The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries - LightNovelsOnl.com
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A rainbow in the middle of the night.
MELCH.
Formed by the bright reflection of the moon!
VON F.
A sign most strange and wonderful, indeed!
Many there be who ne'er have seen the like.
SEWA.
'Tis doubled, see, a paler one above!
BAUM.
A boat is gliding yonder right beneath it.
MELCH.
That must be Werner Stauffacher! I knew The worthy patriot would not tarry long.
_[Goes with_ BAUMGARTEN _toward the sh.o.r.e_.]
MEYER.
The Uri men are like to be the last.
BUHEL.
They're forced to take a winding circuit through The mountains; for the Viceroy's spies are out.
_[In the meanwhile the two peasants have kindled a fire in the centre of the stage.]_ MELCHTHAL _(on the sh.o.r.e)_.
Who's there? The word?
STAUFFACHER _(from below_).
Friends of the country.
_[All retire up the stage, toward the party landing from the boat. Enter_ STAUFFACHER, ITEL REDING, HANS AUF DER MAUER, JORG IM HOFE, CONRAD HUNN, ULRICH DER SCHMIDT, JOST VON WEILER, _and three other peasants, armed.]_
ALL.
Welcome!
_[While the rest remain behind exchanging greetings_, MELCHTHAL _Comes forward with_ STAUFFACHER.]
MELCH.
Oh worthy Stauffacher, I've look'd but now On him who could not look on me again; I've laid my hands upon his rayless eyes, And on their vacant orbits sworn a vow Of vengeance, only to be cool'd in blood.
STAUFF.
Speak not of vengeance. We are here, to meet The threatened evil, not to avenge the past.
Now tell me what you've done, and what secured, To aid the common cause in Unterwald.
How stand the peasantry disposed, and how Yourself escaped the wiles of treachery?
MELCH.
Through the Surenen's fearful mountain chain, Where dreary ice-fields stretch on every side, And sound is none save the hoa.r.s.e vulture's cry, I reach'd the Alpine pasture, where the herds From Uri and from Engelberg resort, And turn their cattle forth to graze in common.
Still as I went along, I slaked my thirst With the coa.r.s.e oozings of the glacier heights That thro' the crevices come foaming down, And turned to rest me in the herdsmen's cots,[51]
Where I was host and guest, until I gain'd The cheerful homes and social haunts of men.
Already through these distant vales had spread The rumor of this last atrocity; And wheresoe'er I went, at every door, Kind words saluted me and gentle looks.
I found these simple spirits all in arms Against our rulers' tyrannous encroachments.
For as their Alps through each succeeding year Yield the same roots--their streams flow ever on In the same channels--nay, the clouds and winds The selfsame course unalterably pursue, So have old customs there, from sire to son, Been handed down, unchanging and unchanged; Nor will they brook to swerve or turn aside From the fixed even tenor of their life.
With grasp of their hard hands they welcomed me-- Took from the walls their rusty falchions down-- And from their eyes the soul of valor flash'd With joyful l.u.s.tre, as I spoke those names, Sacred to every peasant in the mountains, Your own and Walter Furst's. Whate'er your voice Should dictate as the right, they swore to do; And you they swore to follow e'en to death.
--So sped I on from house to house, secure In the guest's sacred privilege;--and when I reached at last the valley of my home, Where dwell my kinsmen, scatter'd far and near-- And when I found my father, stript and blind, Upon the stranger's straw, fed by the alms Of charity--
STAUFFACHER.
Great heavens!
MELCHTHAL.
Yet wept I not!
No--not in weak and unavailing tears Spent I the force of my fierce burning anguish; Deep in my bosom, like some precious treasure, I lock'd it fast, and thought on deeds alone.
Through every winding of the hills I crept-- No valley so remote but I explored it; Nay, at the very glacier's ice-clad base, I sought and found the homes of living men; And still, where'er my wandering footsteps turn'd, The selfsame hatred of these tyrants met me.
For even there, at vegetation's verge, Where the numb'd earth is barren of all fruits, Their grasping hands had been for plunder thrust.
Into the hearts of all this honest race The story of my wrongs struck deep, and now They, to a man, are ours; both heart and hand.
STAUFF.
Great things, indeed, you've wrought in little time.
MELCH.
I did still more than this. The fortresses, Rossberg and Sarnen, are the country's dread; For from behind their adamantine walls The foe, like eagle from his eyrie swoops, And, safe himself, spreads havoc o'er the land.
With my own eyes I wish'd to weigh its strength, So went to Sarnen, and explored the castle.
STAUFF.
How! Venture even into the tiger's den?
MELCH.
Disguised in pilgrim's weeds I entered it; I saw the Viceroy feasting at his board-- Judge if I'm master of myself or no!
I saw the tyrant, and I slew him not!
