LXVII. WILLIAM TELL.
James Sheridan Knowles (b. 1784, d. 1862), a dramatist and actor, was born in Cork, Ireland. In 1792 his father removed to London with his family. At the age of fourteen, Sheridan wrote an opera called "The Chevalier de Grillon." In 1798 he removed to Dublin, and soon after began his career as an actor and author. In 1835 he visited America. In 1839 an annual pension of 200 Pounds was granted him by the British government. Several years before his death he left the stage and became a Baptist minister. The best known of his plays are "Caius Gracchus," "Virginius," "Leo, the Gypsy," "The Hunchback," and "William Tell," from the last of which the following two lessons are abridged.
SCENE 1.—A Chamber in the Castle. Enter Gesler, Officers, and Sarnem, with Tell in chains and guarded.
Sar. Down, slave! Behold the governor.
Down! down! and beg for mercy.
Ges. (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 the earth, methinks I could rise up
Erect, with nothing but the honest pride
Of telling thee, usurper, to thy teeth,
Thou art a monster! Think upon my chains?
How came they on me?
Ges. Darest thou question me?
Tell. Darest thou not 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 can not take away the grace of life;
Its comeliness of look that virtue gives;
Its port erect with consciousness of truth;
Its rich attire of honorable deeds;
Its fair report that's rife on good men's tongues;
It can not 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 thence?
Ges. Canst tell me any?
Tell. Ay: they watch no more the avalanche.
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 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.
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 fledgeling?
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 'rt 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 riveted on Tell's bow,
which Sarnem carries.)
'T is he! We can but perish.
Alb. (Aside.) Yes; I was right. It is my father's bow!
For there's my father! I'll not own him though!
Sar. See!
Alb. What?
Sar. Look there!
Alb. I do, what would you have me see?
Sar. Thy father.
Alb. Who? That—that my father?
Tell. My boy! my boy! my own brave boy!
He's safe! (Aside.)
Sar. (Aside to Gesler.) They're like each other.
Ges. Yet I see no sign
Of recognition to betray the link
Unites a father and his child.
Sar. My lord,
I am sure it is his father. Look at them.
That boy did spring from him; or never cast
Came from the mold it fitted! It may be
A preconcerted thing 'gainst such a chance.
That they survey each other coldly thus.
Ges. We shall try. Lead forth the caitiff.
Sar. To a dungeon?
Ges. No; into the court.
Sar. The court, my lord?
Ges. And send
To tell the headsman to make ready. Quick!
The slave shall die! You marked the boy?
Sar. I did. He started; 't is his father.
Ges. We shall see. Away with him!
Tell. Stop! Stop!
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 horn, 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. Mayst 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 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!
Now 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. 'T is 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 word 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. So well he bears it, he doth vanquish me.
My boy! my boy! Oh, for the hills, the hills,
To see him bound along their tops again,
With liberty.
Sar. Was there not an the father in that look?
Ges. Yet 't is '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! 'T is 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
'T were flesh; and know 't is none. I'll talk to it
No more. Come, my boy;
I taught thee how to live, I'll show thee how to die.
Ges. He is thy child?
Tell. He is my child. (Weeps.)
Ges. I've wrung a tear from him! 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, 't is 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.
Ges. I would see you make
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?
Alb. 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!
Ges. Does he consent?
Alb. He does. (Gesler signs to his officers, who proceed to take
off Tell's chains; Tell 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?
'T is beyond horror! 'T is 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 corse 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! Give me
My bow and quiver!
Ges. When all's ready.
Tell. Ready!—
I must be calm with such a mark to hit!
Don't touch me, child!—Don't speak to me!—Lead on!
DEFINITIONS.—Come'li-ness, that which is becoming or graceful. Port, manner of movement or walk. At-tire', dress, clothes. Tar'-nish, to soil, to sully. Av'a-lanche, a vast body of snow, earth, and ice, sliding down from a mountain. Vouch-safes', yields, conde-scends, gives. Wan'ton, luxuriant. Net'ted, caught in a net. Fledge'ling, a young bird. Rec-og-ni'tion, acknowledgment of ac-quaintance. Pre-con-cert'ed, planned beforehand. Cai'tiff (pro. ka'tif), a mean villain. Thral'dom, bondage, slavery. Scan, to examine closely. Neth'er, lower, lying beneath. Blanch, to turn white. Gust, taste, relish.
NOTE.—William Tell is a legendary hero of Switzerland. The events of this drama are represented as occurring in 1307 A.D., when Austria held Switzerland under her control. Gesler, also a purely mythical personage, is one of the Austrian bailiffs. The legend relates that Gesler had his cap placed on a pole in the market place, and all the Swiss were required to salute it in passing in recognition of his authority. Tell refusing to do this was arrested, and condemned to death. This and the following lesson narrate how the sentence was changed, and the result.
LXVIII. WILLIAM TELL. (Concluded.)
SCENE 2.—Enter slowly, people in evident distress—Officers, Sarnem, Gesler, Tell, Albert, and soldiers—one bearing Tell's bow and quiver—another with a basket of apples.
Ges. That is your ground. Now shall they measure thence
A hundred paces. Take the distance.
Tell. Is the line a true one?
Ges. True or not, what is 't to thee?
Tell. What is 't to me? A little thing.
A very little thing; a yard or two
Is nothing here or there—were it a wolf
I shot at! Never mind.
Ges. Be thankful, slave,
Our grace accords thee life on any terms.
Tell. I will be thankful, Gesler! Villain, stop!
You measure to the sun.
Ges. And what of that?
What matter whether to or from the sun?
Tell. I'd have it at my back. The sun should shine
Upon the mark, and not on him that shoots.
I can not see to shoot against the sun:
I will not shoot against the sun!
Ges. Give him his way! Thou hast cause to bless my mercy.
Tell. I shall remember it. I'd like to see
The apple I'm to shoot at.
Ges. Stay! show me the basket! there!
Tell. You've picked the smallest one.
Ges. I know I have.
Tell. Oh, do you? But you see
The color of it is dark: I'd have it light,
To see it better.
Ges. Take it as it is;
Thy skill will be the greater if thou hitt'st it.
Tell. True! true! I did not think of that; I wonder
I did not think of that. Give me some chance
To save my boy!—
I will not murder him,
If I can help it—for the honor of
The form thou wearest, if all the heart is gone.
(Throws away the apple with all his force.)
Ges. Well: choose thyself.
Tell. Have I a friend among the lookers-on?
Verner. (Rushing forward.) Here, Tell.
Tell. I thank thee, Verner!
He is a friend runs out into a storm
To shake a hand with us. I must be brief.
When once the bow is bent, we can not take
The shot too soon. Verner, whatever be
The issue of this hour, the common cause
Must not stand still. Let not to-morrow's sun
Set on the tyrant's banner! Verner! Verner!
The boy! the boy! Thinkest thou he hath the courage
To stand it?
Ver. Yes.
Tell. Does he tremble?
Ver. No.
Tell. Art sure?
Ver. I am.
Tell. How looks he?
Ver. Clear and smilingly.
If you doubt it, look yourself.
Tell. No, no, my friend:
To hear it is enough.
Ver. He bears himself so much above his years—
Tell. I know! I know!
Ver. With constancy so modest—
Tell. I was sure he would—
Ver. And looks with such relying love
And reverence upon you—
Tell. Man! Man! Man!
No more! Already I'm too much the father
To act the man! Verner, no more, my friend!
I would be flint—flint—flint. Don't make me feel
I'm not—do not mind me! Take the boy
And set him, Verner, with his back to me.
Set him upon his knees, and place this apple
Upon his head, so that the stem may front me.
Thus, Verner; charge him to keep steady; tell him
I'll hit the apple! Verner, do all this
More briefly than I tell it thee.
Ver. Come, Albert! (Leading him out.)
Alb. May I not speak with him before I go?
Ver. No.
Alb. I would only kiss his hand.
Ver. You must not.
Alb. I must; I can not go from him without.
Ver. It is his will you should.
Alb. His will, is it?
I am content, then; come.
Tell. My boy! (Holding out his arms to him.)
Alb. My father! (Rushing into Tell's arms.)
Tell. If thou canst bear it, should not I? Go now,
My son; and keep in mind that I can shoot;
Go, boy; be thou but steady, I will hit
The apple. Go! God bless thee; go. My bow!
(The bow is handed to him.)
Thou wilt not fail thy master, wilt thou? Thou
Hast never failed him yet, old servant. No,
I'm sure of thee. I know thy honesty,
Thou art stanch, stanch. Let me see my quiver.
Ges. Give him a single arrow.
Tell. Do you shoot?
Soldier. I do.
Tell. Is it so you pick an arrow, friend?
The point, you see, is bent; the feather, jagged.
That's all the use 't is fit for. (Breaks it.)
Ges. Let him have another.
Tell. Why, 't is better than the first,
But yet not good enough for such an aim
As I'm to take. 'T is heavy in the shaft;
I'll not shoot with it! (Throws it away.) Let
me see my quiver.
Bring it! 'T is not one arrow in a dozen
I'd take to shoot with at a dove, much less
A dove like that.
Ges. It matters not.
Show him the quiver.
Tell. See if the boy is ready.
(Tell here hides an arrow under his vest.)
Ver. He is.
Tell. I 'm ready too! Keep silent, for
Heaven's sake, and do not stir; and let me have
Your prayers, your prayers, and be my witnesses
That if his life's in peril from my hand,
'Tis only for the chance of saving it. (To the people.)
Ges. Go on.
Tell. I will.
O friends, for mercy's sake keep motionless
and silent. (Tell shoots. A shout of exultation
bursts from the crowd. Tell's head drops on his
bosom; he with difficulty supports himself on his bow.)
Ver. (Rushing in with Albert.) The boy is safe, no
hair of him is touched.
Alb. Father, I'm safe. Your Albert's safe, dear father.
Speak to me! Speak to me!
Ver. He can not, boy!
Alb. You grant him life?
Ges. I do.
Alb. And we are free?
Ges. You are. (Crossing angrily behind.)
Alb. Open his vest,
And give him air. (Albert opens his father's vest,
and the arrow drops. Tell starts, fixes his eyes
on Albert and clasps him to his breast.)
Tell. My boy! My boy!
Ges. For what
Hid you that arrow in your breast? Speak, slave!
Tell. To kill thee, tyrant, had I slain my boy!
DEFINITIONS.—Ac-cords', grants, concede. Is'sue (pro. ish'u), event, consequence. Stanch, sound, strong. Jag'ged, notched, uneven. Shaft, the stem of an arrow upon which the feather and head are inserted. Quiv'er, a case for arrows.
NOTE.—The legend further relates that on the discovery of the concealed arrow Tell was again put in chains. Gesler then embarked for another place, taking Tell with him. A storm overtook them, and Tell was released to steer the boat. In passing a certain point of land now known as "Tell's Rock" or "Leap," Tell leaped ashore and escaped: then going to a point where he knew the boat must land, he lay concealed until it arrived, when he shot Gesler through the heart.