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 endureUpon 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 learnedWhat 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 knowHow 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 liesIn 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 foeForth 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 beenImmured in secret by the viceroy's orders.Rudenz sprang up in frenzy. For we heardThe beams and massive pillars crashing down,And through the volumed smoke the piteous shrieksOf the unhappy lady.
FURST.Is she saved?
MELCHTHAL.Here was a time for promptness and decision!Had he been nothing but our baron, thenWe should have been most chary of our lives;But he was our confederate, and BerthaHonored 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 IBore 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 thenA 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 quenchedMy father's eyesight, should go hence unharmed.He fled—I followed—overtook and seized him,And dragged him to my father's feet. The swordAlready 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 stageis 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 onAcross 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 raiseAn 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 wreakDire 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 immolateWhole 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 theyTook 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 makesThe dreadful food it feeds on; its delightIs murder—its satiety despair.
STAUFFACHER.The assassins reap no profit by their crime;But we shall pluck with unpolluted handsThe 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 passFrom Hapsburg's house into another line.The empire is determined to assertIts old prerogative of choice, I hear.
FURST and several others.Has any one been named to you?
STAUFFACHER.The CountOf 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 menOf Uri, Schwytz, and Unterwald, the QueenElizabeth 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 lordHas plunged her majesty, she still remembersThe 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 holdThe 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 assistTo give them up to the avenger's hand,Remembering the love and grace which theyOf 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 affordShelter or stay to innocence oppressed?Nay, did he e'en give audience to the envoysWe 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 rightsBy resolute valor our necessitiesHad never touched him. Gratitude to him!Within these vales he sowed not gratitude.He stood upon an eminence—he mightHave been a very father to his people,But all his aim and pleasure was to raiseHimself and his own house: and now may thoseWhom he has aggrandized lament for him!
FURST.We will not triumph in his fall, nor nowRecall to mind the wrongs we have endured.Far be't from us! Yet, that we should avengeThe sovereign's death, who never did us good,And hunt down those who ne'er molested us,Becomes us not, nor is our duty. LoveMust 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.
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 shaftWent 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 allA 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 feelThat 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 lostYour 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 cotI 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 handThat hath conducted me beneath your roof.
TELL (examining him closely).You are no monk. Who are you?
MONK.You have slainThe 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 DukeOf Austria—I know it. Thou hast slainThe emperor, thy uncle, and liege lord.
DUKE JOHN.He robbed me of my patrimony.
TELL.How!Slain him—thy king, thy uncle! And the earthStill bears thee! And the sun still shines on thee!
DUKE JOHN.Tell, hear me, ere you——
TELL.Reeking with the bloodOf 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 confoundAmbition's bloody crime with the dread actTo which a father's direful need impelled him?Hadst thou to shield thy children's darling heads?To guard thy fireside's sanctuary—ward offThe last, worst doom from all that thou didst love?To heaven I raise my unpolluted hands,To curse thine act and thee! I have avengedThat 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 longerPollute 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 grandsonOf 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 fateMove your compassion—it is horrible.I am—say, rather was—a prince. I mightHave been most happy had I only curbedThe impatience of my passionate desires;But envy gnawed my heart—I saw the youthOf mine own cousin Leopold endowedWith 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 setA 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 thouArt interdicted to thy friends, and givenAn 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 throughThe 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 extendThy 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 TellShall no one part uncomforted. I willDo 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 notRemain here undiscovered, and discoveredThou canst not count on succor. Which way, then,Wilt bend thy steps? Where dost thou hope to findA 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,—confessThy 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 notAttach myself to other travellers.
TELL.I will describe the road, and mark me wellYou 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 travellersHave perished 'neath the avalanche's fall.
DUKE JOHN.I have no fear for nature's terrors, soI can appease the torments of my soul.
TELL.At every cross kneel down and expiateYour crime with burning penitential tearsAnd if you 'scape the perils of the pass,And are not whelmed beneath the drifted snowsThat 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! thusThy 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 streamLeads 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 bandsAll 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 askAnd when he quits thee, turn thine eyes awayThat 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—
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, thelatter embraces HEDWIG. The music, from the mountains continuesto play. When it has stopped, BERTHA steps into the centre ofthe crowd.
BERTHA.Peasants! Confederates! Into your leagueReceive me here that happily am the firstTo 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.
[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.
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;
By Frederich Schiller
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.
The Royal Gardens in Aranjuez.
CARLOS and DOMINGO.
DOMINGO.Our pleasant sojourn in AranjuezIs over now, and yet your highness quitsThese 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 buyThe peace of his own son—his only son.[CARLOS looks on the ground in silence.Is there one dearest wish that bounteous HeavenHath e'er withheld from her most favored child?I stood beside, when in Toledo's wallsThe lofty Charles received his vassals' homage,When conquered princes thronged to kiss his hand,And there at once six mighty kingdoms fellIn fealty at his feet: I stood and markedThe 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 eyeConfessed, "Now am I wholly satisfied!"[CARLOS turns away.This silent sorrow, which for eight long moonsHath 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 forgetHow she became my mother!
DOMINGO.Gracious prince!
CARLOS (passing his hands thoughtfully over his brow).Alas! alas! a fruitful source of woeHave mothers been to me. My youngest act,When first these eyes beheld the light of day,Destroyed a mother.
DOMINGO.Is it possibleThat this reproach disturbs your conscience, prince?
CARLOS.And my new mother! Hath she not alreadyCost 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! SheHath blest him with a daughter—and who knowsWhat 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 learnThat she hath lost her son's regard. The newsWould 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, satHigh 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 ownSo rare a skill in the romancer's art.[Austerely.Yet have I heard it said that thoseWho watch men's looks and carry tales about,Have done more mischief in this world of oursThan 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 circumspectWith 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 elseFarewell your hopes forever of the purple.
DOMINGO (starts).
CARLOS.How!
CARLOS. Even so! Hath he not promised youThe earliest purple in the gift of Spain?
DOMINGO.You mock me, prince!
CARLOS. Nay! Heaven forefend, that IShould mock that awful man whose fateful lipsCan doom my father or to heaven or hell!
DOMINGO.I dare not, prince, presume to penetrateThe sacred mystery of your secret grief,Yet I implore your highness to rememberThat, for a conscience ill at ease, the churchHath opened an asylum, of which kingsHold not the key—where even crimes are purgedBeneath the holy sacramental seal.You know my meaning, prince—I've said enough.
CARLOS.No! be it, never said, I tempted soThe keeper of that seal.
DOMINGO.Prince, this mistrust—You wrong the most devoted of your servants.
CARLOS.Then give me up at once without a thoughtThou art a holy man—the world knows that—But, to speak plain, too zealous far for me.The road to Peter's chair is long and rough,And too much knowledge might encumber you.Go, tell this to the king, who sent thee hither!
DOMINGO.Who sent me hither?
CARLOS. Ay! Those were my words.Too well-too well, I know, that I'm betrayed,Slandered on every hand—that at this courtA hundred eyes are hired to watch my steps.I know, that royal Philip to his slavesHath sold his only son, and every wretch,Who takes account of each half-uttered word,Receives such princely guerdon as was ne'erBestowed on deeds of honor, Oh, I knowBut hush!—no more of that! My heart will elseO'erflow and I've already said too much.
DOMINGO.The king is minded, ere the set of sun,To reach Madrid: I see the court is mustering.Have I permission, prince?
CARLOS. I'll follow straight.
[Exit DOMINGO.
CARLOS (after a short silence).O wretched Philip! wretched as thy son!Soon shall thy bosom bleed at every pore,Torn by suspicion's poisonous serpent fang.Thy fell sagacity full soon shall pierceThe fatal secret it is bent to know,And thou wilt madden, when it breaks upon thee!
CARLOS.Lo! Who comes here? 'Tis he! O ye kind heavens,My Roderigo!
MARQUIS. Carlos!
CARLOS. Can it be?And is it truly thou? O yes, it is!I press thee to my bosom, and I feelThy throbbing heart beat wildly 'gainst mine own.And now all's well again. In this embraceMy sick, sad heart is comforted. I hangUpon my Roderigo's neck!
MARQUIS. Thy heart!Thy sick sad heart! And what is well againWhat needeth to be well? Thy words amaze me.
CARLOS.What brings thee back so suddenly from Brussels?Whom must I thank for this most glad surprise?And dare I ask? Whom should I thank but thee,Thou gracious and all bounteous Providence?Forgive me, heaven! if joy hath crazed my brain.Thou knewest no angel watched at Carlos' side,And sent me this! And yet I ask who sent him.
MARQUIS.Pardon, dear prince, if I can only meetWith wonder these tumultuous ecstacies.Not thus I looked to find Don Philip's son.A hectic red burns on your pallid cheek,And your lips quiver with a feverish heat.What must I think, dear prince? No more I seeThe youth of lion heart, to whom I comeThe envoy of a brave and suffering people.For now I stand not here as Roderigo—Not as the playmate of the stripling Carlos—But, as the deputy of all mankind,I clasp thee thus:—'tis Flanders that clings hereAround thy neck, appealing with my tearsTo thee for succor in her bitter need.This land is lost, this land so dear to thee,If Alva, bigotry's relentless tool,Advance on Brussels with his Spanish laws.This noble country's last faint hope dependsOn thee, loved scion of imperial Charles!And, should thy noble heart forget to beatIn human nature's cause, Flanders is lost!
CARLOS.Then it is lost.
MARQUIS.What do I hear? Alas!
CARLOS.Thou speakest of times that long have passed away.I, too, have had my visions of a Carlos,Whose cheek would fire at freedom's glorious name,But he, alas! has long been in his grave.He, thou seest here, no longer is that Carlos,Who took his leave of thee in Alcala,Who in the fervor of a youthful heart,Resolved, at some no distant time, to wakeThe golden age in Spain! Oh, the conceit,Though but a child's, was yet divinely fair!Those dreams are past!
MARQUIS.Said you, those dreams, my prince!And were they only dreams?
CARLOS.Oh, let me weep,Upon thy bosom weep these burning tears,My only friend! Not one have I—not one—In the wide circuit of this earth,—not oneFar as the sceptre of my sire extends,Far as the navies bear the flag of Spain,There is no spot—none—none, where I dare yieldAn outlet to my tears, save only this.I charge thee, Roderigo! Oh, by allThe hopes we both do entertain of heaven,Cast me not off from thee, my friend, my friend![POSA bends over him in silent emotion.Look on me, Posa, as an orphan child,Found near the throne, and nurtured by thy love.Indeed, I know not what a father is.I am a monarch's son. Oh, were it so,As my heart tells me that it surely is,That thou from millions hast been chosen outTo comprehend my being; if it be true,That all-creating nature has designedIn me to reproduce a Roderigo,And on the morning of our life attunedOur souls' soft concords to the selfsame key;If one poor tear, which gives my heart relief,To thee were dearer than my father's favor——
MARQUIS.Oh, it is dearer far than all the world!
CARLOS.I'm fallen so low, have grown so poor withal,I must recall to thee our childhood's years,—Must ask thee payment of a debt incurredWhen thou and I were scarce to boyhood grown.Dost thou remember, how we grew together,Two daring youths, like brothers, side by side?I had no sorrow but to see myselfEclipsed by thy bright genius. So I vowed,Since I might never cope with thee in power,That I would love thee with excess of love.Then with a thousand shows of tenderness,And warm affection, I besieged thy heart,Which cold and proudly still repulsed them all.Oft have I stood, and—yet thou sawest it neverHot bitter tear-drops brimming in mine eyes,When I have marked thee, passing me unheeded,Fold to thy bosom youths of humbler birth."Why only these?" in anguish, once I asked—"Am I not kind and good to thee as they?"But dropping on thy knees, thine answer came,With an unloving look of cold reserve,"This is my duty to the monarch's son!"
MARQUIS.Oh, spare me, dearest prince, nor now recallThose boyish acts that make me blush for shame.
CARLOS.I did not merit such disdain from thee—You might despise me, crush my heart, but neverAlter my love. Three times didst thou repulseThe prince, and thrice he came to thee again,To beg thy love, and force on thee his own.At length chance wrought what Carlos never could.Once we were playing, when thy shuttlecockGlanced off and struck my aunt, Bohemia's queen,Full in the face! She thought 'twas with intent,And all in tears complained unto the king.The palace youth were summoned on the spot,And charged to name the culprit. High in wrathThe king vowed vengeance for the deed: "AlthoughIt were his son, yet still should he be madeA dread example!" I looked around and markedThee stand aloof, all trembling with dismay.Straight I stepped forth; before the royal feetI flung myself, and cried, "'Twas I who did it;Now let thine anger fall upon thy son!"
MARQUIS.Ah, wherefore, prince, remind me?
CARLOS.Hear me further!Before the face of the assembled court,That stood, all pale with pity, round about,Thy Carlos was tied up, whipped like a slave;I looked on thee, and wept not. Blow rained on blow;I gnashed my teeth with pain, yet wept I not!My royal blood streamed 'neath the pitiless lash;I looked on thee, and wept not. Then you came,And fell half-choked with sobs before my feet:"Carlos," you cried, "my pride is overcome;I will repay thee when thou art a king."
MARQUIS (stretching forth his hand to CARLOS).Carlos, I'll keep my word; my boyhood's vowI now as man renew. I will repay thee.Some day, perchance, the hour may come——
CARLOS.Now! now!The hour has come; thou canst repay me all.I have sore need of love. A fearful secretBurns in my breast; it must—it must be told.In thy pale looks my death-doom will I read.Listen; be petrified; but answer not.I love—I love—my mother!
MARQUIS.O my God!
CARLOS.Nay, no forbearance! spare me not! Speak! speak!Proclaim aloud, that on this earth's great roundThere is no misery to compare with mine.Speak! speak!—I know all—all that thou canst sayThe son doth love his mother. All the world'sEstablished usages, the course of nature,Rome's fearful laws denounce my fatal passion.My suit conflicts with my own father's rights,I feel it all, and yet I love. This pathLeads on to madness, or the scaffold. ILove without hope, love guiltily, love madly,With anguish, and with peril of my life;I see, I see it all, and yet I love.
MARQUIS.The queen—does she know of your passion?
CARLOS.Could IReveal it to her? She is Philip's wife—She is the queen, and this is Spanish ground,Watched by a jealous father, hemmed aroundBy ceremonial forms, how, how could IApproach her unobserved? 'Tis now eight months,Eight maddening months, since the king summoned meHome from my studies, since I have been doomedTo look on her, adore her day by day,And all the while be silent as the grave!Eight maddening months, Roderigo; think of this!This fire has seethed and raged within my breast!A thousand, thousand times, the dread confessionHas mounted to my lips, yet evermoreShrunk, like a craven, back upon my heart.O Roderigo! for a few brief momentsAlone with her!
MARQUIS.Ah! and your father, prince!
CARLOS.Unhappy me! Remind me not of him.Tell me of all the torturing pangs of conscience,But speak not, I implore you, of my father!
MARQUIS.Then do you hate your father?
CARLOS.No, oh, no!I do not hate my father; but the fearThat guilty creatures feel,—a shuddering dread,—Comes o'er me ever at that terrible name.Am I to blame, if slavish nurture crushedLove's tender germ within my youthful heart?Six years I'd numbered, ere the fearful man,They told me was my father, met mine eyes.One morning 'twas, when with a stroke I saw himSign four death-warrants. After that I ne'erBeheld him, save when, for some childish fault,I was brought out for chastisement. O God!I feel my heart grow bitter at the thought.Let us away! away!
MARQUIS.Nay, Carlos, nay,You must, you shall give all your sorrow vent,Let it have words! 'twill ease your o'erfraught heart.
CARLOS.Oft have I struggled with myself, and oftAt midnight, when my guards were sunk in sleep,With floods of burning tears I've sunk beforeThe image of the ever-blessed Virgin,And craved a filial heart, but all in vain.I rose with prayer unheard. O Roderigo!Unfold this wondrous mystery of heaven,Why of a thousand fathers only thisShould fall to me—and why to him this son,Of many thousand better? Nature could notIn her wide orb have found two oppositesMore diverse in their elements. How couldShe bind the two extremes of human kind—Myself and him—in one so holy bond?O dreadful fate! Why was it so decreed?Why should two men, in all things else apart,Concur so fearfully in one desire?Roderigo, here thou seest two hostile stars,That in the lapse of ages, only once,As they sweep onwards in their orbed course,Touch with a crash that shakes them to the centre,Then rush apart forever and forever.
MARQUIS.I feel a dire foreboding.
CARLOS.So do I.Like hell's grim furies, dreams of dreadful shapePursue me still. My better genius strivesWith the fell projects of a dark despair.My wildered subtle spirit crawls through mazeOn maze of sophistries, until at lengthIt gains a yawning precipice's brink.O Roderigo! should I e'er in himForget the father—ah! thy deathlike lookTells me I'm understood—should I forgetThe father—what were then the king to me?
MARQUIS (after a pause).One thing, my Carlos, let me beg of you!Whate'er may be your plans, do nothing,—nothing,—Without your friend's advice. You promise this?
CARLOS.All, all I promise that thy love can ask!I throw myself entirely upon thee!
MARQUIS.The king, I hear, is going to Madrid.The time is short. If with the queen you wouldConverse in private, it is only here,Here in Aranjuez, it can be done.The quiet of the place, the freer manners,All favor you.
CARLOS.And such, too, was my hope;But it, alas! was vain.
MARQUIS.Not wholly so.I go to wait upon her. If she beThe same in Spain she was in Henry's court,She will be frank at least. And if I canRead any hope for Carlos in her looks—Find her inclined to grant an interview—Get her attendant ladies sent away——
CARLOS.Most of them are my friends—especiallyThe Countess Mondecar, whom I have gainedBy service to her son, my page.
MARQUIS.'Tis well;Be you at hand, and ready to appear,Whene'er I give the signal, prince.
CARLOS.I will,—Be sure I will:—and all good speed attend thee!
MARQUIS.I will not lose a moment; so, farewell.
[Exeunt severally.
The Queen's Residence in Aranjuez. The Pleasure Grounds,intersected by an avenue, terminated by the Queen's Palace.
The QUEEN, DUCHESS OF OLIVAREZ, PRINCESS OF EBOLI, and MARCHIONESSOF MONDECAR, all advancing from the avenue.
QUEEN (to the MARCHIONESS).I will have you beside me, Mondecar.The princess, with these merry eyes of hers,Has plagued me all the morning. See, she scarceCan hide the joy she feels to leave the country.
EBOLI.'Twere idle to conceal, my queen, that IShall be most glad to see Madrid once more.
MONDECAR.And will your majesty not be so, too?Are you so grieved to quit Aranjuez?
QUEEN.To quit—this lovely spot at least I am.This is my world. Its sweetness oft and oftHas twined itself around my inmost heart.Here, nature, simple, rustic nature greets me,The sweet companion of my early years—Here I indulge once more my childhood's sports,And my dear France's gales come blowing here.Blame not this partial fondness—all hearts yearnFor their own native land.
EBOLI.But then how lone,How dull and lifeless it is here! We mightAs well be in La Trappe.
QUEEN.I cannot see it.To me Madrid alone is lifeless. ButWhat saith our duchess to it?
OLIVAREZ.Why, methinks,Your majesty, since kings have ruled in Spain,It hath been still the custom for the courtTo pass the summer months alternatelyHere and at Pardo,—in Madrid, the winter.
QUEEN.Well, I suppose it has! Duchess, you knowI've long resigned all argument with you.
MONDECAR.Next month Madrid will be all life and bustle.They're fitting up the Plaza Mayor now,And we shall have rare bull-fights; and, besides,A grand auto da fe is promised us.
QUEEN.Promised? This from my gentle Mondecar!
MONDECAR.Why not? 'Tis only heretics they burn!
QUEEN.I hope my Eboli thinks otherwise!
EBOLI.What, I? I beg your majesty may think meAs good a Christian as the marchioness.
QUEEN.Alas! I had forgotten where I am,—No more of this! We were speaking, I think,About the country? And methinks this monthHas flown away with strange rapidity.I counted on much pleasure, very much,From our retirement here, and yet I have notFound that which I expected. Is it thusWith all our hopes? And yet I cannot sayOne wish of mine is left ungratified.
OLIVAREZ.You have not told us, Princess Eboli,If there be hope for Gomez,—and if we mayExpect ere long to greet you as his bride?
QUEEN.True—thank you, duchess, for reminding me![Addressing the PRINCESS.I have been asked to urge his suit with you.But can I do it? The man whom I rewardWith my sweet Eboli must be a manOf noble stamp indeed.
OLIVAREZ.And such he is,A man of mark and fairest fame,—a manWhom our dear monarch signally has gracedWith his most royal favor.
QUEEN.He's happy inSuch high good fortune; but we fain would know,If he can love, and win return of love.This Eboli must answer.
EBOLI (stands speechless and confused, her eyes bent on the ground;at last she falls at the QUEEN's feet).Gracious queen!Have pity on me! Let me—let me not,—For heaven's sake, let me not be sacrificed.
QUEEN.Be sacrificed! I need no more. Arise!'Tis a hard fortune to be sacrificed.I do believe you. Rise. And is it longSince you rejected Gomez' suit?