Friedrich von Schiller (1759–1805). Wilhelm Tell.
The Harvard Classics. 1909–14.
Act V
Scene IIH
Hedw.My own dear boys! your father comes to-day;
He lives, is free, and we and all are free;
The country owes its liberty to him!
I must be named with him. My father’s shaft
Ran my life close, but yet I never flinch’d.
Twice have I seen thee given to my sad eyes,
Twice suffered all a mother’s pangs for thee!
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.
He comes for alms, no doubt.
That we may give him cheer, and make him feel
That he has come into the house of joy.[Exit, and returns immediately with a cup.
Are you bewildered, that you know not where?
You are at Bürglen, in the land of Uri,
Just at the entrance of the Shechenthal.
There’s something in your looks, that omens ill!
Whoe’er you be, you are in want—take that.[Offers him the cup.
Nought will I taste till you have promised first—
You must stand farther back, if I’m to hear you.
By your dear children’s heads, which I embrace—[Grasps the boys.
Back from my boys! You are no monk,—no, no,
Beneath the robe you wear peace should abide,
But peace abides not in such looks as yours.
But your look freezes up my inmost soul.
She trembles so with terror and with joy.
God has been kind and helpful in our woes.
No tyrant’s hand shall e’er divide us more.
I’m here again with you! This is my cot!
I stand again upon mine own hearthstone!
Within a holy shrine it has been placed,
And in the chase shall ne’er be used again.
Dare I take hold of it? This hand—Oh, God!
Freely I raise it in the face of Heaven.[M
Who is this friar here?
Speak thou with him; I shudder at his presence.
That hath conducted me beneath your roof.
You are no monk. Who are you?
The Governor, who did you wrong. I, too,
Have slain a foe, who robb’d me of my rights.
He was no less your enemy than mine.
I’ve rid the land of him.
In—children, children—in, without a word,
Go, my dear wife! Go! Go! Unhappy man,
You should be—
Away! away! the children must not hear it.
Out of the house—away! You must not rest
’Neath the same roof with this unhappy man!
Of Austria—I know it. You have slain
The Emperor, your uncle and liege lord.
Slain him—your King, your uncle! And the earth
Still bears you! And the sun still shines on you!
Of him that was your Emperor, your kinsman,
Dare you set foot within my spotless house,
Dare to an honest man to show your face,
And claim the rights of hospitality?
You took, like me, revenge upon your foe!
Of blood-imbrued ambition with the act
Forced on a father in mere self-defence?
Had you to shield your children’s darling heads,
To guard your fireside’s sanctuary—ward off
The last, the direst doom from all you loved?
To Heaven I raise my unpolluted hands,
To curse your act and you! I have avenged
That holy nature which you have profaned.
I have no part with you. You murdered, I
Have shielded all that was most dear to me.
Hence, on the dread career you have begun!
Cease to pollute the home of innocence![J
So young, of such a noble line, the grandson
Of 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.
Move your compassion—it is horrible!
I am—say, rather was—a prince. I might
Have been most happy, had I only curb’d
The impatience of my passionate desires:
But envy gnaw’d my heart—I saw the youth
Of mine own cousin Leopold endow’d
With honour, and enrich’d with broad domains,
The while myself, of equal age with him,
In abject slavish nonage was kept back.
When from you land and subjects he withheld!
You, by your mad and desperate act have set
A fearful seal upon his wise resolve.
Where are the bloody partners of your crime?
I have not seen them since the luckless deed.
Are interdicted to your friends, and given
An outlaw’d victim to your enemies!
And venture not to knock at any door—
I turn my footsteps to the wilds, and through
The mountains roam, a terror to myself!
From mine own self I shrink with horror back,
If in a brook I see my ill-starr’d form!
If you have pity or a human heart—[Falls down before him.
Your hand in promise of assistance to me.
Yet get ye up—how black soe’er your crime—
You are a man. I, too, am one. From Tell
Shall no one part uncomforted. I will
Do all that lies within my power.
You save me from the terrors of despair.
Remain here undiscover’d, and, discover’d,
You cannot count on succour. Which way, then,
Would you be going? Where do you hope to find
A place of rest?
You must to Italy,—to Saint Peter’s City—
There cast yourself at the Pope’s feet,—confess
Your guilt to him, and ease your laden soul!
I have no knowledge of the way, and dare not
Attach myself to other travellers.
You must ascend, keeping along the Reuss,
Which from the mountains dashes wildly down.
And many a cross proclaims where travellers
Have been by avalanches done to death.
I can appease the torments of my soul.
Your crime with burning penitential tears—
And if you ’scape the perils of the pass,
And are not whelm’d beneath the drifted snows,
That from the frozen peaks come sweeping down,
You’ll reach the bridge that’s drench’d with drizzling spray.
Then if it give not way beneath your 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,
You must not linger in the haunts of peace.
Thy grandson first sets foot within thy realms!
Where are the tarns, the everlasting tarns,
That from the streams of Heaven itself are fed,
There to the German soil you bid farewell;
And thence, with swift descent, another stream
Leads you to Italy, your promised land.[Ranz des Vaches sounded on Alp-horns is heard without.
But I hear voices! Hence!
My father comes, and in exulting bands
All the confederates approach.
I dare not tarry ’mong these happy men!
Spare not your bounty; for his road is long.
And one where shelter will be hard to find.
Quick—they approach!
And when he quits you, turn your eyes away,
So that you do not see which way he goes.[D