Scene I
(William Tell, Albert, his son, and Gesler with officers. Tell in chains.)
Gesler. What is thy name?
Tell. My name?
It matters not to keep it from thee now—
My name is Tell.
Ges. Tell!—William Tell?
Tell. The same.
Ges. What! he so famed ’bove all his countrymen
For guiding o’er the stormy lake the boat?
And such a master of his bow, ’tis said
His arrows never miss! Indeed, I’ll take
Exquisite vengeance! Mark! I’ll spare thy life—
Thy boy’s, too!—both of you are free—on one
Condition.
Tell. Name it.
A trial of your skill with that same bow
You shoot so well with.
Tell. Name the trial you
Would have me make.
Ges. You look upon your boy
As though instinctively you guessed it.
Tell. Look upon my boy! What mean you?
Look upon
My boy as though I guessed it! Guessed the trial
You’d have me make! Guessed it
Instinctively! you do not mean—no—no—
You would not have me make a trial of
My skill upon my child! Impossible!
I do not guess your meaning.
Ges. I would see
Thee hit an apple at the distance of
A hundred paces.
Tell. Is my boy to hold it?
Ges. No.
Tell. No! I’ll send the arrow through the core.
Ges. It is to rest upon his head.
Tell. Great Heaven, you hear him!
Ges. Thou dost hear the choice I give—
Such trial of the skill thou art master of,
Or death to both of you; not otherwise
To be escaped.
Tell. O monster!
Ges. Wilt thou do it?
Albert. He will! he will!
Tell. Ferocious monster! Make
A father murder his own child—
Ges. Take off
His chains, if he consent.
Tell. With his own hand!
Alb. He does.
(Gesler signs to his officers, who proceed to take off Tell’s chains. Tell all the time unconscious what they do.)
Tell. With his own hand!
Murder his child with his own hand—this hand!
The hand I’ve led him, when an infant, by!
’Tis beyond horror—’tis most horrible.
Amazement! (His chains fall off.) What’s that you’ve done to me?
Villains! put on my chains again. My hands
Are free from blood, and have no gust for it,
That they should drink my child’s! Here! here! I’ll not
Murder my boy for Gesler.
Alb. Father—father!
You will not hit me, father!
Tell. Hit thee! Send
The arrow through thy brain; or, missing that,
Shoot out an eye; or, if thine eye escape,
Mangle the cheek I’ve seen thy mother’s lips
Cover with kisses. Hit thee—hit a hair
Of thee, and cleave thy mother’s heart.
Ges. Dost thou consent?
Tell. Give me my bow and quiver.
Ges. For what?
Tell. To shoot my boy!
Alb. No, father—no!
To save me! You’ll be sure to hit the apple—
Will you not save me, father?
Tell. Lead me forth;
I’ll make the trial.
Alb. Thank you!
Tell. Thank me! Do
You know for what? I will not make the trial,
To take him to his mother in my arms
And lay him down a corpse before her!
Ges. Then he dies this moment—and you certainly
Do murder him whose life you have a chance
To save, and will not use it.
Tell. Well, I’ll do it. I’ll make the trial.
Alb. Father—
Tell. Speak not to me;
Let me not hear thy voice. Thou must be dumb;
And so should all things be. Earth should be dumb,
And heaven—unless its thunders muttered at
The deed, and sent a bolt to stop it. Give me
My bow and quiver!
Ges. When all’s ready.