Friedrich von Schiller (1759–1805). Wilhelm Tell.
The Harvard Classics. 1909–14.
Act I
Scene IFisher boy(sings in his boat)
Melody of the Ranz des Vaches
The smile-dimpled lake woo’d to bathe in its deep,
A boy on its green shore had laid him to sleep;
Then heard he a melody
Floating along,
Sweet as the notes
Of an angel’s song.
And as thrilling with pleasure he wakes from his rest,
The waters are rippling over his breast;
And a voice from the deep cries,
“With me thou must go,
I charm the young shepherd,
I lure him below.”
Air.—Variation of the Ranz des Vaches
Farewell, ye green meadows,
Farewell, sunny shore,
The herdsman must leave you,
The summer is o’er.
We go to the hills, but you’ll see us again,
When the cuckoo calls, and the merry birds sing,
When the flowers bloom afresh in glade and in glen,
And the brooks sparkle bright in the sunshine of spring.
Farewell, ye green meadows,
Farewell, sunny shore,
The herdsman must leave you,
The summer is o’er.
Second Variation of the Ranz des Vaches
On the heights peals the thunder, and trembles the bridge,
The huntsman bounds on by the dizzying ridge.
Undaunted he hies him
O’er ice-covered wild,
Where leaf never budded,
Nor Spring ever smiled;
And beneath him an ocean of mist, where his eye
No longer the dwellings of man can espy;
Through the parting clouds only
The earth can be seen,
Far down ’neath the vapour
The meadows of green.[A change comes over the landscape. A rumbling, cracking noise is heard among the mountains. Shadows of clouds sweep across the scene.
[R
The grizzly Vale-King comes, the Glaciers moan,
The Mytenstein is drawing on his hood,
And from the Stormcleft chilly blows the wind;
The storm will burst before we know what’s what.
And Watcher there is scraping up the earth.
Keeps diving up and down. A storm is brewing.
Look, Seppi, if the beasts be all in sight.
Of Attinghaus, and told off to my care.
And, take it from her, she’d refuse to feed.
And that we know, we chamois-hunters, well.
They never turn to feed—sagacious creatures!
Till they have placed a sentinel ahead,
Who pricks his ears whenever we approach,
And gives alarm with clear and piercing pipe.
Men come not always back from tracks like yours.
Why all this haste?
Set me across!
It is the Viceroy’s men are after me;
If they should overtake me, I am lost.
Mine own good household right I have enforced
’Gainst him that would have wrong’d my wife—my honour.
Is due to God, and to my trusty axe.
While he is getting out the boat there from the beach.
My wife came running out in mortal fear.
“The Seneschal,” she said, “was in my house,
Had ordered her to get a bath prepared,
And thereupon had ta’en unseemly freedoms,
From which she rid herself, and flew to me.”
Arm’d as I was, I sought him, and my axe
Has given his bath a bloody benison.
We men of Unterwald have owed it long.
Heavens! whilst we speak, the time is flying fast.[It begins to thunder.
Wait till it pass! You must.
I cannot wait; the least delay is death.
The like misfortune may betide us all.[Thunder and the roaring of the wind.
I cannot steer against both wind and wave.
A wife and child at home as well as he?
See how the breakers foam, and toss, and whirl,
And the lake eddies up from all its depths!
Right gladly would I save the worthy man,
But ’tis impossible, as you must see.
And with the shore of safety close in sight!
Yonder it lies! My eyes can see it clear,
My very voice can echo to its shores.
There is the boat to carry me across,
Yet must I lie here helpless and forlorn.
From touch of foulest shame, has slain the Wolfshot,
The Imperial Seneschal, who dwelt at Rossberg.
The Viceroy’s troopers are upon his heels;
He begs the ferryman to take him over,
But frightened at the storm he says he won’t
He’ll be my judge, if it be possible.[Violent peals of thunder—the lake becomes more tempestuous.
Am I to plunge into the jaws of hell?
I should be mad to dare the desperate act.
Put trust in God, and help him in his need!
There is the boat, and there the lake! Try you!
Come, risk it, man!
I would not go. ’Tis Simon and Jude’s day,
The lake is up, and calling for its victim.
Each moment’s precious; the man must be help’d,
Say, boatman, will you venture?
With my poor strength, see what is to be done!
But from the tempest’s rage another must.
Yet better ’tis you fall into God’s hands,
Than into those of men.[To the herdsman.
Herdsman, do thou
Console my wife if I should come to grief.
I could not choose but do as I have done.[He leaps into the boat.
What Tell could risk, you dared not venture on.
There’s no two such as he ’mong all our hills.
Look how the little boat reels on the waves!
There! they have swept clean over it. And now
’Tis out of sight. Yet stay, there ’tis again!
Stoutly he stems the breakers, noble fellow!
If you lay to, you may o’ertake him yet.
And you shall pay for it! Fall on their herds!
Down with the cottage! burn it! beat it down![They rush off.