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.



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