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

BOY (observing him).

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

FISHER.

He clutches at the earth with both his hands,

And looks as though he were beside himself.

BOY (advancing).

What do I see? Come father, come and look!

FISHERMAN (approaches).

Who is it? God in Heaven! What! William Tell!

How came you hither? Speak, Tell!

BOY.

                        Were you not

In yonder ship, a prisoner, and in chains?

FISHER.

Were they not carrying you to Küssnacht, Tell?

TELL (rising).

I am released.

FISHERMAN and BOY.

Released, oh miracle!

BOY.

Whence came you here

TELL.

From yonder vessel!

FISHERMAN.

What?

BOY.

Where is the Viceroy?

TELL.

Drifting on the waves.

FISHER.

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

TELL.

By God's most gracious providence. Attend.

FISHERMAN and BOY.

Say on, say on!

TELL.

You know what passed at Altdorf.

FISHER.

I do—say on!

TELL.

             How I was seized and bound,

And order'd by the governor to Küssnacht.

FISHER.

And how at Flüelen he embarked with you.

All this we know. Say, how have you escaped?

TELL.

I lay on deck, fast bound with cords, disarm'd,

In utter hopelessness. I did not think

Again to see the gladsome light of day,

Nor the dear faces of my wife and boys,

And eyed disconsolate the waste of waters.—

FISHER.

Oh, wretched man!

TELL.

Then we put forth; the Viceroy,

Rudolph der Harras, and their suite. My bow

And quiver lay astern beside the helm;

And just as we had reached the corner, near

The little Axen,[57] Heaven ordain'd it so,

That from the Gotthardt's gorge, a hurricane

Swept down upon us with such headlong force

That every oarsman's heart within him sank,

And all on board look'd for a watery grave.

Then heard I one of the attendant train,

Turning to Gessler, in this wise accost him:

"You see our danger, and your own, my lord,

And that we hover on the verge of death.

The boatmen there are powerless from fear,

Nor are they confident what course to take;—

Now, here is Tell, a stout and fearless man,

And knows to steer with more than common skill;

How if we should avail ourselves of him

In this emergency?" The Viceroy then

Address'd me thus: "If thou wilt undertake

To bring us through this tempest safely, Tell,

I might consent to free thee from thy bonds."

I answer'd, "Yes, my lord; so help me God,

I'll see what can be done." On this they loosed

The cords that bound me, and I took my place

Beside the helm, and steered as best I could,

Yet ever eyed my shooting gear askance,

And kept a watchful eye upon the shore,

To find some point where I might leap to land:

And when I had descried a shelving crag,

That jutted, smooth atop into the lake—

FISHER.

I know it. At the foot of the Great Axen;

So steep it looks, I never could have dreamt

That from a boat a man could leap to it.

TELL.

I bade the men to row with all their force

Until we came before the shelving ledge.

For there, I said, the danger will be past!

Stoutly they pull'd, and soon we near'd the point;

One prayer to God for His assisting grace,

And, straining every muscle, I brought round

The vessel's stern close to the rocky wall;

Then snatching up my weapons, with a bound

I swung myself upon the flattened shelf,

And with my feet thrust off, with all my might,

The puny bark into the watery hell.

There let it drift about, as Heaven ordains!

Thus am I here, deliver'd from the might

Of the dread storm, and man's more dreadful still.

FISHER.

Tell, Tell, the Lord has manifestly wrought

A miracle in thy behalf! I scarce

Can credit my own eyes. But tell me, now,

Whither you propose to betake yourself?

For you will be in peril, should perchance

The Viceroy 'scape this tempest with his life.

TELL.

I heard him say, as I lay bound on board,

At Brunnen he proposed to disembark,

And, crossing Schwytz, convey me to his castle.

FISHER.

Means he to go by land?

TELL.

So he intends.

FISHER.

Oh, then conceal yourself without delay!

Not twice will Heaven release you from his grasp.

TELL.

Which is the nearest way to Arth and Küssnacht?

FISHER.

The public road leads by the way of Steinen,

But there's a nearer road, and more retired,

That goes by Lowerz, which my boy can show you.

TELL (gives his hand).

May Heaven reward your kindness! Fare ye well.

[As he is going, he comes back.]

Did not you also take the oath at Rootli?

I heard your name, methinks.

FISHERMAN.

                 Yes, I was there,

And took the oath of the confederacy.

TELL.

Then do me this one favor: speed to Bürglen—

My wife is anxious at my absence—tell her

That I am, free, and in secure concealment.

FISHER.

But whither shall I tell her you have fled?

TELL.

You'll find her father with her, and some more,

Who took the oath with you upon the Rootli;

Bid them resolute and strong of heart—

For Tell is free and master of his arm;

They shall hear further news of me ere long.

FISHER.

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

TELL.

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

[Exit.]

FISHER.

Show him the way, boy. Heaven be his support!

Whate'er he has resolved, he'll execute.

[Exit.]

SCENE II

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

FÜRST.

All now is over with him. He is gone.

STAUFF.

He lies not like one dead. The feather, see,

Moves on his lips! His sleep is very calm,

And on his features plays a placid smile.

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

FÜRST.

Who's there?

BAUMGARTEN (returning).

                    Tell's wife, your daughter, she insists

That she must speak with you, and see her boy.

[WALTER TELL rises.]

FÜRST.

I who need comfort—can I comfort her?

Does every sorrow centre on my head?

HEDWIG (forcing her way in).

Where is my child? unhand me! I must see him.

STAUFF.

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

HEDWIG (falling upon her boy's neck).

My Walter! Oh, he yet is mine!

WALTER.

Dear mother!

HEDWIG.

And, is it surely so? Art thou unhurt?

[Gazing at him with anxious tenderness.]

And is it possible he aim'd at thee?

How could he do it? Oh, he has no heart—

And he could wing an arrow at his child!

FÜRST.

His soul was rack'd with anguish when he did it.

No choice was left him but to shoot or die!

HEDWIG.

Oh, if he had a father's heart, he would

Have sooner perish'd by a thousand deaths!

STAUFF.

You should be grateful for God's gracious care,

That ordered things so well.

HEDWIG.

                       Can I forget

What might have been the issue. God in Heaven,

Were I to live for centuries, I still

Should see my boy tied up—his father's mark—

And still the shaft would quiver in my heart.

MELCH.

You know not how the Viceroy taunted him!

HEDWIG.

Oh, ruthless heart of man! Offend his pride,

And reason in his breast forsakes her seat;

In his blind wrath he'll stake upon a cast

A child's existence, and a mother's heart!

BAUM.

Is then your husband's fate not hard enough,

That you embitter it by such reproaches?

Have you no feeling for his sufferings?

HEDWIG (turning to him and gazing full upon him).

Hast thou tears only for thy friend's distress?

Say, where were you when he—my noble Tell—

Was bound in chains? Where was your friendship then?

The shameful wrong was done before your eyes;

Patient you stood, and let your friend be dragg'd,

Ay, from your very hands. Did ever Tell

Act thus to you? Did he stand whining by,

When on your heels the Viceroy's horsemen press'd,

And full before you roared the storm-toss'd lake?

Oh not with idle tears his pity show'd!

Into the boat he sprang, forgot his home,

His wife, his children, and delivered thee!

FÜRST.

It had been madness to attempt his rescue,

Unarmed, and few in numbers as we were.

HEDWIG (casting herself upon his bosom).

Oh, father, and thou, too, hast lost my Tell!

The country—all have lost him! All lament

His loss; and, oh, how he must pine for us!

Heaven keep his soul from sinking to despair!

No friend's consoling voice can penetrate

His dreary dungeon walls. Should he fall sick!

Ah! In the vapors of the murky vault

He must fall sick. Even as the Alpine rose

Grows pale and withers in the swampy air,

There is no life for him but in the sun

And in the breath of Heaven's fresh-blowing airs.

Imprison'd! Liberty to him is breath;

He cannot live in the rank dungeon air!

STAUFF.

Pray you be calm! And hand in hand we'll all

Combine to burst his prison doors.

HEDWIG.

                                 He gone,

What have you power to do? While Tell was free,

There still, indeed, was hope—weak innocence

Had still a friend, and the oppress'd a stay.

Tell saved you all! You cannot all combined

Release him from his cruel prison bonds.

[The BARON wakes.]

BAUM.

Hush, hush! He starts!

ATTINGHAUSEN (sitting up).

Where is he?

STAUFFACHER.

Who?

ATTINGHAUSEN.

                          He leaves me—

In my last moments he abandons me.

STAUFF.

He means his nephew. Have they sent for him?

FÜRST.

He has been summoned. Cheer'ly, sir! Take comfort!

He has found his heart at last, and is our own.

ATTING.

Say, has he spoken for his native land?

STAUFF.

Ay, like a hero!

ATTINGHAUSEN.

            Wherefore comes he not,

That he may take my blessing ere I die?

I feel my life fast ebbing to a close.

STAUFF.

Nay, talk not thus, dear sir! This last short sleep

Has much refresh'd you, and your eye is bright.

ATTING.

Life is but pain, and that has left me now;

My sufferings, like my hopes, have pass'd away.

[Observing the boy.]

What boy is that?

FÜRST.

              Bless him. Oh, good my lord!

He is my grandson, and is fatherless.

[HEDWIG kneels with the boy before the dying man.]

ATTING.

And fatherless—I leave you all, ay, all!

Oh, wretched fate, that these old eyes should see

My country's ruin, as they close in death!

Must I attain the utmost verge of life,

To feel my hopes go with me to the grave?

STAUFFACHER (to FÜRST).

Shall he depart 'mid grief and gloom like this?

Shall not his parting moments be illumed

By hope's inspiring beams? My noble lord,

Raise up your drooping spirit! We are not

Forsaken quite—past all deliverance.

ATTING.

Who shall deliver you?

FÜRST.

                  Ourselves. For know,

The Cantons three are to each other pledged,

To hunt the tyrants from the land. The league

Has been concluded, and a sacred oath

Confirms our union. Ere another year

Begins its circling course—the blow shall fall.

In a free land your ashes shall repose.

ATTING.

The league concluded! Is it really so?

MELCH.

On one day shall the Cantons rise together.

All is prepared to strike—and to this hour

The secret closely kept, though hundreds share it;

The ground is hollow 'neath the tyrants' feet;

Their days of rule are number'd, and ere long

No trace will of their hateful sway be left.

ATTING.

Ay, but their castles, how to master them?

MELCH.

On the same day they, too, are doom'd to fall.

ATTING.

And are the nobles parties to this league?

STAUFF.

We trust to their assistance, should we need it;

As yet the peasantry alone have sworn.

ATTING. (raising himself up in great astonishment).

And have the peasantry dared such a deed

On their own charge, without the nobles' aid—

Relied so much on their own proper strength?

Nay then, indeed, they want our help no more;

We may go down to death cheer'd by the thought

That after us the majesty of man

Will live, and be maintain'd by other hands.

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

From this boy's head, whereon the apple lay,

Your new and better liberty shall spring;

The old is crumbling down—the times are changing—

And from the ruins blooms a fairer life.

STAUFFACHER (to FÜRST).

See, see, what splendor streams around his eye!

This is not Nature's last expiring flame,

It is the beam of renovated life.

ATTING.

From their old towers the nobles are descending,

And swearing in the towns the civic oath.

In Uechtland and Thurgau the work's begun;

The noble Berne lifts her commanding head,

And Freyburg is a stronghold of the free;

The stirring Zurich calls her guilds to arms;—

And now, behold!—the ancient might of kings

Is shiver'd 'gainst her everlasting walls.

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

I see the princes and their haughty peers,

Clad all in steel, come striding on to crush

A harmless shepherd race with mailèd hand.

Desp'rate the conflict: 'tis for life or death;

And many a pass will tell to after years

Of glorious victories sealed in foemen's blood.[58]

The peasant throws himself with naked breast,

A willing victim on their serried spears;

They yield—the flower of chivalry's cut down,

And Freedom waves her conquering banner high.

[Grasps the hands of WALTER FÜRST 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 FÜRST 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?

Wilhelm von Kaulbach]

FÜRST (averting his face).

You are our seignior and protector now;

Henceforth this castle bears another name.

RUDENZ (gazing at the body with deep emotion).

Oh, God! Is my repentance, then, too late?

Could he not live some few brief moments more,

To see the change that has come o'er my heart?

Oh, I was deaf to his true counselling voice,

While yet he walked on earth. Now he is gone—

Gone, and for ever—leaving me the debt—

The heavy debt I owe him—undischarged!

Oh, tell me! did he part in anger with me?

STAUFF.

When dying, he was told what you had done,

And bless'd the valor that inspired your words!

RUDENZ (kneeling down beside the dead body).

Yes, sacred relics of a man beloved!

Thou lifeless corpse! Here, on thy death-cold hand,

Do I abjure all foreign ties for ever!

And to my country's cause devote myself.

I am a Switzer, and will act as one,

With my whole heart and soul.

[Rises.]

                              Mourn for our friend,

Our common parent, yet be not dismay'd!

'Tis not alone his lands that I inherit—

His heart—his spirit, have devolved on me;

And my young arm shall execute the task,

Which in his hoary age he could not pay.

Give me your hands, ye venerable sires!

Thine, Melchthal, too! Nay, do not hesitate,

Nor from me turn distrustfully away.

Accept my plighted vow—my knightly oath!

FÜRST.

Give him your hands, my friends! A heart like his,

That sees and owns its error, claims our trust.

MELCH.

You ever held the peasantry in scorn;

What surety have we, that you mean us fair?

RUDENZ.

Oh, think not of the error of my youth!

STAUFFACHER (to MELCHTHAL).

Be one! They were our father's latest words.

See they be not forgotten!

MELCHTHAL.

                        Take my hand—

peasant's hand—and with it, noble sir,

The gage and the assurance of a man!

Without us, sir, what would the nobles be?

Our order is more ancient, too, than yours!

RUDENZ.

I honor it—will shield it with my sword!

MELCH.

The arm, my lord, that tames the stubborn earth,

And makes its bosom blossom with increase,

Can also shield its owner's breast at need.

RUDENZ.

Then you shall shield my breast, and I will yours,

Thus each be strengthen'd by the other's strength.

Yet wherefore talk we, while our native land

Is still to alien tyranny a prey?

First let us sweep the foemen from the soil,

Then reconcile our difference in peace!

[After a moment's pause.]

How! You are silent! Not a word for me?

And have I yet no title to your trust?—

Then must I force my way, despite your will,

Into the League you secretly have form'd.

You've held a Diet on the Rootli—I

Know this—know all that was transacted there;

And though not trusted with your secret, I

Have kept it closely like a sacred pledge.

Trust me—I never was my country's foe,

Nor would I ever have against you stood!

Yet you did wrong—to put your rising off.

Time presses! We must strike, and swiftly too!

Already Tell is lost through your delay.

STAUFF.

We swore that we should wait till Christmastide.

RUDENZ.

I was not there—I did not take the oath.

If you delay, I will not!

MELCHTHAL.

What! You would—

RUDENZ.

I count me now among the country's chiefs,

And my first duty is to guard your rights.

FÜRST.

Your nearest and your holiest duty is

Within the earth to lay these dear remains.

RUDENZ.

When we have set the country free, we'll place

Our fresh victorious wreaths upon his bier.

Oh, my dear friends, 'tis not your cause alone!—

with the tyrants have a cause to fight,

That more concerns myself. My Bertha's gone,

Has disappear'd—been carried off by stealth—

Stolen from amongst us by their ruffian hands!

STAUFF.

So fell an outrage has the tyrant dared

Against a lady free and nobly born?

RUDENZ.

Alas! my friends, I promised help to you,

And I must first implore it for myself!

She that I love, is stolen—is forced away,

And who knows where she's by the tyrant hid,

Or with what outrages his ruffian crew

May force her into nuptials she detests?

Forsake me not!—Oh, help me to her rescue!

She loves you! Well, oh well, has she deserved,

That all should rush to arms in her behalf!

STAUFF.

What course do you propose?

RUDENZ.

                          Alas! I know not.

In the dark mystery that shrouds her fate—

In the dread agony of this suspense,

Where I can grasp at naught of certainty—

One single ray of comfort beams upon me.

From out the ruins of the tyrant's power

Alone can she be rescued from the grave.

Their strongholds must be levell'd, every one,

Ere we can penetrate her dungeon walls.

MELCH.

Come, lead us on! We follow! Why defer

Until tomorrow what today may do?

Tell's arm was free when we at Rootli swore.

This foul enormity was yet undone.

And change of circumstance brings change of vow;

Who such a coward as to waver still?

RUDENZ (to WALTER FÜRST).

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

TELL (enters with his cross-bow).

Through this ravine he needs must come. There is

No other way to Küssnacht. Here I'll do it!

The ground is everything I could desire.

Yon elder bush will hide me from his view,

And from that point my shaft is sure to hit.

The straitness of the gorge forbids pursuit.

Now, Gessler, balance thine account with Heaven!

Thou must away from earth—thy sand is run.

Quiet and harmless was the life I led,

My bow was bent on forest game alone;

No thoughts of murder rested on my soul.

But thou hast scared me from my dream of peace;

The milk of human kindness thou hast turn'd

To rankling poison in my breast, and made

Appalling deeds familiar to my soul.

He who could make his own child's head his mark,

Can speed his arrow to his foeman's heart.

My boys, poor innocents, my loyal wife,

Must be protected, tyrant, from thy rage!

When last I drew my bow—with trembling hand—

And thou, with fiendishly remorseless glee

Forced me to level at my own boy's head,

When I, imploring pity, writhed before thee,

Then in the anguish of my soul, I vow'd

A fearful oath, which met God's ear alone,