSELMANN. Bethink you, sir, there is a God in heaven, To whom you must account for all your deeds.

GESSLER (pointing to the boy). Bind him to yonder lime tree straight!

WALTER. Bind me? No, I will not be bound! I will be still, Still as a lamb—nor even draw my breath! But if you bind me I cannot be still. Then I shall writhe and struggle with my bonds.

HARRAS. But let your eyes at least be bandaged, boy!

WALTER. And why my eyes? No! Do you think I fear An arrow from my father's hand? Not I! I'll wait it firmly, nor so much as wink! Quick, father, show them that thou art an archer! He doubts thy skill—he thinks to ruin us. Shoot then and hit though but to spite the tyrant!

[He goes to the lime tree, and an apple is placed on his head.

MELCHTHAL (to the country people). What! Is this outrage to be perpetrated Before our very eyes? Where is our oath?

STAUFFACHER. 'Tis all in vain. We have no weapons here; And see the wood of lances that surrounds us!

MELCHTHAL. Oh! would to heaven that we had struck at once! God pardon those who counselled the delay!

GESSLER (to TELL). Now, to thy task! Men bear not arms for naught. 'Tis dangerous to carry deadly weapons, And on the archer oft his shaft recoils. This right these haughty peasant-churls assume Trenches upon their master's privileges. None should be armed but those who bear command. It pleases you wear the bow and bolt; Well, be it so. I will provide the mark.

TELL (bends the bow and fixes the arrow). A lane there! Room!

STAUFFACHER. What, Tell? You would—no, no! You shake—your hand's unsteady—your knees tremble!

TELL (letting the bow sink down). There's something swims before mine eyes!

WOMEN. Great Heaven!

TELL. Release me from this shot! Here is my heart!

[Tears open his breast.

Summon your troopers—let them strike me down!

GESSLER. I do not want thy life, Tell, but the shot. Thy talent's universal! Nothing daunts thee! Thou canst direct the rudder like the bow! Storms fright not thee when there's a life at stake. Now, savior, help thyself, thou savest all!

[TELL stands fearfully agitated by contending emotions, his hands moving convulsively, and his eyes turning alternately to the governor and heaven. Suddenly he takes a second arrow from his quiver and sticks it in his belt. The governor watches all these motions.

WALTER (beneath the lime tree). Come, father, shoot! I'm not afraid!

TELL. It must be!

[Collects himself and levels the bow.

RUDENZ (who all the while has been standing in a state of violent excitement, and has with difficulty restrained himself, advances). My lord, you will not urge this matter further. You will not. It was surely but a test. You've gained your object. Rigor pushed too far Is sure to miss its aim, however good, As snaps the bow that's all too straightly bent.

GESSLER. Peace, till your counsel's asked for!

RUDENZ. I will speak! Ay, and I dare! I reverence my king; But acts like these must make his name abhorred. He sanctions not this cruelty. I dare Avouch the fact. And you outstep your powers In handling thus an unoffending people.

GESSLER. Ha! thou growest bold methinks!

RUDENZ. I have been dumb To all the oppressions I was doomed to see. I've closed mine eyes that they might not behold them, Bade my rebellious, swelling heart be still, And pent its struggles down within my breast. But to be silent longer were to be A traitor to my king and country both.

BERTHA (casting herself between him and the governor). Oh, heavens! you but exasperate his rage!

RUDENZ. My people I forsook, renounced my kindred— Broke all the ties of nature that I might Attach myself to you. I madly thought That I should best advance the general weal, By adding sinews to the emperor's power. The scales have fallen from mine eyes—I see The fearful precipice on which I stand. You've led my youthful judgment far astray,— Deceived my honest heart. With best intent, I had well nigh achieved my country's ruin.

GESSLER. Audacious boy, this language to thy lord?

RUDENZ. The emperor is my lord, not you! I'm free As you by birth, and I can cope with you In every virtue that beseems a knight. And if you stood not here in that king's name, Which I respect e'en where 'tis most abused, I'd throw my gauntlet down, and you should give An answer to my gage in knightly fashion. Ay, beckon to your troopers! Here I stand; But not like these— [Pointing to the people. unarmed. I have a sword, And he that stirs one step——

STAUFFACHER (exclaims). The apple's down!

[While the attention of the crowd has been directed to the spot where BERTHA had cast herself between RUDENZ and GESSLER, TELL has shot.

ROSSELMANN. The boy's alive!

MANY VOICES. The apple has been struck!

[WALTER FURST staggers, and is about to fall. BERTHA supports him.

GESSLER (astonished). How? Has he shot? The madman!

BERTHA. Worthy father! Pray you compose yourself. The boy's alive!

WALTER (runs in with the apple). Here is the apple, father! Well I knew You would not harm your boy.

[TELL stands with his body bent forwards, as though he would follow the arrow. His bow drops from his hand. When he sees the boy advancing, he hastens to meet him with open arms, and embracing him passionately sinks down with him quite exhausted. All crowd round them deeply affected.

BERTHA. Oh, ye kind heavens!

FURST (to father and son). My children, my dear children!

STAUFFACHER. God be praised!

LEUTHOLD. Almighty powers! That was a shot indeed! It will be talked of to the end of time.

HARRAS. This feat of Tell, the archer, will be told While yonder mountains stand upon their base.

[Hands the apple to GESSLER.

GESSLER. By heaven! the apple's cleft right through the core. It was a master shot I must allow.

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

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

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

GESSLER. A word, Tell.

[They are about to lead him off.

TELL. Sir, your pleasure?

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

TELL (confused). It is the custom with all archers, sir.

GESSLER. No, Tell, I cannot let that answer pass. There was some other motive, well I know. Frankly and cheerfully confess the truth;— Whate'er it be I promise thee thy life, Wherefore the second arrow?

TELL. Well, my lord, Since you have promised not to take my life, I will, without reserve, declare the truth.

[He draws the arrow from his belt, and fixes his eyes sternly upon the governor.

If that my hand had struck my darling child, This second arrow I had aimed at you, And, be assured, I should not then have missed.

GESSLER. Well, Tell, I promised thou shouldst have thy life; I gave my knightly word, and I will keep it. Yet, as I know the malice of thy thoughts, I will remove thee hence to sure confinement, Where neither sun nor moon shall reach thine eyes, Thus from thy arrows I shall be secure. Seize on him, guards, and bind him.

[They bind him.

STAUFFACHER. How, my lord— How can you treat in such a way a man On whom God's hand has plainly been revealed?

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

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

GESSLER. Where are they? Has the emperor confirmed them? He never has. And only by obedience Need you expect to win that favor from him. You are all rebels 'gainst the emperor's power And bear a desperate and rebellious spirit. I know you all—I see you through and through. Him do I single from amongst you now, But in his guilt you all participate. The wise will study silence and obedience.

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

FURST (in violent anguish). All's over now! He is resolved to bring Destruction on myself and all my house.

STAUFFACHER (to Tell). Oh, why did you provoke the tyrant's rage?

TELL. Let him be calm who feels the pangs I felt.

STAUFFACHER. Alas! alas! Our every hope is gone. With you we all are fettered and enchained.

COUNTRY PEOPLE (surrounding Tell). Our last remaining comfort goes with you!

LEUTHOLD (approaching him). I'm sorry for you, Tell, but must obey.

TELL. Farewell!

WALTER (clinging to him in great agony). Oh, father, father, father dear!

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

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

TELL (clasping the boy passionately to his breast). The boy's uninjured; God will succor me!

[Tears himself suddenly away, and follows the soldiers of the guard.



ACT IV.

SCENE I.

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

KUNZ OF GERSAU, FISHERMAN and BOY.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Exit.

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

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

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

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

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

[Bells heard.

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

[Ascends a rock.

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

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

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

[He ascends a cliff.

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

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

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

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

BOY. See, see, they've cleared the Buggisgrat [20]; but now The blast, rebounding from the Devil's Minster [21], Has driven them back on the Great Axenberg. [22] I cannot see them now.

FISHERMAN. The Hakmesser [23] Is there, that's foundered many a gallant ship. If they should fail to double that with skill, Their bark will go to pieces on the rocks That hide their jagged peaks below the lake. They have on board the very best of pilots; If any man can save them, Tell is he; But he is manacled, both hand and foot.

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

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

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

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

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

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

FISHERMAN. Were they not bearing you away to Kuessnacht?

TELL (rising). I am released.

FISHERMAN and BOY. Released, oh miracle!

BOY. Whence came you here?

TELL. From yonder vessel!

FISHERMAN. What?

BOY. Where is the viceroy?

TELL. Drifting on the waves.

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

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

FISHERMAN and BOY. Say on, say on!

TELL. You know what passed at Altdorf?

FISHERMAN. I do—say on!

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

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

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

FISHERMAN. Oh, wretched man!

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

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

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

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

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

FISHERMAN. Means he to go by land?

TELL. So he intends.

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

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

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

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

[As he is going he comes back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Exit.

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

[Exit.



SCENE II.

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

FURST. All now is over with him. He is gone.

STAUFFACHER. He lies not like one dead. The feather, see, Moves on his lips! His sleep is very calm, And on his features plays a placid smile.

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

FURST. Who's there?

BAUGMARTEN (returning). Tell's wife, your daughter; she insists That she must speak with you, and see her boy.

[WALTER TELL rises.

FURST. I who need comfort—can I comfort her? Does every sorrow centre on my head?

HEDWIG (forcing her way in). Where is my child? Unhand me! I must see him.

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

HEDWIG (falling upon her boy's neck). My Walter! Oh, he yet is mine!

WALTER. Dear mother!

HEDWIG. And is it surely so? Art thou unhurt?

[Gazing at him with anxious tenderness.

And is it possible he aimed at thee? How could he do it? Oh, he has no heart— And he could wing an arrow at his child!

FURST. His soul was racked with anguish when he did it. No choice was left him, but to shoot or die!

HEDWIG. Oh, if he had a father's heart, he would Have sooner perished by a thousand deaths!

STAUFFACHER. You should be grateful for God's gracious care, That ordered things so well.

HEDWIG. Can I forget What might have been the issue. God of heaven! Were I to live for centuries, I still Should see my boy tied up,—his father's mark, And still the shaft would quiver in my heart!

MELCHTHAL. You know not how the viceroy taunted him!

HEDWIG. Oh, ruthless heart of man! Offend his pride, And reason in his breast forsakes her seat; In his blind wrath he'll stake upon a cast A child's existence, and a mother's heart!

BAUMGARTEN. Is then your husband's fate not hard enough, That you embitter it by such reproaches? Have you no feeling for his sufferings?

HEDWIG (turning to him and gazing full upon him). Hast thou tears only for thy friend's distress? Say, where were you when he—my noble Tell, Was bound in chains? Where was your friendship, then? The shameful wrong was done before your eyes; Patient you stood, and let your friend be dragged, Ay, from your very hands. Did ever Tell Act thus to you? Did he stand whining by When on your heels the viceroy's horsemen pressed, And full before you roared the storm-tossed lake? Oh, not with idle tears he showed his pity; Into the boat he sprung, forgot his home, His wife, his children, and delivered thee!

FURST. It had been madness to attempt his rescue, Unarmed, and few in numbers as we were.

HEDWIG (casting herself upon his bosom). Oh, father, and thou, too, hast lost my Tell! The country—all have lost him! All lament His loss; and, oh, how he must pine for us! Heaven keep his soul from sinking to despair! No friend's consoling voice can penetrate His dreary dungeon walls. Should befall sick! Ah! In the vapors of the murky vault He must fall sick. Even as the Alpine rose Grows pale and withers in the swampy air, There is no life for him, but in the sun, And in the balm of heaven's refreshing breeze. Imprisoned? Liberty to him is breath; He cannot live in the rank dungeon air!

STAUFFACHER. Pray you be calm! And, hand in hand, we'll all Combine to burst his prison doors.

HEDWIG. Without him, What have you power to do? While Tell was free, There still, indeed, was hope—weak innocence Had still a friend, and the oppressed a stay. Tell saved you all! You cannot all combined Release him from his cruel prison bonds.

[The BARON wakes.

BAUMGARTEN. Hush, hush! He starts!

ATTINGHAUSEN (sitting up). Where is he?

STAUFFACHER. Who?

ATTINGHAUSEN. He leaves me,— In my last moments he abandons me.

STAUFFACHER. He means his nephew. Have they sent for him?

FURST. He has been summoned. Cheerily, Sir! Take comfort! He has found his heart at last, and is our own.

ATTINGHAUSEN. Say, has he spoken for his native land?

STAUFFACHER. Ay, like a hero!

ATTINGHAUSEN. Wherefore comes he not, That he may take my blessing ere I die? I feel my life fast ebbing to a close.

STAUFFACHER. Nay, talk not thus, dear Sir! This last short sleep Has much refreshed you, and your eye is bright.

ATTINGHAUSEN. Life is but pain, and even that has left me; My sufferings, like my hopes, have passed away.

[Observing the boy.

What boy is that?

FURST. Bless him. Oh, good my lord! He is my grandson, and is fatherless.

[HEDWIG kneels with the boy before the dying man.

ATTINGHAUSEN. And fatherless I leave you all, ay, all! Oh, wretched fate, that these old eyes should see My country's ruin, as they close in death. Must I attain the utmost verge of life, To feel my hopes go with me to the grave.

STAUFFACHER (to FURST). Shall he depart 'mid grief and gloom like this? Shall not his parting moments be illumed By hope's delightful beams? My noble lord, Raise up your drooping spirit! We are not Forsaken quite—past all deliverance.

ATTINGHAUSEN. Who shall deliver you?

FURST. Ourselves. For know The Cantons three are to each other pledged To hunt the tyrants from the land. The league Has been concluded, and a sacred oath Confirms our union. Ere another year Begins its circling course—the blow shall fall. In a free land your ashes shall repose.

ATTINGHAUSEN. The league concluded! Is it really so?

MELCHTHAL. On one day shall the Cantons rise together. All is prepared to strike—and to this hour The secret closely kept though hundreds share it; The ground is hollow 'neath the tyrant's feet; Their days of rule are numbered, and ere long No trace of their dominion shall remain.

ATTINGHAUSEN. Ay, but their castles, how to master them?

MELCHTHAL. On the same day they, too, are doomed to fall.

ATTINGHAUSEN. And are the nobles parties to this league?

STAUFFACHER. We trust to their assistance should we need it; As yet the peasantry alone have sworn.

ATTINGHAUSEN (raising himself up in great astonishment). And have the peasantry dared such a deed On their own charge without their nobles' aid— Relied so much on their own proper strength? Nay then, indeed, they want our help no more; We may go down to death cheered by the thought That after us the majesty of man Will live, and be maintained by other hands.

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

From this boy's head, whereon the apple lay, Your new and better liberty shall spring; The old is crumbling down—the times are changing And from the ruins blooms a fairer life.

STAUFFACHER (to FURST). See, see, what splendor streams around his eye! This is not nature's last expiring flame, It is the beam of renovated life.

ATTINGHAUSEN. From their old towers the nobles are descending, And swearing in the towns the civic oath. In Uechtland and Thurgau the work's begun; The noble Bern lifts her commanding head, And Freyburg is a stronghold of the free; The stirring Zurich calls her guilds to arms; And now, behold! the ancient might of kings Is shivered against her everlasting walls.

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

I see the princes and their haughty peers, Clad all in steel, come striding on to crush A harmless shepherd race with mailed hand. Desperate the conflict: 'tis for life or death; And many a pass will tell to after years Of glorious victories sealed in foemen's blood. [25] The peasant throws himself with naked breast, A willing victim on their serried lances. They yield—the flower of chivalry's cut down, And freedom waves her conquering banner high!

[Grasps the hands Of WALTER FURST and STAUFFACHER.

Hold fast together, then—forever fast! Let freedom's haunts be one in heart and mind! Set watches on your mountain-tops, that league May answer league, when comes the hour to strike. Be one—be one—be one——

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

RUDENZ (entering hurriedly). Lives he? Oh, say, can he still hear my voice?

FURST (averting his face). You are our seignior and protector now; Henceforth this castle bears another name.

RUDENZ (gazing at the body with deep emotion). Oh, God! Is my repentance, then, too late? Could he not live some few brief moments more, To see the change that has come o'er my heart? Oh, I was deaf to his true counselling voice While yet he walked on earth. Now he is gone; Gone and forever,—leaving me the debt,— The heavy debt I owe him—undischarged! Oh, tell me! did he part in anger with me?

STAUFFACHER. When dying he was told what you had done, And blessed the valor that inspired your words!

RUDENZ (kneeling downs beside the dead body). Yes, sacred relics of a man beloved! Thou lifeless corpse! Here, on thy death-cold hand, Do I abjure all foreign ties forever! And to my country's cause devote myself. I am a Switzer, and will act as one With my whole heart and soul. [Rises. Mourn for our friend, Our common parent, yet be not dismayed! 'Tis not alone his lands that I inherit,— His heart—his spirit have devolved on me; And my young arm shall execute the task For which his hoary age remained your debtor. Give me your hands, ye venerable fathers! Thine, Melchthal, too! Nay, do not hesitate, Nor from me turn distrustfully away. Accept my plighted vow—my knightly oath!

FURST. Give him your hands, my friends! A heart like his That sees and owns its error claims our trust.

MELCHTHAL. You ever held the peasantry in scorn; What surety have we that you mean us fair?

RUDENZ. Oh, think not of the error of my youth!

STAUFFACHER (to MELCHTHAL). Be one! They were our father's latest words. See they be not forgotten! Take my hand,— A peasant's hand,—and with it, noble Sir, The gage and the assurance of a man! Without us, sir, what would the nobles be? Our order is more ancient, too, than yours!

RUDENZ. I honor it, and with my sword will shield it!

MELCHTHAL. The arm, my lord, that tames the stubborn earth, And makes its bosom blossom with increase, Can also shield a man's defenceless breast.

RUDENZ. Then you shall shield my breast and I will yours; Thus each be strengthened by the others' aid! Yet wherefore talk we while our native land Is still to alien tyranny a prey? First let us sweep the foeman from the soil, Then reconcile our difference in peace!

[After a moment's pause.

How! You are silent! Not a word for me? And have I yet no title to your trust? Then must I force my way, despite your will, Into the league you secretly have formed. You've held a Diet on the Rootli,—I Know this,—know all that was transacted there! And though I was not trusted with your secret, I still have kept it like a sacred pledge. Trust me, I never was my country's foe, Nor would I ever have ranged myself against you! Yet you did wrong to put your rising off. Time presses! We must strike, and swiftly, too! Already Tell has fallen a sacrifice To your delay.

STAUFFACHER. We swore to wait till Christmas.

RUDENZ. I was not there,—I did not take the oath. If you delay I will not!

MELCHTHAL. What! You would——

RUDENZ. I count me now among the country's fathers, And to protect you is my foremost duty.

FURST. Within the earth to lay these dear remains, That is your nearest and most sacred duty.

RUDENZ. When we have set the country free, we'll place Our fresh, victorious wreaths upon his bier. Oh, my dear friends, 'tis not your cause alone! I have a cause to battle with the tyrants That more concerns myself. Know, that my Bertha Has disappeared,—been carried off by stealth, Stolen from amongst us by their ruffian bands!

STAUFFACHER. And has the tyrant dared so fell an outrage Against a lady free and nobly born?

RUDENZ. Alas! my friends, I promised help to you, And I must first implore it for myself? She that I love is stolen—is forced away, And who knows where the tyrant has concealed her. Or with what outrages his ruffian crew May force her into nuptials she detests? Forsake me not! Oh help me to her rescue! She loves you! Well, oh well, has she deserved That all should rush to arms in her behalf.

STAUFFACHER. What course do you propose?

RUDENZ. Alas! I know not. In the dark mystery that shrouds her fate, In the dread agony of this suspense, Where I can grasp at naught of certainty, One single ray of comfort beams upon me. From out the ruins of the tyrant's power Alone can she be rescued from the grave. Their strongholds must be levelled! Everyone, Ere we can pierce into her gloomy prison.

MELCHTHAL. Come, lead us on! We follow! Why defer Until to-morrow what to-day may do? Tell's arm was free when we at Rootli swore, This foul enormity was yet undone. And change of circumstance brings change of law. Who such a coward as to waver still?

RUDENZ (to WALTER FURST). Meanwhile to arms, and wait in readiness The fiery signal on the mountain-tops. For swifter than a boat can scour the lake Shall you have tidings of our victory; And when you see the welcome flames ascend, Then, like the lightning, swoop upon the foe, And lay the despots and their creatures low!



SCENE III.

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

TELL (enters with his crossbow). Here through this deep defile he needs must pass; There leads no other road to Kuessnacht; here I'll do it; the opportunity is good. Yon alder tree stands well for my concealment, Thence my avenging shaft will surely reach him. The straitness of the path forbids pursuit. Now, Gessler, balance thine account with Heaven! Thou must away from earth, thy sand is run. I led a peaceful, inoffensive life; My bow was bent on forest game alone, And my pure soul was free from thoughts of murder. But thou hast scared me from my dream of peace; The milk of human kindness thou hast turned To rankling poison in my breast, and made Appalling deeds familiar to my soul. He who could make his own child's head his mark Can speed his arrow to his foeman's heart.

My children dear, my loved and faithful wife, Must be protected, tyrant, from thy fury! When last I drew my bow, with trembling hand, And thou, with murderous joy, a father forced To level at his child; when, all in vain, Writhing before thee, I implored thy mercy, Then in the agony of my soul I vowed A fearful oath, which met God's ear alone, That when my bow next winged an arrow's flight Its aim should be thy heart. The vow I made Amid the hellish torments of that moment I hold a sacred debt, and I will pay it.

Thou art my lord, my emperor's delegate, Yet would the emperor not have stretched his power So far as thou. He sent thee to these Cantons To deal forth law, stern law, for he is angered; But not to wanton with unbridled will In every cruelty, with fiendlike joy: There is a God to punish and avenge.

Come forth, thou bringer once of bitter pangs, My precious jewel now, my chiefest treasure; A mark I'll set thee, which the cry of grief Could never penetrate, but thou shalt pierce it. And thou, my trusty bowstring, that so oft Has served me faithfully in sportive scenes, Desert me not in this most serious hour— Only be true this once, my own good cord, That has so often winged the biting shaft:— For shouldst thou fly successless from my hand, I have no second to send after thee.

[Travellers pass over the stage.

I'll sit me down upon this bench of stone, Hewn for the wayworn traveller's brief repose— For here there is no home. Each hurries by The other, with quick step and careless look, Nor stays to question of his grief. Here goes The merchant, full of care—the pilgrim next, With slender scrip—and then the pious monk, The scowling robber, and the jovial player, The carrier with his heavy-laden horse, That comes to us from the far haunts of men; For every road conducts to the world's end. They all push onwards—every man intent On his own several business—mine is murder.

[Sits down.

Time was, my dearest children, when with joy You hailed your father's safe return to home From his long mountain toils; for when he came He ever brought some little present with him. A lovely Alpine flower—a curious bird— Or elf-boat found by wanderers on the hills. But now he goes in quest of other game: In the wild pass he sits, and broods on murder; And watches for the life-blood of his foe, But still his thoughts are fixed on you alone, Dear children. 'Tis to guard your innocence, To shield you from the tyrant's fell revenge, He bends his bow to do a deed of blood!

[Rises.

Well—I am watching for a noble prey— Does not the huntsman, with severest toil, Roam for whole days amid the winter's cold, Leap with a daring bound from rock to rock,— And climb the jagged, slippery steeps, to which His limbs are glued by his own streaming blood; And all this but to gain a wretched chamois. A far more precious prize is now my aim— The heart of that dire foe who would destroy me.

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

From my first years of boyhood I have used The bow—been practised in the archer's feats; The bull's-eye many a time my shafts have hit, And many a goodly prize have I brought home, Won in the games of skill. This day I'll make My master-shot, and win the highest prize Within the whole circumference of the mountains.

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

STUSSI. There goes the bridal party of the steward Of Moerlischachen's cloister. He is rich! And has some ten good pastures on the Alps. He goes to fetch his bride from Imisee, There will be revelry to-night at Kuessnacht. Come with us—every honest man's invited.

TELL. A gloomy guest fits not a wedding feast.

STUSSI. If grief oppress you, dash it from your heart! Bear with your lot. The times are heavy now, And we must snatch at pleasure while we can. Here 'tis a bridal, there a burial.

TELL. And oft the one treads close upon the other.

STUSSI. So runs the world at present. Everywhere We meet with woe and misery enough. There's been a slide of earth in Glarus, and A whole side of the Glaernisch has fallen in.

TELL. Strange! And do even the hills begin to totter? There is stability for naught on earth.

STUSSI. Strange tidings, too, we hear from other parts. I spoke with one but now, that came from Baden, Who said a knight was on his way to court, And as he rode along a swarm of wasps Surrounded him, and settling on his horse, So fiercely stung the beast that it fell dead, And he proceeded to the court on foot.

TELL. Even the weak are furnished with a sting.

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

STUSSI. 'Tis thought to bode disaster to the country, Some horrid deed against the course of nature.

TELL. Why, every day brings forth such fearful deeds; There needs no miracle to tell their coming.

STUSSI. Too true! He's blessed who tills his field in peace, And sits untroubled by his own fireside.

TELL. The very meekest cannot rest in quiet, Unless it suits with his ill neighbor's humor.

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

STUSSI. So fare you well! You're waiting some one here?

TELL. I am.

STUSSI. A pleasant meeting with your friends! You are from Uri, are you not? His grace The governor's expected thence to-day.

TRAVELLER (entering). Look not to see the governor to-day. The streams are flooded by the heavy rains, And all the bridges have been swept away.

[TELL rises.

ARMGART (coming forward). The viceroy not arrived?

STUSSI. And do you seek him?

ARMGART. Alas, I do!

STUSSI. But why thus place yourself Where you obstruct his passage down the pass?

ARMGART. Here he cannot escape me. He must hear me.

FRIESSHARDT (coming hastily down the pass, and calls upon the stage). Make way, make way! My lord, the governor, Is coming down on horseback close behind me.

[Exit TELL.

ARMGART (with animation). The viceroy comes!

[She goes towards the pass with her children. GESSLER and RUDOLPH DER HARRAS appear upon the heights on horseback.

STUSSI (to FRIESSHARDT). How got ye through the stream When all the bridges have been carried down?

FRIESSHARDT. We've battled with the billows; and, my friend, An Alpine torrent's nothing after that.

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

FRIESSHARDT. Ay, that we were! I shall not soon forget it.

STUSSI. Stay, speak——

FRIESSHARDT. I cannot. I must to the castle, And tell them that the governor's at hand.

[Exit.

STUSSI. If honest men, now, had been in the ship, It had gone down with every soul on board:— Some folks are proof 'gainst fire and water both.

[Looking round.

Where has the huntsman gone with whom I spoke?

[Exit.

Enter GESSLER and RUDOLPH DER HARRAS on horseback.

GESSLER. Say what you please; I am the emperor's servant, And my first care must be to do his pleasure. He did not send me here to fawn and cringe And coax these boors into good humor. No! Obedience he must have. We soon shall see If king or peasant is to lord it here?

ARMGART. Now is the moment! Now for my petition!

GESSLER. 'Twas not in sport that I set up the cap In Altdorf—or to try the people's hearts— All this I knew before. I set it up That they might learn to bend those stubborn necks They carry far too proudly—and I placed What well I knew their eyes could never brook Full in the road, which they perforce must pass, That, when their eyes fell on it, they might call That lord to mind whom they too much forget.

HARRAS. But surely, sir, the people have some rights——

GESSLER. This is no time to settle what they are. Great projects are at work, and hatching now; The imperial house seeks to extend its power. Those vast designs of conquests, which the sire Has gloriously begun, the son will end. This petty nation is a stumbling-block— One way or other it must be subjected.

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

ARMGART. Mercy, lord governor! Oh, pardon, pardon!

GESSLER. Why do you cross me on the public road? Stand back, I say.

ARMGART. My husband lies in prison; My wretched orphans cry for bread. Have pity, Pity, my lord, upon our sore distress!

HARRAS. Who are you, woman; and who is your husband?

ARMGART. A poor wild hay-man of the Rigiberg, Kind sir, who on the brow of the abyss, Mows down the grass from steep and craggy shelves, To which the very cattle dare not climb.

HARRAS (to GESSLER). By Heaven! a sad and miserable life! I prithee, give the wretched man his freedom. How great soever his offence may be, His horrid trade is punishment enough.

[To ARMGART.

You shall have justice. To the castle bring Your suit. This is no place to deal with it.

ARMGART. No, no, I will not stir from where I stand, Until your grace restore my husband to me. Six months already has he been in prison, And waits the sentence of a judge in vain.

GESSLER. How! Would you force me, woman? Hence! Begone!

ARMGART. Justice, my lord! Ay, justice! Thou art judge! The deputy of the emperor—of Heaven! Then do thy duty, as thou hopest for justice From Him who rules above, show it to us!

GESSLER. Hence! drive this daring rabble from my sight!

ARMGART (seizing his horse's reins). No, no, by Heaven, I've nothing more to lose. Thou stirrest not, viceroy, from this spot until Thou dost me fullest justice. Knit thy brows, And roll thy eyes; I fear not. Our distress Is so extreme, so boundless, that we care No longer for thine anger.

GESSLER. Woman, hence! Give way, I say, or I will ride thee down.

ARMGART. Well, do so; there!

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

Here on the ground I lie, I and my children. Let the wretched orphans Be trodden by thy horse into the dust! It will not be the worst that thou hast done.

HARRAS. Are you mad, woman?

ARMGART (continuing with vehemence). Many a day thou hast Trampled the emperor's lands beneath thy feet. Oh, I am but a woman! Were I man, I'd find some better thing to do, than here Lie grovelling in the dust.

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

GESSLER. Where are my knaves? Drag her away, lest I forget myself, And do some deed I may repent hereafter.

HARRAS. My lord, the servants cannot force a passage; The pass is blocked up by a marriage party.

GESSLER. Too mild a ruler am I to this people, Their tongues are all too bold; nor have they yet Been tamed to due submission, as they shall be. I must take order for the remedy; I will subdue this stubborn mood of theirs, And crush the soul of liberty within them. I'll publish a new law throughout the land; I will——

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

Oh God, have mercy on my soul!

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

ARMGART (starts up). Dead, dead! He reels, he falls! 'Tis in his heart!

HARRAS (springs from his horse). This is most horrible! Oh Heavens! sir knight, Address yourself to God and pray for mercy; You are a dying man.

GESSLER. That shot was Tell's.

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

TELL. Thou knowest the archer, seek no other hand. Our cottages are free, and innocence Secure from thee: thou'lt be our curse no more.

[TELL disappears. People rush in.

STUSSI. What is the matter? Tell me what has happened?

ARMGART. The governor is shot,—killed by an arrow!

PEOPLE (running in). Who has been shot?

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

HARRAS. He's bleeding fast to death. Away, for help—pursue the murderer! Unhappy man, is't thus that thou must die? Thou wouldst not heed the warnings that I gave thee!

STUSSI. By heaven, his cheek is pale! His life ebbs fast.

MANY VOICES. Who did the deed?

HARRAS. What! Are the people mad That they make music to a murder? Silence!

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

Speak, if thou canst, my lord. Hast thou no charge To intrust me with?

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

What would you have me do? Shall I to Kuessnacht? I can't guess your meaning. Do not give way to this impatience. Leave All thoughts of earth and make your peace with Heaven.

[The whole marriage party gather round the dying man.

STUSSI. See there! how pale he grows! Death's gathering now About his heart; his eyes grow dim and glazed.

ARMGART (holds up a child). Look, children, how a tyrant dies!

HARRAS. Mad hag! Have you no touch of feeling that you look On horrors such as these without a shudder? Help me—take hold. What, will not one assist To pull the torturing arrow from his breast?

WOMEN. We touch the man whom God's own hand has struck!

HARRAS. All curses light on you!

[Draws his sword.

STUSSI (seizes his arm). Gently, sir knight! Your power is at an end. 'Twere best forbear. Our country's foe is fallen. We will brook No further violence. We are free men.

ALL. The country's free!

HARRAS. And is it come to this? Fear and obedience at an end so soon?

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

You see, my friends, the bloody piece of work They've acted here. 'Tis now too late for help, And to pursue the murderer were vain. New duties claim our care. Set on to Kuessnacht, And let us save that fortress for the king! For in an hour like this all ties of order, Fealty, and faith are scattered to the winds. No man's fidelity is to be trusted.

[As he is going out with the soldiers six FRATRES MISERICCRDIAE appear.

ARMGART. Here come the brotherhood of mercy. Room!

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

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

With hasty step death presses on, Nor grants to man a moment's stay, He falls ere half his race be run In manhood's pride is swept away! Prepared or unprepared to die, He stands before his Judge on high.

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



ACT V.

SCENE I.

A common near Altdorf. In the background to the right the keep of Uri, with the scaffold still standing, as in the third scene of the first act. To the left the view opens upon numerous mountains, on all of which signal fires are burning. Day is breaking, and bells are heard ringing from various distances.

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

RUODI. Look at the fiery signals on the mountains!

MASTER MASON. Hark to the bells above the forest there!

RUODI. The enemy's expelled.

MASTER MASON. The forts are taken.

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

MASTER MASON. Shall the yoke stand that was to bow our necks? Up! Tear it to the ground!

ALL. Down, down with it!

RUODI. Where is the Stier of Uri?

URI. Here. What would ye?

RUODI. Up to your tower, and wind us such a blast, As shall resound afar, from hill to hill; Rousing the echoes of each peak and glen, And call the mountain men in haste together!

[Exit STIER OF URI—enter WALTER FURST.

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

RUODI. Wait, wait for what? The accursed tyrant's dead, And the bright day of liberty has dawned!

MASTER MASON. How! Do these flaming signals not suffice, That blaze on every mountain top around?

RUODI. Come all, fall to—come, men and women, all! Destroy the scaffold! Tear the arches down! Down with the walls; let not a stone remain.

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

ALL. Come! Down with it!

[They fall upon the building at every side.

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

[Enter MELCHTHAL and BAUMGARTEN.

MELCHTHAL. What! Stands the fortress still, when Sarnen lies In ashes, and when Rossberg is a ruin?

FURST. You, Melchthal, here? D'ye bring us liberty? Say, have you freed the country of the foe?

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

FURST. How did you get the forts into your power?

MELCHTHAL. Rudenz it was who with a gallant arm, And manly daring, took the keep at Sarnen. The Rossberg I had stormed the night before. But hear what chanced. Scarce had we driven the foe Forth from the keep, and given it to the flames, That now rose crackling upwards to the skies, When from the blaze rushed Diethelm, Gessler's page, Exclaiming, "Lady Bertha will be burnt!"

FURST. Good heavens!

[The beams of the scaffold are heard falling.

MELCHTHAL. 'Twas she herself. Here had she been Immured in secret by the viceroy's orders. Rudenz sprang up in frenzy. For we heard The beams and massive pillars crashing down, And through the volumed smoke the piteous shrieks Of the unhappy lady.

FURST. Is she saved?

MELCHTHAL. Here was a time for promptness and decision! Had he been nothing but our baron, then We should have been most chary of our lives; But he was our confederate, and Bertha Honored the people. So without a thought, We risked the worst, and rushed into the flames.

FURST. But is she saved?

MELCHTHAL. She is. Rudenz and I Bore her between us from the blazing pile, With crashing timbers toppling all around. And when she had revived, the danger past, And raised her eyes to meet the light of heaven, The baron fell upon my breast; and then A silent vow of friendship passed between us— A vow that, tempered in yon furnace heat, Will last through every shock of time and fate.

FURST. Where is the Landenberg?

MELCHTHAL. Across the Bruenig. No fault of mine it was, that he, who quenched My father's eyesight, should go hence unharmed. He fled—I followed—overtook and seized him, And dragged him to my father's feet. The sword Already quivered o'er the caitiff's head, When at the entreaty of the blind old man, I spared the life for which he basely prayed. He swore Urphede [26], never to return: He'll keep his oath, for he has felt our arm.

FURST. Thank God, our victory's unstained by blood!

CHILDREN (running across the stage with fragments of wood). Liberty! Liberty! Hurrah, we're free!

FURST. Oh! what a joyous scene! These children will, E'en to their latest day, remember it.

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

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

BAUMGARTEN. Command us, how we shall dispose of it.

FURST. Heavens! 'Twas beneath this cap my grandson stood!

SEVERAL VOICES. Destroy the emblem of the tyrant's power! Let it burn!

FURST. No. Rather be preserved! 'Twas once the instrument of despots—now 'Twill be a lasting symbol of our freedom.

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

MELCHTHAL. Thus now, my friends, with light and merry hearts, We stand upon the wreck of tyranny; And gallantly have we fulfilled the oath, Which we at Rootli swore, confederates!

FURST. The work is but begun. We must be firm. For, be assured, the king will make all speed, To avenge his viceroy's death, and reinstate, By force of arms, the tyrant we've expelled.

MELCHTHAL. Why, let him come, with all his armaments! The foe within has fled before our arms; We'll give him welcome warmly from without!

RUODI. The passes to the country are but few; And these we'll boldly cover with our bodies.

BAUMGARTEN. We are bound by an indissoluble league, And all his armies shall not make us quail.

[Enter ROSSELMANN and STAUFFACHER.

ROSSELMANN (speaking as he enters). These are the awful judgments of the lord!

PEASANT. What is the matter?

ROSSELMANN. In what times we live!

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

PEASANT. What's the matter?

ROSSELMANN. Hear and wonder.

STAUFFACHER. We are released from one great cause of dread.

ROSSELMANN. The emperor is murdered.

FURST. Gracious heaven!

[PEASANTS rise up and throng round STAUFFACHER.

ALL. Murdered! the emperor? What! The emperor! Hear!

MELCHTHAL. Impossible! How came you by the news?

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

FURST. Who dared commit so horrible a deed?

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

MELCHTHAL. What drove him to so dire a parricide?

STAUFFACHER. The emperor kept his patrimony back, Despite his urgent importunities; 'Twas said, indeed, he never meant to give it, But with a mitre to appease the duke. However this may be, the duke gave ear, To the ill counsel of his friends in arms; And with the noble lords, von Eschenbach, Von Tegerfeld, von Wart, and Palm, resolved, Since his demands for justice were despised, With his own hands to take revenge at least.

FURST. But say, how compassed he the dreadful deed?

STAUFFACHER. The king was riding down from Stein to Baden, Upon his way to join the court at Rheinfeld,— With him a train of high-born gentlemen, And the young princes, John and Leopold. And when they reached the ferry of the Reuss, The assassins forced their way into the boat, To separate the emperor from his suite. His highness landed, and was riding on Across a fresh-ploughed field—where once, they say, A mighty city stood in Pagan times— With Hapsburg's ancient turrets full in sight, Where all the grandeur of his line had birth— When Duke John plunged a dagger in his throat, Palm ran him through the body with his lance, Eschenbach cleft his skull at one fell blow, And down he sank, all weltering in his blood, On his own soil, by his own kinsmen slain. Those on the opposite bank, who saw the deed, Being parted by the stream, could only raise An unavailing cry of loud lament. But a poor woman, sitting by the way, Raised him, and on her breast he bled to death.

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

STAUFFACHER. The country round is filled with dire alarm. The mountain passes are blockaded all, And sentinels on every frontier set; E'en ancient Zurich barricades her gates, That for these thirty years have open stood, Dreading the murderers, and the avengers more, For cruel Agnes comes, the Hungarian queen, To all her sex's tenderness a stranger, Armed with the thunders of the church to wreak Dire vengeance for her parent's royal blood, On the whole race of those that murdered him,— Upon their servants, children, children's children,— Nay on the stones that build their castle walls. Deep has she sworn a vow to immolate Whole generations on her father's tomb, And bathe in blood as in the dew of May.

MELCHTHAL. Know you which way the murderers have fled?

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

FURST. And thus their crime has yielded them no fruits. Revenge is barren. Of itself it makes The dreadful food it feeds on; its delight Is murder—its satiety despair.

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

FURST and several others. Has any one been named to you?

STAUFFACHER. The Count Of Luxembourg is widely named already.

FURST. 'Tis well we stood so stanchly by the empire! Now we may hope for justice, and with cause.

STAUFFACHER. The emperor will need some valiant friends, And he will shelter us from Austria's vengeance.

[The peasantry embrace. Enter SACRIST, with imperial messenger.

SACRIST. Here are the worthy chiefs of Switzerland!

ROSSELMANN and several others. Sacrist, what news?

SACRISTAN. A courier brings this letter.

ALL (to WALTER FURST). Open and read it.

FURST (reading). "To the worthy men Of Uri, Schwytz, and Unterwald, the Queen Elizabeth sends grace and all good wishes!"

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

FURST (reads). "In the great grief and doleful widowhood, In which the bloody exit of her lord Has plunged her majesty, she still remembers The ancient faith and love of Switzerland."

MELCHTHAL. She ne'er did that in her prosperity.

ROSSELMANN. Hush, let us hear.

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

[Symptoms of dissatisfaction among the peasantry.

MANY VOICES. The love and grace!

STAUFFACHER. Grace from the father we, indeed, received, But what have we to boast of from the son? Did he confirm the charter of our freedom, As all preceding emperors had done? Did he judge righteous judgment, or afford Shelter or stay to innocence oppressed? Nay, did he e'en give audience to the envoys We sent to lay our grievances before him? Not one of all these things e'er did the king. And had we not ourselves achieved our rights By resolute valor our necessities Had never touched him. Gratitude to him! Within these vales he sowed not gratitude. He stood upon an eminence—he might Have been a very father to his people, But all his aim and pleasure was to raise Himself and his own house: and now may those Whom he has aggrandized lament for him!

FURST. We will not triumph in his fall, nor now Recall to mind the wrongs we have endured. Far be't from us! Yet, that we should avenge The sovereign's death, who never did us good, And hunt down those who ne'er molested us, Becomes us not, nor is our duty. Love Must bring its offerings free and unconstrained; From all enforced duties death absolves— And unto him we are no longer bound.

MELCHTHAL. And if the queen laments within her bower, Accusing heaven in sorrow's wild despair; Here see a people from its anguish freed. To that same heaven send up its thankful praise, For who would reap regrets must sow affection.

[Exit the imperial courier.

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

[Exeunt omnes.



SCENE II.

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

HEDWIG, WALTER, and WILHELM.

HEDWIG. Boys, dearest boys! your father comes to-day. He lives, is free, and we and all are free! The country owes its liberty to him!

WALTER. And I too, mother, bore my part in it; I shall be named with him. My father's shaft Went closely by my life, but yet I shook not!

HEDWIG (embracing him). Yes, yes, thou art restored to me again. Twice have I given thee birth, twice suffered all A mother's agonies for thee, my child! But this is past; I have you both, boys, both! And your dear father will be back to-day.

[A monk appears at the door.

WILHELM. See, mother, yonder stands a holy friar; He's asking alms, no doubt.

HEDWIG. Go lead him in, That we may give him cheer, and make him feel That he has come into the house of joy.

[Exit, and returns immediately with a cup.

WILHELM (to the monk). Come in, good man. Mother will give you food.

WALTER. Come in, and rest, then go refreshed away!

MONK (glancing round in terror, with unquiet looks). Where am I? In what country?

WALTER. Have you lost Your way, that you are ignorant of this? You are at Buerglen, in the land of Uri, Just at the entrance of the Sheckenthal.

MONK (to HEDWIG). Are you alone? Your husband, is he here?

HEDWIG. I momently expect him. But what ails you? You look as one whose soul is ill at ease. Whoe'er you be, you are in want; take that.

[Offers him the cup.

MONK. Howe'er my sinking heart may yearn for food, I will take nothing till you've promised me——

HEDWIG. Touch not my dress, nor yet advance one step. Stand off, I say, if you would have me hear you.

MONK. Oh, by this hearth's bright, hospitable blaze, By your dear children's heads, which I embrace——

[Grasps the boys.

HEDWIG. Stand back, I say! What is your purpose, man? Back from my boys! You are no monk,—no, no. Beneath that robe content and peace should dwell, But neither lives within that face of thine.

MONK. I am the veriest wretch that breathes on earth.

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

WALTER (springs up). Mother, my father!

HEDWIG. Oh, my God!

[Is about to follow, trembles and stops.

WILHELM (running after his brother). My father!

WALTER (without). Thou'rt here once more!

WILHELM (without). My father, my dear father!

TELL (without). Yes, here I am once more! Where is your mother?

[They enter.

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

TELL. Oh Hedwig, Hedwig, mother of my children! God has been kind and helpful in our woes. No tyrant's hand shall e'er divide us more.

HEDWIG (falling on his neck). Oh, Tell, what have I suffered for thy sake!

[Monk becomes attentive.

TELL. Forget it now, and live for joy alone! I'm here again with you! This is my cot I stand again on mine own hearth!

WILHELM. But, father, Where is your crossbow left? I see it not.

TELL. Nor shalt thou ever see it more, my boy. It is suspended in a holy place, And in the chase shall ne'er be used again.

HEDWIG. Oh, Tell, Tell!

[Steps back, dropping his hand.

TELL. What alarms thee, dearest wife?

HEDWIG. How—how dost thou return to me? This hand— Dare I take hold of it? This hand—Oh God!

TELL (with firmness and animation). Has shielded you and set my country free; Freely I raise it in the face of Heaven.

[MONK gives a sudden start—he looks at him.

Who is this friar here?

HEDWIG. Ah, I forgot him. Speak thou with him; I shudder at his presence.

MONK (stepping nearer). Are you that Tell that slew the governor?

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

MONK. You are that Tell! Ah! it is God's own hand That hath conducted me beneath your roof.

TELL (examining him closely). You are no monk. Who are you?

MONK. You have slain The governor, who did you wrong. I too, Have slain a foe, who late denied me justice. He was no less your enemy than mine. I've rid the land of him.

TELL (drawing back). Thou art—oh horror! In—children, children—in without a word. Go, my dear wife! Go! Go! Unhappy man, Thou shouldst be——

HEIWIG. Heavens, who is it?

TELL. Do not ask. Away! away! the children must not hear it. Out of the house—away! Thou must not rest 'Neath the same roof with this unhappy man!

HEDWIG. Alas! What is it? Come!

[Exit with the children.

TELL (to the MONK). Thou art the Duke Of Austria—I know it. Thou hast slain The emperor, thy uncle, and liege lord.

DUKE JOHN. He robbed me of my patrimony.

TELL. How! Slain him—thy king, thy uncle! And the earth Still bears thee! And the sun still shines on thee!

DUKE JOHN. Tell, hear me, ere you——

TELL. Reeking with the blood Of him that was thy emperor and kinsman, Durst thou set foot within my spotless house? Show thy fell visage to a virtuous man, And claim the rites of hospitality?

DUKE JOHN. I hoped to find compassion at your hands. You also took revenge upon your foe!

TELL. Unhappy man! And dar'st thou thus confound Ambition's bloody crime with the dread act To which a father's direful need impelled him? Hadst thou to shield thy children's darling heads? To guard thy fireside's sanctuary—ward off The last, worst doom from all that thou didst love? To heaven I raise my unpolluted hands, To curse thine act and thee! I have avenged That holy nature which thou hast profaned. I have no part with thee. Thou art a murderer; I've shielded all that was most dear to me.

DUKE JOHN. You cast me off to comfortless despair!

TELL. My blood runs cold even while I talk with thee. Away! Pursue thine awful course! Nor longer Pollute the cot where innocence abides!

[DUKE JOHN turns to depart.

DUKE JOHN. I cannot live, and will no longer thus!

TELL. And yet my soul bleeds for thee—gracious heaven! So young, of such a noble line, the grandson Of Rudolph, once my lord and emperor, An outcast—murderer—standing at my door, The poor man's door—a suppliant, in despair!

[Covers his face.

DUKE JOHN. If thou hast power to weep, oh let my fate Move your compassion—it is horrible. I am—say, rather was—a prince. I might Have been most happy had I only curbed The impatience of my passionate desires; But envy gnawed my heart—I saw the youth Of mine own cousin Leopold endowed With honor, and enriched with broad domains, The while myself, that was in years his equal, Was kept in abject and disgraceful nonage.

TELL. Unhappy man, thy uncle knew thee well, When he withheld both land and subjects from thee; Thou, by thy mad and desperate act hast set A fearful seal upon his sage resolve. Where are the bloody partners of thy crime?

DUKE JOHN. Where'er the demon of revenge has borne them; I have not seen them since the luckless deed.

TELL. Know'st thou the empire's ban is out,—that thou Art interdicted to thy friends, and given An outlawed victim to thine enemies!

DUKE JOHN. Therefore I shun all public thoroughfares, And venture not to knock at any door— I turn my footsteps to the wilds, and through The mountains roam, a terror to myself. From mine own self I shrink with horror back, Should a chance brook reflect my ill-starred form. If thou hast pity for a fellow-mortal——

[Falls down before him.

TELL. Stand up, stand up!

DUKE JOHN. Not till thou shalt extend Thy hand in promise of assistance to me.

TELL. Can I assist thee? Can a sinful man? Yet get thee up,—how black soe'er thy crime, Thou art a man. I, too, am one. From Tell Shall no one part uncomforted. I will Do all that lies within my power.

DUKE JOHN (springs up and grasps him ardently by the hand). Oh, Tell, You save me from the terrors of despair.

TELL. Let go my band! Thou must away. Thou canst not Remain here undiscovered, and discovered Thou canst not count on succor. Which way, then, Wilt bend thy steps? Where dost thou hope to find A place of rest?

DUKE JOHN. Alas! alas! I know not.

TELL. Hear, then, what heaven suggested to my heart, Thou must to Italy,—to Saint Peter's city,— There cast thyself at the pope's feet,—confess Thy guilt to him, and ease thy laden soul!

DUKE JOHN. But will he not surrender me to vengeance!

TELL. Whate'er he does receive as God's decree.

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

TELL. I will describe the road, and mark me well You must ascend, keeping along the Reuss, Which from the mountains dashes wildly down.

DUKE JOHN (in alarm). What! See the Reuss? The witness of my deed!

TELL. The road you take lies through the river's gorge, And many a cross proclaims where travellers Have perished 'neath the avalanche's fall.

DUKE JOHN. I have no fear for nature's terrors, so I can appease the torments of my soul.

TELL. At every cross kneel down and expiate Your crime with burning penitential tears And if you 'scape the perils of the pass, And are not whelmed beneath the drifted snows That from the frozen peaks come sweeping down, You'll reach the bridge that hangs in drizzling spray; Then if it yield not 'neath your heavy guilt, When you have left it safely in your rear, Before you frowns the gloomy Gate of Rocks, Where never sun did shine. Proceed through this, And you will reach a bright and gladsome vale. Yet must you hurry on with hasty steps, For in the haunts of peace you must not linger.

DUKE JOHN. Oh, Rudolph, Rudolph, royal grandsire! thus Thy grandson first sets foot within thy realms!

TELL. Ascending still you gain the Gotthardt's heights, On which the everlasting lakes repose, That from the streams of heaven itself are fed, There to the German soil you bid farewell; And thence, with rapid course, another stream Leads you to Italy, your promised land.

[Ranz des Vaches sounded on Alp-horns is heard without.

But I hear voices! Hence!

HEDWIG (hurrying in). Where art thou, Tell? Our father comes, and in exulting bands All the confederates approach.

DUKE JOHN (covering himself). Woe's me! I dare not tarry 'mid this happiness!

TELL. Go, dearest wife, and give this man to eat. Spare not your bounty. For his road is long, And one where shelter will be hard to find. Quick! they approach.

HEDWIG. Who is he?

TELL. Do not ask And when he quits thee, turn thine eyes away That they may not behold the road he takes.

[DUKE JOHN advances hastily towards TELL, but he beckons him aside and exit. When both have left the stage, the scene changes, and discloses in—



SCENE III.

The whole valley before TELL'S house, the heights which enclose it occupied by peasants, grouped into tableaux. Some are seen crossing a lofty bridge which crosses to the Sechen. WALTER FURST with the two boys. WERNER and STAUFFACHER come forward. Others throng after them. When TELL appears all receive him with loud cheers.

ALL. Long live brave Tell, our shield, our liberator.

[While those in front are crowding round TELL and embracing him, RUDENZ and BERTHA appear. The former salutes the peasantry, the latter embraces HEDWIG. The music, from the mountains continues to play. When it has stopped, BERTHA steps into the centre of the crowd.

BERTHA. Peasants! Confederates! Into your league Receive me here that happily am the first To find protection in the land of freedom. To your brave hands I now intrust my rights. Will you protect me as your citizen?

PEASANTS. Ay, that we will, with life and fortune both!

BERTHA. 'Tis well! And to this youth I give my hand. A free Swiss maiden to a free Swiss man!

RUDENZ. And from this moment all my serfs are free!

[Music and the curtain falls.

FOOTNOTES.

[1] The German is Thalvogt, Ruler of the Valley—the name given figuratively to a dense gray mist which the south wind sweeps into the valleys from the mountain tops. It is well known as the precursor of stormy weather.

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

[3] In German, Wolfenschiessen—a young man of noble family, and a native of Unterwalden, who attached himself to the house of Austria and was appointed Burgvogt, or seneschal, of the castle of Rossberg. He was killed by Baumgarten in the manner and for the cause mentioned in the text.

[4] Literally, the Foehn is loose! "When," says Mueller, in his History of Switzerland, "the wind called the Foehn is high the navigation of the lake becomes extremely dangerous. Such is its vehemence that the laws of the country require that the fires shall be extinguished in the houses while it lasts, and the night watches are doubled. The inhabitants lay heavy stones upon the roofs of their houses to prevent their being blown away."

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

[6] Berenger von Landenberg, a man of noble family in Thurgau and governor of Unterwald, infamous for his cruelties to the Swiss, and particularly to the venerable Henry of the Halden. He was slain at the battle of Morgarten in 1315.

[7] A cell built in the ninth century by Meinrad, Count Hohenzollern, the founder of the Convent of Einsiedlen, subsequently alluded to in the text.

[8] The League, or Bond, of the Three Cantons was of very ancient origin. They met and renewed it from time to time, especially when their liberties were threatened with danger. A remarkable instance of this occurred in the end of the thirteenth century, when Albert of Austria became emperor, and when, possibly, for the first time, the bond was reduced to writing. As it is important to the understanding of many passages of the play, a translation is subjoined of the oldest known document relating to it. The original, which is in Latin and German, is dated in August, 1291, and is under the seals of the whole of the men of Schwytz, the commonalty of the vale of Uri, and the whole of the men of the upper and lower vales of Stanz.

THE BOND.

Be it known to every one, that the men of the Dale of Uri, the Community of Schwytz, as also the men of the mountains of Unterwald, in consideration of the evil times, have full confidently bound themselves, and sworn to help each other with all their power and might, property and people, against all who shall do violence to them, or any of them. That is our Ancient Bond.

Whoever hath a Seignior, let him obey according to the conditions of his service.

We are agreed to receive into these dales no Judge who is not a countryman and indweller, or who hath bought his place.

Every controversy amongst the sworn confederates shall be determined by some of the sagest of their number, and if any one shall challenge their judgment, then shall he be constrained to obey it by the rest.

Whoever intentionally or deceitfully kills another shall be executed, and whoever shelters him shall be banished.

Whoever burns the property of another shall no longer be regarded as a countryman, and whoever shelters him shall make good the damage done.

Whoever injures another, or robs him, and hath property in our country, shall make satisfaction out of the same.

No one shall distrain a debtor without a judge, nor any one who is not his debtor, or the surety for such debtor.

Every one in these dales shall submit to the judge, or we, the sworn confederates, all will take satisfaction for all the injury occasioned by his contumacy. And if in any internal division the one party will not accept justice, all the rest shall help the other party. These decrees shall, God willing, endure eternally for our general advantage.

[9] The Austrian knights were in the habit of wearing a plume of peacocks' feathers in their helmets. After the overthrow of the Austrian dominion in Switzerland it was made highly penal to wear the peacock's feather at any public assembly there.

[10] The bench reserved for the nobility.

[11] The Landamman was an officer chosen by the Swiss Gemeinde, or Diet, to preside over them. The Banneret was an officer intrusted with the keeping of the state banner, and such others as were taken in battle.

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

[13] This frequently occurred. But in the event of an imperial city being mortgaged for the purpose of raising money it lost its freedom, and was considered as put out of the realm.

[14] An allusion to the circumstance of the imperial crown not being hereditary, but conferred by election on one of the counts of the empire.

[15] These are the cots, or shealings, erected by the herdsmen for shelter while pasturing their herds on the mountains during the summer. These are left deserted in winter, during which period Melchthal's journey was taken.

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

[17] The Heribann was a muster of warriors similar to the arriere ban in France.

[18] The Duke of Suabia, who soon afterwards assassinated his uncle, for withholding his patrimony from him.

[19] A sort of national militia.

[20, 21, 22, 23] Rocks on the shore of the Lake of Lucerne.

[24] A rock on the shore of the lake of Lucerne.

[25] An allusion to the gallant self-devotion of Arnold Struthan of Winkelried at the battle of Sempach (9th July, 1386), who broke the Austrian phalanx by rushing on their lances, grasping as many of them as he could reach, and concentrating them upon his breast. The confederates rushed forward through the gap thus opened by the sacrifice of their comrade, broke and cut down their enemy's ranks, and soon became the masters of the field. "Dear and faithful confederates, I will open you a passage. Protect my wife and children," were the words of Winkelried as he rushed to death.

[26] The Urphede was an oath of peculiar force. When a man who was at feud with another, invaded his lands and was worsted, he often made terms with his enemy by swearing the Urphede, by which he bound himself to depart and never to return with a hostile intention;



DON CARLOS.

By Frederich Schiller



DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

PHILIP THE SECOND, King of Spain. DON CARLOS, Prince, Son of Philip. ALEXANDER FARNESE, Prince of Parma. MARQUIS DE POSA. DUKE OF ALVA.

Grandees of Spain: COUNT LERMA, Colonel of the Body Guard, DUKE OF FERIA, Knight of the Golden Fleece, DUKE OF MEDINA SIDONIA, Admiral, DON RAIMOND DE TAXIS, Postmaster-General,

DOMINGO, Confessor to the King. GRAND INQUISITOR of Spain. PRIOR of a Carthusian Convent. PAGE of the Queen. DON LOUIS MERCADO, Physician to the Queen. ELIZABETH DE VALOIS, Queen of Spain. INFANTA CLARA FARNESE, a Child three years of age. DUCHESS D'OLIVAREZ, Principal Attendant on the Queen.

Ladies Attendant on the Queen: MARCHIONESS DE MONDECAR, PRINCESS EBOLI, COUNTESS FUENTES,

Several Ladies, Nobles, Pages, Officers of the Body-Guard, and mute Characters.



ACT I.

SCENE I.

The Royal Gardens in Aranjuez.

CARLOS and DOMINGO.

DOMINGO. Our pleasant sojourn in Aranjuez Is over now, and yet your highness quits These joyous scenes no happier than before. Our visit hath been fruitless. Oh, my prince, Break this mysterious and gloomy silence! Open your heart to your own father's heart! A monarch never can too dearly buy The peace of his own son—his only son. [CARLOS looks on the ground in silence. Is there one dearest wish that bounteous Heaven Hath e'er withheld from her most favored child? I stood beside, when in Toledo's walls The lofty Charles received his vassals' homage, When conquered princes thronged to kiss his hand, And there at once six mighty kingdoms fell In fealty at his feet: I stood and marked The young, proud blood mount to his glowing cheek, I saw his bosom swell with high resolves, His eye, all radiant with triumphant pride, Flash through the assembled throng; and that same eye Confessed, "Now am I wholly satisfied!" [CARLOS turns away. This silent sorrow, which for eight long moons Hath hung its shadows, prince, upon your brow— The mystery of the court, the nation's grief— Hath cost your father many a sleepless night, And many a tear of anguish to your mother.

CARLOS (turning hastily round). My mother! Grant, O heaven, I may forget How she became my mother!

DOMINGO. Gracious prince!

CARLOS (passing his hands thoughtfully over his brow). Alas! alas! a fruitful source of woe Have mothers been to me. My youngest act, When first these eyes beheld the light of day, Destroyed a mother.

DOMINGO. Is it possible That this reproach disturbs your conscience, prince?

CARLOS. And my new mother! Hath she not already Cost me my father's heart? Scarce loved at best. My claim to some small favor lay in this— I was his only child! 'Tis over! She Hath blest him with a daughter—and who knows What slumbering ills the future hath in store?

DOMINGO. You jest, my prince. All Spain adores its queen. Shall it be thought that you, of all the world, Alone should view her with the eyes of hate— Gaze on her charms, and yet be coldly wise? How, prince? The loveliest lady of her time, A queen withal, and once your own betrothed? No, no, impossible—it cannot be! Where all men love, you surely cannot hate. Carlos could never so belie himself. I prithee, prince, take heed she do not learn That she hath lost her son's regard. The news Would pain her deeply.

CARLOS. Ay, sir! think you so?

DOMINGO. Your highness doubtless will remember how, At the late tournament in Saragossa, A lance's splinter struck our gracious sire. The queen, attended by her ladies, sat High in the centre gallery of the palace, And looked upon the fight. A cry arose, "The king! he bleeds!" Soon through the general din, A rising murmur strikes upon her ear. "The prince—the prince!" she cries, and forward rushed, As though to leap down from the balcony, When a voice answered, "No, the king himself!" "Then send for his physicians!" she replied, And straight regained her former self-composure. [After a short pause. But you seem wrapped in thought?

CARLOS. In wonder, sir, That the king's merry confessor should own So rare a skill in the romancer's art. [Austerely. Yet have I heard it said that those Who watch men's looks and carry tales about, Have done more mischief in this world of ours Than the assassin's knife, or poisoned bowl. Your labor, Sir, hath been but ill-bestowed; Would you win thanks, go seek them of the king.

DOMINGO. This caution, prince, is wise. Be circumspect With men—but not with every man alike. Repel not friends and hypocrites together; I mean you well, believe me!

CARLOS. Say you so? Let not my father mark it, then, or else Farewell your hopes forever of the purple.

DOMINGO (starts).

CARLOS. How!

CARLOS. Even so! Hath he not promised you The earliest purple in the gift of Spain?

DOMINGO. You mock me, prince!

CARLOS. Nay! Heaven forefend, that I Should mock that awful man whose fateful lips Can doom my father or to heaven or hell!