LXIX.—WILLIAM TELL.
KNOWLES.
Switzerland was at one time subject to Austria. Gesler (pronounced Gesˊler), at the time of these events, in 1307, was the Austrian governor of Switzerland. He was a most cruel tyrant, and even pushed his tyranny so far as to require the Swiss to uncover their heads and bow down to his hat placed upon a pole. William Tell, a brave Swiss, refused to perform this act of servility. He was seized for punishment. Tell’s son, Albert, without his father’s knowledge, had been taken prisoner on the preceding day by Gesler. The truth of the narrative of the exploits of William Tell has been recently called in question.
Scene—A Chamber in the Castle. Enter Gesler, Officers, and
Sarnem, with Tell in chains and guarded.
Sarnem. Down, slave! Behold the governor.
Down! down! and beg for mercy.
Gesler. [Seated.] Does he hear?
Sar. He does, but braves thy power.
Officer. Why don’t you smite him for that look?
Ges. Can I believe
My eyes?—He smiles! nay, grasps
His chains as he would make a weapon of them
To lay the smiter dead. [To Tell.]
Why speakest thou not?
Tell. For wonder.
Ges. Wonder!
Tell. Yes, that thou shouldst seem a man.
Ges. What should I seem?
Tell. A monster!
Ges. Ha! Beware—think on thy chains.
Tell. Though they were doubled, and did weigh me down
Prostrate to earth, methinks I could rise up—
Erect, with nothing but the honest pride
Of telling thee, usurper,[501] to the teeth,
Thou art a monster! Think upon my chains!
How came they on me?
Ges. Darest thou question me?
Tell. Darest thou answer.
Ges. Do I hear?
Tell. Thou dost.
Ges. Beware my vengeance.
Tell. Can it more than kill?
Ges. Enough—it can do that.
Tell. No, not enough:
It cannot take away the grace of life—
Its comeliness[502] of look that virtue gives—
Its port erect with consciousness[503] of truth—
Its rich attire of honorable deeds—
Its fair report that’s rife on good men’s tongues:
It cannot lay its hands on these, no more
Than it can pluck the brightness from the sun,
Or with polluted finger tarnish it.
Ges. But it can make thee writhe.
Tell. It may.
Ges. And groan.
Tell. It may; and I may cry,
Go on, though it should make me groan again.
Ges. Whence comest thou?
Tell. From the mountains. Wouldst thou learn
What news from them?
Ges. Canst tell me any?
Tell. Ay; they[504] watch no more the avalanche.[505]
Ges. Why so?
Tell. Because they look for thee. The hurricane
Comes unawares upon them; from its bed
The torrent breaks, and finds them in its track—
Ges. What do they then?
Tell. Thank Heaven it is not thou!
Thou hast perverted nature in them.
There’s not a blessing Heaven vouchsafes[506] them but
The thought of thee doth wither to a curse.
Ges. That’s right! I’d have them like their hills,
That never smile, though wanton summer tempt
Them e’er so much.
Tell. But they do sometimes smile.
Ges. Ay?—when is that?
Tell. When they do talk of vengeance.[507]
Ges. Vengeance! Dare they talk of that?
Tell. Ay, and expect it too.
Ges. From whence?
Tell. From Heaven!
Ges. From Heaven?
Tell. And their true hands
Are lifted up to it on every hill
For justice on thee.
Ges. Where’s thy abode?
Tell. I told thee—on the mountains.
Ges. Art married?
Tell. Yes.
Ges. And hast a family?
Tell. A son.
Ges. A son! Sarnem!
Sar. My lord, the boy.
[Gesler signs to Sarnem to keep silence, and, whispering,
sends him off.]
Tell. The boy! What boy?
Is’t mine?—and have they netted my young fledgling[508]?
Now Heaven support me, if they have! He’ll own me,
And share his father’s ruin! But a look
Would put him on his guard—yet how to give it!
Now, heart, thy nerve; forget thou art flesh; be rock.
They come—they come!
That step—that step—that little step, so light
Upon the ground, how heavy does it fall
Upon my heart! I feel my child!—
Enter Sarnem with Albert, whose eyes are rivetted on Tell’s
bow, which Sarnem carries.
’Tis he!—We can but perish.
Sar. See!
Albert. What?
Sar. Look there?
Alb. I do. What would you have me see?
Sar. Thy father.
Alb. Who? That—that my father?
Tell. [Aside] My boy—my boy!—my own brave boy,
He’s safe!
Sar. [Aside to Gesler] They’re like each other.
Ges. Yet I see no sign
Of recognition[509] to betray the link
Unites a father and his child.
Sar. My lord,
I am sure it is his father. Look at them.
It may be
A preconcerted[510] thing ’gainst such a chance,
That they survey each other coldly thus.
Ges. We shall try. Lead forth the caitiff.[511]
Sar. To a dungeon?
Ges. No; into the court.
Sar. The court, my lord?
Ges. And send
To tell the headsman[512] to make ready. Quick!
The slave shall die!—You marked the boy?
Sar. I did. He started—’tis his father.
Ges. We shall see. Away with him!
Tell. Stop!—Stay!
Ges. What would you?
Tell. Time!—a little time to call my thoughts together.
Ges. Thou shalt not have a minute.
Tell. Some one, then, to speak with.
Ges. Hence with him!
Tell. A moment!—Stop!
Let me speak to the boy.
Ges. Is he thy son?
Tell. And if
He were, art thou so lost to nature as
To send me forth to die before his face?
Ges. Well, speak with him.
Now, Sarnem, mark them well.
Tell. Thou dost not know me, boy—and well for thee
Thou dost not. I’m the father of a son
About thy age. Thou,
I see, wast born like him, upon the hills;
If thou shouldst ’scape thy present thraldom, he
May chance to cross thee; if he should, I pray thee
Relate to him what has been passing here,
And say I laid my hand upon thy head,
And said to thee,—if he were here, as thou art,
Thus would I bless him. May’st thou live my boy,
To see thy country free, or die for her,
As I do! [Albert weeps.
Sar. Mark! he weeps.
Tell. Were he my son,
He would not shed a tear. He would remember
The cliff where he was bred, and learned to scan
A thousand fathoms’ depth of nether[513] air;
Where he was trained to hear the thunder talk,
And meet the lightning, eye to eye, where last
We spoke together, when I told him death
Bestowed the brightest gem that graces life,
Embraced for virtue’s sake. He shed a tear!
No; were he by, I’d talk to him, and his cheek
Should never blanch, nor moisture dim his eye,—
I’d talk to him—
Sar. He falters!
Tell. ’Tis too much!
And yet it must be done! I’d talk to him—
Ges. Of what?
Tell. The mother, tyrant, thou dost make
A widow of. I’d talk to him of her.
I’d bid him tell her, next to liberty,
Her name was the last my lips pronounced.
And I would charge him never to forget
To love and cherish her, as he would have
His father’s dying blessing rest upon him.
Sar. You see, as he doth prompt, the other acts.
Tell. [Aside.] So well he bears it, he doth vanquish me.
My boy! my boy! O, for the hills, the hills—
To see him bound along their tops again,
With liberty.
Sar. Was there not all the father in that look?
Ges. Yet, ’tis ’gainst nature.
Sar. Not if he believes
To own the son would be to make him share
The father’s death.
Ges. I did not think of that! [To Tell.] ’Tis well
The boy is not thy son. I’ve destined him
To die along with thee.
Tell. To die? For what?
Ges. For having braved my power, as thou hast.
Lead them forth.
Tell. He’s but a child.
Ges. Away with them!
Tell. Perhaps an only child.
Ges. No matter.
Tell. He may have a mother.
Ges. So the viper hath;
And yet, who spares it for the mother’s sake?
Tell. I talk to stone. I talk to it as though
’Twere flesh; and know ’tis none. I’ll talk to it
No more. Come my boy!
I taught thee how to live—I’ll show thee how to die.
[501] U-surpˊ-er, one who seizes that to which he has no right.
[502] Comeˊ-li-ness, grace; beauty.
[503] Conˊ-scious-ness, the perception of one’s own thoughts and feelings.
[504] The mountaineers.
[505] Avˊ-a-lanche, a vast body of snow, ice, or earth sliding down the side of a mountain.
[506] Vouch-safeˊ, condescend to grant or permit.
[507] Vengeˊ-ance, punishment in retaliation for an injury.
[508] Fledgˊ-ling, a young bird.
[509] Rec-og-niˊ-tion, act of knowing again; acknowledgment.
[510] Pre-con-certˊ-ed, arranged beforehand.
[511] Caiˊ-tiff, a villain; a knave.
[512] Headsˊ-man, one who beheads.
[513] Nethˊ-er, lower.