HEDW.
'Tis those who do what's right, whom most he hates.
TELL.
Because he cannot reach them. Me, I ween,
His knightship will be glad to leave in peace.
HEDW.
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 thunder'd 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, his cheek grew pale,
His knees refused their office, and I thought
He would have sunk against the mountain side.
Then, touch'd 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 in answer. Only with his hand
He beckoned me in silence to proceed.
So I pass'd on, and sent his train to seek him.
HEDW.
He trembled, then, before you? Woe the while
You saw his weakness; that he'll ne'er forgive.
TELL.
I shun him, therefore, and he'll not seek me.
HEDW.
But stay away to-day. Go hunt instead!
TELL.
What do you fear?
HEDW.
I am uneasy. Stay!
TELL.
Why thus distress yourself without a cause?
HEDW.
Because there is no cause. Tell, Tell! stay here!
TELL.
Dear wife, I gave my promise I would go.
HEDW.
Must you,-then go. But leave the boys with me.
WALT.
No, mother dear, I go with father, I.
HEDW.
How, Walter! Will you leave your mother then?
WALT.
I'll bring you pretty things from grandpapa.
[Exit with his father.]
WIL.
Mother, I'll stay with you!
HEDW. (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.
BERTH.
He follows me. Now, then, to speak my mind!
RUD. (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.
BERTH.
But are you sure they will not follow us?
RUD.
See, yonder goes the chase! Now, then, or never!
I must avail me of this precious chance,-
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 stamp'd me yet; nor may I take
My place amid the courtly throng of knights,
That, crown'd with glory's lustre, woo thy smiles.
Nothing have I to offer, but a heart
That overflows with truth and love for thee.
BERTH. (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!
RUD.
How! This reproach from thee! Whom do I seek,
On Austria's side, my own beloved, but thee?
BERTH.
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 a tyrant's servile tool.
RUD.
Oh Heaven, what words are these?
BERTH.
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 oppress'd?
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 incense and wound me to the core.
It tries me to the utmost not to hate you.
RUD.
Is not my country's welfare all my wish?
What seek I for her, but to purchase peace
'Neath Austria's potent sceptre?
BERTH.
Bondage, rather!
You would drive Freedom from the last stronghold
That yet remains for her upon the earth.
The people know their own true int'rests better:
Their simple natures are not warp'd by show.
But round your head a tangling net is wound.
RUD.
Bertha, you hate me-you despise me!
BERTH.
Nay! And if I did, 'twere better for my peace.
But to see him despised and despicable,-
The man whom one might love-
RUD.
Oh Bertha! You
Show me the pinnacle of heavenly bliss,
Then, in a moment, hurl me to despair!
BERTH.
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!
RUD.
You trust me, then? Oh, Bertha, with thy love
What might I not become!
BERTH.
Be only that
For which your own high nature destin'd you.
Fill the position you were born to fill;-
Stand by your people and your native land-
And battle for your sacred rights!
RUD.
Alas! How can I win you-how can you be mine,
If I take arms against the Emperor?
Will not your potent kinsmen interpose,
To dictate the disposal of your hand?
BERTH.
All my estates lie in the Forest Cantons;
And I am free, when Switzerland is free.
Oh! what a prospect, Bertha, hast thou shown me!
BERTH.
Hope not to win my hand by Austria's grace;
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 mark'd 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,
And marriage bonds I loathe await me there.
Love, love alone-your love can rescue me.
RUD.
And thou couldst 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 giant walls impenetrably round,
And this sequestered happy vale alone
Look up to heaven, and be my paradise!
BERTH.
Now art thou all my fancy dream'd of thee.
My trust has not been given to thee in vain.
RUD.
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 ev'ry 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.
BERTH.
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 unconstrain'd,
Wielding a power that kings might envy thee.
RUD.
And thee I see, thy sex's crowning gem,
With thy sweet woman's grace and wakeful love,
Building a heaven for me within my home,
And, as the spring-time scatters forth her flowers,
Adorning with thy charms my path of life,
And spreading joy and sunshine all around.
BERTH.
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 keep!
Here are no keeps, here are no bastion'd walls
To part me from a people I can bless.
RUD.
Yet, how to free myself; to loose the coils
Which I have madly twined around my head?
BERTH.
Tear them asunder with a man's resolve.
Whate'er ensue, firm by thy people stand!
It is thy post by birth.
[Hunting horns are heard in the distance.]
But hark! The chase!
Farewell,-'tis needful we should part-away!
Fight for thy land; thou fightest 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
FRIESS.
We keep our watch in vain. Zounds! not a soul
Will pass, and do obeisance to the cap.
But yesterday the place swarm'd like a fair;
Now the old green looks like a desert, quite,
Since yonder scarecrow hung upon the pole.
LEUTH.
Only the vilest rabble show themselves,
And wave their tattered caps in mockery at us.
All honest citizens would sooner make
A weary circuit over half the town,
Than bend their backs before our master's cap.
FRIESS.
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 man, he takes
His stand before the pole,-lifts up the Host-
The Sacrist, too, must tinkle with his bell,
When down they dropp'd on knee-myself and all-
In reverence to the Host, but not the cap.
LEUTH.
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!
FRIESS.
Why not, an't please you, to an empty cap?
You've duck'd, I'm sure, to many an empty sconce.
[Hildegard, Mechthild, and Elsbeth enter with their children, and
station themselves around the pole.]
LEUTH.
And you are a time-serving sneak, that takes
Delight in bringing honest folks to harm.
For my part, he that likes may pass the cap:
I'll shut my eyes and take no note of him.
MECH.
There hangs the Viceroy! Your obeisance, children!
ELS.
I would to God he'd go, and leave his cap!
The country would be none the worse for it.
FRIESS. (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 cross-bow, leading his son Walter by the hand.
They pass the hat without noticing it, and advance to the front of the
stage.]
WALT. (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?
WALT.
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?
WALT.
They are the peaks tha
t 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.
WALT. (after musing a little).
And are there countries with no mountains, father?
TELL.
Yes, if we travel downwards from our heights,
And keep descending where the rivers go,
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 scann'd
Wilhelm Tell Page 8
