William Tell And The Swiss Patriots
"In the year of our Lord 1307," writes an ancient chronicler, "there
dwelt a pious countryman in Unterwald beyond the Kernwald, whose name
was Henry of Melchthal, a wise, prudent, honest man, well to do and in
good esteem among his country-folk, moreover, a firm supporter of the
liberties of his country and of its adhesion to the Holy Roman Empire,
on which account Beringer von Landenberg, the governor over the whole of
Unterwald, was his enemy. This Melchthaler had some very fine oxen, and
on account of some trifling misdemeanor committed by his son, Arnold of
Melchthal, the governor sent his servant to seize the finest pair of
oxen by way of punishment, and in case old Henry of Melchthal said
anything against it, he was to say that it was the governor's opinion
that the peasants should draw the plough themselves. The servant
fulfilled his lord's commands. But as he unharnessed the oxen, Arnold,
the son of the countryman, fell into a rage, and striking him with a
stick on the hand, broke one of his fingers. Upon this Arnold fled, for
fear of his life, up the country towards Uri, where he kept himself long
secret in the country where Conrad of Baumgarten from Altzelen lay hid
for having killed the governor of Wolfenschiess, who had insulted his
wife, with a blow of his axe. The servant, meanwhile, complained to his
lord, by whose order old Melchthal's eyes were torn out. This tyrannical
action rendered the governor highly unpopular, and Arnold, on learning
how his good father had been treated, laid his wrongs secretly before
trusty people in Uri, and awaited a fit opportunity for avenging his
father's misfortune."
Such was the prologue to the tragic events which we have now to tell,
events whose outcome was the freedom of Switzerland and the formation of
that vigorous Swiss confederacy which has maintained itself until the
present day in the midst of the powerful and warlike nations which have
surrounded it. The prologue given, we must proceed with the main scenes
of the drama, which quickly followed.
As the story goes, Arnold allied himself with two other patriots, Werner
Stauffacher and Walter Fuerst, bold and earnest men, the three meeting
regularly at night to talk over the wrongs of their country and consider
how best to right them. Of the first named of these men we are told that
he was stirred to rebellion by the tyranny of Gessler, governor of Uri,
a man who forms one of the leading characters of our drama. The rule of
Gessler extended over the country of Schwyz, where in the town of
Steinen, in a handsome house, lived Werner Stauffacher. As the governor
passed one day through this town he was pleasantly greeted by Werner,
who was standing before his door.
"To whom does this house belong?" asked Gessler.
Werner, fearing that some evil purpose lay behind this question,
cautiously replied,--
"My lord, the house belongs to my sovereign lord the king, and is your
and my fief."
"I will not allow peasants to build houses without my consent," returned
Gessler, angered at this shrewd reply, "or to live in freedom as if they
were their own masters. I will teach you better than to resist my
authority."
So saying, he rode on, leaving Werner greatly disturbed by his
threatening words. He returned into his house with heavy brow and such
evidence of discomposure that his wife eagerly questioned him. Learning
what the governor had said, the good lady shared his disturbance, and
said,--
"My dear Werner, you know that many of the country-folk complain of the
governor's tyranny. In my opinion, it would be well for some of you, who
can trust one another, to meet in secret, and take counsel how to throw
off his wanton power."
This advice seemed so judicious to Werner that he sought his friend
Walter Fuerst, and arranged with him and Arnold that they should meet and
consider what steps to take, their place of meeting being at Ruetli, a
small meadow in a lonely situation, closed in on the land side by high
rocks, and opening on the Lake of Lucerne. Others joined them in their
patriotic purpose, and on the night of the Wednesday before Martinmas,
in the year 1307, each of the three led to the place of meeting ten
others, all as resolute and liberty-loving as themselves. These
thirty-three good and true men, thus assembled at the midnight hour in
the meadow of Ruetli, united in a solemn oath that they would devote
their lives and strength to the freeing of their country from its
oppressors. They fixed the first day of the coming year for the
beginning of their work, and then returned to their homes, where they
kept the strictest secrecy, occupying themselves in housing their cattle
for the winter and in other rural labors, with no indication that they
cherished deeper designs.
During this interval of secrecy another event, of a nature highly
exasperating to the Swiss, is said to have happened. It is true that
modern critics declare the story of this event to be solely a legend and
that nothing of the kind ever took place. However that be, it has ever
since remained one of the most attractive of popular tales, and the
verdict of the critics shall not deter us from telling again this
oft-repeated and always welcome story.
We have named two of the many tyrannical governors of Switzerland, the
deputies there of Albert of Austria, then Emperor of Germany, whose
purpose was to abolish the privileges of the Swiss and subject the free
communes to his arbitrary rule. The second named of these, Gessler,
governor of Uri and Schwyz, whose threats had driven Werner to
conspiracy, occupied a fortress in Uri, which he had built as a place of
safety in case of revolt, and a centre of tyranny. "Uri's prison" he
called this fortress, an insult to the people of Uri which roused their
indignation. Perceiving their sullenness, Gessler resolved to give them
a salutary lesson of his power and their helplessness.
On St. Jacob's day he had a pole erected in the market-place at Altdorf,
under the lime-trees there growing, and directed that his hat should be
placed on its top. This done, the command was issued that all who passed
through the market-place should bow and kneel to this hat as to the king
himself, blows and confiscation of property to be the lot of all who
refused. A guard was placed around the pole, whose duty was to take note
of every man who should fail to do homage to the governor's hat.
On the Sunday following, a peasant of Uri, William Tell by name, who, as
we are told, was one of the thirty-three sworn confederates, passed
several times through the market-place at Altdorf without bowing or
bending the knee to Gessler's hat. This was reported to the governor,
who summoned Tell to his presence, and haughtily asked him why he had
dared to disobey his command.
"My dear lord," answered Tell, submissively, "I beg you to pardon me,
for it was done through ignorance and not out of contempt. If I were
clever, I should not be called Tell. I pray your mercy; it shall not
happen again."
The name Tell signifies dull or stupid, a meaning in consonance with his
speech, though not with his character. Yet stupid or bright, he had the
reputation of being the best archer in the country, and Gessler, knowing
this, determined on a singular punishment for his fault. Tell had
beautiful children, whom he dearly loved. The governor sent for these,
and asked him,--
"Which of your children do you love the best?"
"My lord, they are all alike dear to me," answered Tell.
"If that be so," said Gessler, "then, as I hear that you are a famous
marksman, you shall prove your skill in my presence by shooting an apple
off the head of one of your children. But take good care to hit the
apple, for if your first shot miss you shall lose your life."
"For God's sake, do not ask me to do this!" cried Tell in horror. "It
would be unnatural to shoot at my own dear child. I would rather die
than do it."
"Unless you do it, you or your child shall die," answered the governor
harshly.
Tell, seeing that Gessler was resolute in his cruel project, and that
the trial must be made or worse might come, reluctantly agreed to it. He
took his cross-bow and two arrows, one of which he placed in the bow,
the other he stuck behind in his collar. The governor, meanwhile, had
selected the child for the trial, a boy of not more than six years of
age, whom he ordered to be placed at the proper distance, and himself
selected an apple and placed it on the child's head.
Tell viewed these preparations with startled eyes, while praying
inwardly to God to shield his dear child from harm. Then, bidding the
boy to stand firm and not be frightened, as his father would do his best
not to harm him, he raised the perilous bow.
The legend deals too briefly with this story. It fails to picture the
scene in the market-place. But there, we may be sure, in addition to
Gessler and his guards, were most of the people of Uri, their hearts
burning with sympathy for their countryman and hatred of the tyrant,
their feelings almost wrought up to the point of attacking Gessler and
his guards, and daring death in defence of their liberties. There also
we may behold in fancy the brave child, scarcely old enough to
appreciate the magnitude of his peril, but looking with simple faith
into the kind eyes of his father, who stands firm of frame but trembling
in heart before him, the death-dealing bow in his hand.
In a minute more the bow is bent, Tell's unerring eye glances along the
shaft, the string twangs sharply, the arrow speeds through the air, and
the apple, pierced through its centre, is borne from the head of the
boy, who leaps forward with a glad cry of triumph, while the unnerved
father, with tears of joy in his eyes, flings the bow to the ground and
clasps his child to his heart.
"By my faith, Tell, that is a wonderful shot!" cried the astonished
governor. "Men have not belied you. But why have you stuck another arrow
in your collar?"
"That is the custom among marksmen," Tell hesitatingly answered.
"Come, man, speak the truth openly and without fear," said Gessler, who
noted Tell's hesitancy. "Your life is safe; but I am not satisfied with
your answer."
"Then," said Tell, regaining his courage, "if you would have the truth,
it is this. If I had struck my child with the first arrow, the other was
intended for you; and with that I should not have missed my mark."
The governor started at these bold words, and his brow clouded with
anger.
"I promised you your life," he exclaimed, "and will keep my word; but,
as you cherish evil intentions against me, I shall make sure that you
cannot carry them out. You are not safe to leave at large, and shall be
taken to a place where you can never again behold the sun or the moon."
Turning to his guards, he bade them seize the bold marksman, bind his
hands, and take him in a boat across the lake to his castle at Kuessnach,
where he should do penance for his evil intentions by spending the
remainder of his life in a dark dungeon. The people dared not interfere
with this harsh sentence; the guards were too many and too well armed.
Tell was seized, bound, and hurried to the lake-side, Gessler
accompanying.
The water reached, he was placed in a boat, his cross-bow being also
brought and laid beside the steersman. As if with purpose to make sure
of the disposal of his threatening enemy, Gessler also entered the
boat, which was pushed off and rowed across the lake towards Brunnen,
from which place the prisoner was to be taken overland to the governor's
fortress.
Before they were half-way across the lake, however, a sudden and violent
storm arose, tossing the boat so frightfully that Gessler and all with
him were filled with mortal fear.
"My lord," cried one of the trembling rowers to the governor, "we will
all go to the bottom unless something is done, for there is not a man
among us fit to manage a boat in this storm. But Tell here is a skilful
boatman, and it would be wise to use him in our sore need."
"Can you bring us out of this peril?" asked Gessler, who was no less
alarmed than his crew. "If you can, I will release you from your bonds."
"I trust, with God's help, that I can safely bring you ashore," answered
Tell.
By Gessler's order his bonds were then removed, and he stepped aft and
took the helm, guiding the boat through the storm with the skill of a
trained mariner. He had, however, another object in view, and had no
intention to let the tyrannical governor bind his free limbs again. He
bade the men to row carefully until they reached a certain rock, which
appeared on the lake-side at no great distance, telling them that he
hoped to land them behind its shelter. As they drew near the spot
indicated, he turned the helm so that the boat struck violently against
the rock, and then, seizing the cross-bow which lay beside him, he
sprang nimbly ashore, and thrust the boat with his foot back into the
tossing waves. The rock on which he landed is, says the chronicler,
still known as Tell's Rock, and a small chapel has been built upon it.
The story goes on to tell us that the governor and his rowers, after
great danger, finally succeeded in reaching the shore at Brunnen, at
which point they took horse and rode through the district of Schwyz,
their route leading through a narrow passage between the rocks, the only
way by which they could reach Kuessnach from that quarter. On they went,
the angry governor swearing vengeance against Tell, and laying plans
with his followers how the runaway should be seized. The deepest dungeon
at Kuessnach, he vowed, should be his lot.
He little dreamed what ears heard his fulminations and what deadly peril
threatened him. On leaving the boat, Tell had run quickly forward to the
passage, or hollow way, through which he knew that Gessler must pass on
his way to the castle. Here, hidden behind the high bank that bordered
the road, he waited, cross-bow in hand, and the arrow which he had
designed for the governor's life in the string, for the coming of his
mortal foe.
Gessler came, still talking of his plans to seize Tell, and without a
dream of danger, for the pass was silent and seemed deserted. But
suddenly to his ears came the twang of the bow he had heard before that
day; through the air once more winged its way a steel-barbed shaft, the
heart of a tyrant, not an apple on a child's head, now its mark. In an
instant more Gessler fell from his horse, pierced by Tell's fatal shaft,
and breathed his last before the eyes of his terrified servants. On that
spot, the chronicler concludes, was built a holy chapel, which is
standing to this day.
Such is the far-famed story of William Tell. How much truth and how much
mere tradition there is in it, it is not easy to say. The feat of
shooting an apple from a person's head is told of others before Tell's
time, and that it ever happened is far from sure. But at the same time
it is possible that the story of Tell, in its main features, may be
founded on fact. Tradition is rarely all fable.
We are now done with William Tell, and must return to the doings of the
three confederates to whom fame ascribes the origin of the liberty of
Switzerland. In the early morning of January 1, 1308, the date they had
fixed for their work to begin, as Landenberg was leaving his castle to
attend mass at Sarnen, he was met by twenty of the mountaineers of
Unterwald, who, as was their custom, brought him a new-year's gift of
calves, goats, sheep, fowls, and hares. Much pleased with the present,
he asked the men to take the animals into the castle court, and went on
his way towards Sarnen.
But no sooner had the twenty men passed through the gates than a horn
was loudly blown, and instantly each of them drew from beneath his
doublet a steel blade, which he fixed upon the end of his staff. At the
sound of the horn thirty other men rushed from a neighboring wood, and
made for the open gates. In a very few minutes they joined their
comrades in the castle, which was quickly theirs, the garrison being
overpowered.
Landenberg fled in haste on hearing the tumult, but was pursued and
taken. But as the confederates had agreed with each other to shed no
blood, they suffered this arch villain to depart, after making him swear
to leave Switzerland and never return to it. The news of the revolt
spread rapidly through the mountains, and so well had the confederates
laid their plans, that several other castles were taken by stratagem
before the alarm could be given. Their governors were sent beyond the
borders. Day by day news was brought to the head-quarters of the
patriots, on Lake Lucerne, of success in various parts of the country,
and on Sunday, the 7th of January, a week from the first outbreak, the
leading men of that part of Switzerland met and pledged themselves to
their ancient oath of confederacy. In a week's time they had driven out
the Austrians and set their country free.
It must be admitted that there is no contemporary proof of this story,
though the Swiss accept it as authentic history, and it has not been
disproved. The chief peril to the new confederacy lay with Albert of
Austria, the dispossessed lord of the land, but the patriotic Swiss
found themselves unexpectedly relieved from the execution of his
threats of vengeance. His harshness and despotic severity had made him
enemies alike among people and nobles, and when, in the spring of 1308,
he sought the borders of Switzerland, with the purpose of reducing and
punishing the insurgents, his career was brought to a sudden and violent
end.
A conspiracy had been formed against him by his nephew, the Duke of
Swabia, and others who accompanied him in this journey. On the 1st of
May they reached the Reuss River at Windisch, and, as the emperor
entered the boat to be ferried across, the conspirators pushed into it
after him, leaving no room for his attendants. Reaching the opposite
shore, they remounted their steeds and rode on while the boat returned
for the others. Their route lay through the vast cornfields at the base
of the hills whose highest summit was crowned by the great castle of
Hapsburg.
They had gone some distance, when John of Swabia suddenly rushed upon
the emperor, and buried his lance in his neck, exclaiming, "Such is the
reward of injustice!" Immediately two others rode upon him, Rudolph of
Balm stabbing him with his dagger, while Walter of Eschenbach clove his
head in twain with his sword. This bloody work done, the conspirators
spurred rapidly away, leaving the dying emperor to breathe his last with
his head supported in the lap of a poor woman, who had witnessed the
murder and hurried to the spot.
This deed of blood saved Switzerland from the vengeance which the
emperor had designed. The mountaineers were given time to cement the
government they had so hastily formed, and which was to last for
centuries thereafter, despite the efforts of ambitious potentates to
reduce the Swiss once more to subjection and rob them of the liberty
they so dearly loved.