The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Volume 03

  Is the king in realms of air,

So the hunter claims dominion

  Over crag and forest lair.

Far as ever bow can carry,

  Thro' the trackless airy space,

All he sees he makes his quarry,

  Soaring bird and beast of chase.

WILLIAM (runs forward).

My string has snapt! Oh, father, mend it, do!

TELL.

Not I; a true-born archer helps himself.

[Boys retire.]

HEDWIG.

The boys begin to use the bow betimes.

TELL.

'Tis early practice only makes the master.

HEDWIG.

Ah! Would to heaven they never learnt the art!

TELL.

But they shall learn it, wife, in all its points.

Whoe'er would carve an independent way

Through life, must learn to ward or plant a blow.

HEDWIG.

Alas, alas! and they will never rest

Contentedly at home.

TELL.

                        No more can I!

I was not framed by nature for a shepherd.

My restless spirit ever yearns for change;

I only feel the flush and joy of life

If I can start fresh quarry every day.

HEDWIG.

Heedless the while of all your wife's alarms,

As she sits watching through long hours at home.

For my soul sinks with terror at the tales

The servants tell about the risks you run;

Whene'er we part, my trembling heart forebodes

That you will ne'er come back to me again.

I see you on the frozen mountain steeps,

Missing, perchance, your leap from crag to crag.

I see the chamois, with a wild rebound,

Drag you down with him o'er the precipice.

I see the avalanche close o'er your head,

The treacherous ice give way, and you sink down

Entombed alive within its hideous gulf.

Ah! in a hundred varying forms does death

Pursue the Alpine huntsman on his course.

That way of life can surely ne'er be blessed,

Where life and limb are perill'd every hour.

TELL.

The man that bears a quick and steady eye,

And trusts in God, and his own lusty thews,

Passes, with scarce a scar, through every danger.

The mountain cannot awe the mountain child.

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

And now, methinks, the door will hold awhile—

Axe in the house oft saves the carpenter.

[Takes his cap.]

HEDWIG.

Whither away?

TELL.

To Altdorf, to your father.

HEDWIG.

You have some dangerous enterprise in view?

Confess!

TELL.

Why think you so?

HEDWIG.

                   Some scheme's on foot

Against the governors. There was a Diet

Held on the Rootli—that I know—and you

Are one of the confederacy, I'm sure.

TELL.

I was not there. Yet will I not hold back,

Whene'er my country calls me to her aid.

HEDWIG.

Wherever danger is, will you be placed.

On you, as ever, will the burden fall.

[ILLUSTRATION]

TELL.

Each man shall have the post that fits his powers.

HEDWIG.

You took—ay, 'mid the thickest of the storm—

The man of Unterwald across the lake.

'Tis marvel you escaped. Had you no thought

Of wife and children, then?

TELL.

                     Dear wife, I had;

And therefore saved the father for his children.

HEDWIG.

To brave the lake in all its wrath! 'Twas not

To put your trust in God! 'Twas tempting Him.

TELL.

Little will he that's over cautious do.

HEDWIG.

Yes, you've a kind and helping hand for all

But be in straits, and who will lend you aid?

TELL.

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

[Takes up his cross-bow and arrows.]

HEDWIG.

Why take your cross-bow with you? leave it here.

TELL.

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

[The boys return.]

WALTER.

Where, father, are you going?

TELL.

                    To grand-dad, boy—

To Altdorf. Will you go?

WALTER. Ay, that I will!

HEDWIG.

The Viceroy's there just now. Go not to Altdorf!

TELL.

He leaves today.

HEDWIG.

                Then let him first be gone,

Cross not his path.—You know he bears us grudge.

TELL.

His ill-will cannot greatly injure me.

I do what's right, and care for no man's hate.

HEDWIG.

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

TELL.

Because he cannot reach them. Me, I ween,

His knightship will be glad to leave in peace.

HEDWIG.

Ay!—Are you sure of that?

TELL.

                      Not long ago,

As I was hunting through the wild ravines

Of Shechenthal, untrod by mortal foot—

There, as I took my solitary way

Along a shelving ledge of rocks, where 'twas

Impossible to step on either side;

For high above rose, like a giant wall,

The precipice's side, and far below

The Shechen thunder'd o'er its rifted bed;—

[The boys press toward 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 toward 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.

HEDWIG.

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.

HEDWIG.

But stay away today. Go hunt instead!

TELL.

What do you fear?

HEDWIG.

I am uneasy. Stay!

TELL.

Why thus distress yourself without a cause?

HEDWIG.

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

TELL.

Dear wife, I gave my promise I would go.

HEDWIG.

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

WALTER.

No, mother dear, I go with father, I.

HEDWIG.

How, Walter! will you leave your mother then?

WALTER.

I'll bring you pretty things from grandpa.

[Exit with his father.]

WILLIAM.

Mother, I'll stay with you!

HEDWIG (embracing him).

                           Yes, yes! thou art

My own dear child. Thou'rt all that's left to me.

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

SCENE II

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

Enter BERTHA in a hunting dress. Immediately afterward RUDENZ

BERTHA.

He follows me. Now, then, to speak my mind!

RUDENZ (entering hastily).

At length, dear lady, we have met alone

In this wild dell, with rocks on every side,

No jealous eye can watch our interview.

Now let my heart throw off this weary silence.

BERTHA.

But are you sure they will not follow us?

RUDENZ.

See, yonder goes the chase! Now, then, or never!

I must avail me of 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.

BERTHA (sternly and with severity).

And dare you speak to me of love—of truth!

You, that are faithless to your nearest ties!

You, that are Austria's slave-bartered and sold

To her—an alien, and your country's tyrant!

RUDENZ.

How! This reproach from thee! Whom do I seek,

On Austria's side, my own beloved, but thee?

BERTHA.

Think you to find me in the traitor's ranks?

Now, as I live, I'd rather give my hand

To Gessler's self, all despot though he be,

Than to the Switzer who forgets his birth,

And stoops to be a tyrant's servile tool.

RUDENZ.

Oh heaven, what words are these?

BERTHA.

                        Say! what can lie

Nearer the good man's heart than friends and kindred!

What dearer duty to a noble soul

Than to protect weak suffering innocence,

And vindicate the rights of the 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.

RUDENZ.

Is not my country's welfare all my wish?

What seek I for her but to purchase peace

'Neath Austria's potent sceptre?

BERTHA.

                         Bondage, rather!

You would drive freedom from the last stronghold

That yet remains for her upon the earth.

The people know their own true int'rests better:

Their simple natures are not warp'd by show.

But round your head a tangling net is wound.

RUDENZ.

Bertha, you hate me—you despise me!

BERTHA.

                             Nay!

And if I did, 'twere better for my peace.

But to see him despised and despicable—

The man whom one might love—

RUDENZ.

                    Oh, Bertha. You

Show me the pinnacle of heavenly bliss,

Then, in a moment, hurl me to despair!

BERTHA.

No, no! the noble is not all extinct

Within you. It but slumbers—I will rouse it.

It must have cost you many a fiery struggle

To crush the virtues of your race within you.

But, heaven be praised, 'tis mightier than yourself,

And you are noble in your own despite!

RUDENZ.

You trust me, then? Oh, Bertha, with thy love

What might I not become!

BERTHA.

                            Be only that

For which your own high nature 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!

RUDENZ.

                           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?

BERTHA.

All my estates lie in the Forest Cantons;

And I am free, when Switzerland is free.

RUDENZ.

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

BERTHA.

Hope not to win my hand by Austria's 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.

Ob, 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.

RUDENZ.

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!

BERTHA.

Now art thou all my fancy dream'd of thee!

My trust has not been given to thee in vain.

RUDENZ.

Away, ye idle phantoms of my folly;

In mine own home I'll find my happiness.

Here, where the gladsome boy to manhood grew,

Where 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.

BERTHA.

Where should we look for happiness on earth,

If not in this dear land of innocence—

Here, where old truth hath its familiar home?

Where fraud and guile are strangers, envy ne'er

Shall dim the sparkling fountain of our bliss,

And ever bright the hours shall o'er us glide.

There do I see thee, in true manly worth,

The foremost of the free and of thy peers,

Revered with homage pure and unconstrain'd,

Wielding a power that kings might envy thee.

RUDENZ.

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.

BERTHA.

And this it was, dear friend, that caused my grief,

To see thee blast this life's supremest bliss

With thine own hand. Ah! what had been my fate,

Had I been forced to follow some proud lord,

Some ruthless despot, to his gloomy keep!

Here are no keeps, here are no bastion'd walls

To part me from a people I can bless.

RUDENZ.

Yet, how to free myself; to loose the coils

Which I have madly twined around my head?

BERTHA.

Tear them asunder with a man's resolve.

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 Rösselmann, 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!

ELSBETH.

I would to God he'd go, and leave his cap!

The country would be none the worse for it.

FRIESSHARDT (driving them away).

Out of the way! Confounded pack of gossips!

Who sent for you? Go, send your husbands here,

If they have courage to defy the order.

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

WALTER (pointing to the Bannberg).

Father, is't true, that on the mountain there

The trees, if wounded with a hatchet, bleed?

TELL.

Who says so, boy?

WALTER.

The master herdsman, father!

He tells us there's a charm upon the trees,

And if a man shall injure them, the hand

That struck the blow will grow from out the grave.

TELL.

There is a charm about them—that's the truth.

Dost see those glaciers yonder—those white horns—

That seem to melt away into the sky?

WALTER.

They are the peaks that thunder so at night,

And send the avalanches down upon us.

TELL.

They are; and Altdorf long ago had been

Submerged beneath these avalanches' weight,

Did not the forest there above the town

Stand like a bulwark to arrest their fall.

WALTER (after musing a little).

And are there countries with no mountains, father?

TELL.

Yes, if we travel downward 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

Without impediment. The corn grows there

In broad and lovely fields, and all the land

Is like a garden fair to look upon.

WALTER.

But, father, tell me, wherefore haste we not

Away to this delightful land, instead

Of toiling here and struggling as we do?

TELL.

The land is fair and bountiful as Heaven;

But they who till it never may enjoy

The fruits of what they sow.

WALTER.

             Live they not free,

As you do, on the land their fathers left them?

TELL.

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

WALTER.

But they may freely hunt among the woods?

TELL.

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

WALTER.

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

TELL.

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

WALTER.

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

TELL.

He is the man who fosters and protects them.

WALTER.

Have they not courage to protect themselves?

TELL.

The neighbor there dare not his neighbor trust.

WALTER.

I should want breathing room in such a land.

I'd rather dwell beneath the avalanches.

TELL.

'Tis better, child, to have these glacier peaks

Behind one's back than evil-minded men!

[They are about to pass on.]

WALTER.

See, father, see the cap on yonder pole!

TELL.

What is the cap to us? Come, let's begone.

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

FRIESS.

Stand, I command you, in the Emperor's name!

TELL (seizing the pike).

What would ye? Wherefore do ye stop me thus?

FRIESS.

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

LEUTH.

You have not done obeisance to the cap.

TELL.

Friend, let me go.

FRIESS.

Away, away to prison!

WALTER.

Father to prison? Help!

[Calling to the side scene.]

                                This way, you men!

Good people, help! They're dragging him to prison!

[RÖSSELMANN the Priest, and the SACRISTAN, with three other men, enter.]

SACRIST.

What's here amiss?

RÖSSELMANN.

Why do you seize this man?

FRIESS.

He is an enemy of the King—a traitor.

TELL (seizing him with violence).

A traitor, I?

RÖSSELMANN.

            Friend, thou art wrong. 'Tis Tell,

An honest man, and worthy citizen.

WALTER (descries FÜRST and runs up to him).

Grandfather, help, they want to seize my father!

FRIESS. Away to prison!

FÜRST (running in).

                    Stay, I offer bail.

For God's sake, Tell, what is the matter here?

[MELCHTHAL and STAUFFACHER enter.]

LEUTH.

He has contemn'd the Viceroy's sovereign power,

Refusing flatly to acknowledge it.

STAUFF.

Has Tell done this?

MELCHTHAL.

Villain, you know 'tis false!

LEUTH.

He has not made obeisance to the cap.

FÜRST.

And shall for this to prison? Come, my friend,

Take my security, and let him go.

FRIESS.

Keep your security for yourself—you'll need it.

We only do our duty. Hence with him.

MELCHTHAL (to the country people).

This is too bad—shall we stand by and see

Him dragged away before our very eyes?

SACRIST.

We are the strongest. Friends, endure it not,

Our countrymen will back us to a man.

FRIESS.