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The Mansion of the BARON OF ATTINGHAUSEN. A Gothic Hall, decorated with escutcheons and helmets. The BARON, a grey-headed man, eighty-five years old, tall and of a commanding mien, clad in a furred pelisse, and leaning on a staff tipped with chamois horn. KUONI and six hinds standing round him with rakes and scythes. ULRICH OF RUDENZ enters in the costume of a knight.
Rud. Uncle, I’m here! Your will? | |
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| Atting. First let me share, | |
| After the ancient custom of our house, | |
| The morning cup, with these my faithful servants! [He drinks from a cup, which is then passed round. | |
| Time was, I stood myself in field and wood, | 5 |
| With mine own eyes directing all their toil, | |
| Even as my banner led them in the fight, | |
| Now I am only fit to play the steward: | |
| And, if the genial sun come not to me, | |
| I can no longer seek it on the hills. | 10 |
| Thus slowly, in an ever-narrowing sphere, | |
| I move on to the narrowest and the last, | |
| Where all life’s pulses cease. I now am but | |
| The shadow of my former self, and that | |
| Is fading fast—’twill soon be but a name. | 15 |
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| Kuoni (offering RUDENZ the cup). A pledge, young master! [RUDENZ hesitates to take the cup. | |
| Nay, Sir, drink it off! | |
| One cup, one heart! You know our proverb, Sir? | |
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| Atting. Go, children, and at eve, when work is done, | |
| We’ll meet and talk the country’s business over. [Exeunt servants. | 20 |
| Belted and plumed, and all thy bravery on! | |
| Thou art for Altdorf—for the castle, boy? | |
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| Rud. Yes, uncle. Longer may I not delay— | |
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| Atting. (sitting down). Why in such haste? Say, are thy youthful hours | |
| Doled in such niggard measure, that thou must | 25 |
| Be chary of them to thy aged uncle? | |
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| Rud. I see my presence is not needed here, | |
| I am but as a stranger in this house. | |
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| Atting. (gazes fixedly at him for a considerable time). Ay, pity ’tis thou art! Alas, that home | |
| To thee has grown so strange! Oh, Uly! Uly! | 30 |
| I scarce do know thee now, thus deck’d in silks, | |
| The peacock’s feather 1 flaunting in thy cap, | |
| And purple mantle round thy shoulders flung; | |
| Thou look’st upon the peasant with disdain; | |
| And tak’st his honest greeting with a blush. | 35 |
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| Rud. All honour due to him I gladly pay, | |
| But must deny the right he would usurp. | |
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| Atting. The sore displeasure of its monarch rests | |
| Upon our land, and every true man’s heart, | |
| Is full of sadness for the grievous wrongs | 40 |
| We suffer from our tyrants. Thou alone | |
| Art all unmoved amid the general grief. | |
| Abandoning thy friends, thou tak’st thy stand | |
| Beside thy country’s foes, and, as in scorn | |
| Of our distress, pursuest giddy joys, | 45 |
| Courting the smiles of princes all the while | |
| Thy country bleeds beneath their cruel scourge. | |
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| Rud. The land is sore oppress’d, I know it, uncle. | |
| But why? Who plunged it into this distress? | |
| A word, one little easy word, might buy | 50 |
| Instant deliverance from all our ills, | |
| And win the good will of the Emperor. | |
| Woe unto those who seal the people’s eyes. | |
| And make them adverse to their country’s good— | |
| The men who, for their own vile, selfish ends, | 55 |
| Are seeking to prevent the Forest States | |
| From swearing fealty to Austria’s House, | |
| As all the countries round about have done. | |
| It fits their humour well, to take their seats | |
| Amid the nobles on the Herrenbank; 2 | 60 |
| They’ll have the Kaiser for their lord, forsooth,— | |
| That is to say, they’ll have no lord at all. | |
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| Atting. Must I hear this, and from thy lips, rash boy! | |
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| Rud. You urged me to this answer. Hear me out. | |
| What, uncle, is the character you’ve stoop’d | 65 |
| To fill contentedly through life? Have you | |
| No higher pride, than in these lonely wilds | |
| To be the Landamman or Banneret, 3 | |
| The petty chieftain of a shepherd race? | |
| How! Were it not a far more glorious choice, | 70 |
| To bend in homage to our royal lord, | |
| And swell the princely splendours of his court, | |
| Than sit at home, the peer of your own vassals, | |
| And share the judgment-seat with vulgar clowns? | |
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| Atting. Ah, Uly, Uly; all too well I see, | 75 |
| The tempter’s voice has caught thy willing ear, | |
| And pour’d its subtle poison in thy heart. | |
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| Rud. Yes, I conceal it not. It doth offend | |
| My inmost soul, to hear the stranger’s gibes, | |
| That taunt us with the name of “Peasant Nobles!” | 80 |
| Think you the heart that’s stirring here can brook, | |
| While all the young nobility around | |
| Are reaping honour under Hapsburg’s banner, | |
| That I should loiter, in inglorious ease, | |
| Here on the heritage my fathers left, | 85 |
| And, in the dull routine of vulgar toil, | |
| Lose all life’s glorious spring? In other lands | |
| Great deeds are done. A world of fair renown | |
| Beyond these mountains stirs in martial pomp. | |
| My helm and shield are rusting in the hall; | 90 |
| The martial trumpet’s spirit-stirring blast, | |
| The herald’s call, inviting to the lists, | |
| Rouse not the echoes of these vales, where nought | |
| Save cowherd’s horn and cattle bell is heard, | |
| In one unvarying dull monotony. | 95 |
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| Atting. Deluded boy, seduced by empty show! | |
| Despise the land that gave thee birth! Ashamed | |
| Of the good ancient customs of thy sires! | |
| The day will come, when thou, with burning tears, | |
| Wilt long for home, and for thy native hills, | 100 |
| And that dear melody of tuneful herds, | |
| Which now, in proud disgust, thou dost despise! | |
| A day when wistful pangs shall shake thy heart, | |
| Hearing their music in a foreign land. | |
| Oh! potent is the spell that binds to home! | 105 |
| No, no, the cold, false world is not for thee. | |
| At the proud court, with thy true heart, thou wilt | |
| For ever feel a stranger among strangers. | |
| The world asks virtues of far other stamp | |
| Than thou hast learned within these simple vales. | 110 |
| But go—go thither,—barter thy free soul, | |
| Take land in fief, be minion to a prince, | |
| Where thou might’st be lord paramount, and prince | |
| Of all thine own unburden’d heritage! | |
| O, Uly, Uly, stay among thy people! | 115 |
| Go not to Altdorf. Oh, abandon not | |
| The sacred cause of thy wrong’d native land! | |
| I am the last of all my race. My name | |
| Ends with me. Yonder hang my helm and shield; | |
| They will be buried with me in the grave. 4 | 120 |
| And must I think, when yielding up my breath, | |
| That thou but wait’st the closing of mine eyes, | |
| To stoop thy knee to this new feudal court, | |
| And take in vassalage from Austria’s hands | |
| The noble lands, which I from God received, | 125 |
| Free and unfetter’d as the mountain air! | |
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| Rud. ’Tis vain for us to strive against the King. | |
| The world pertains to him:—shall we alone, | |
| In mad presumptuous obstinacy, strive | |
| To break that mighty chain of lands, which he | 130 |
| Hath drawn around us with his giant grasp? | |
| His are the markets, his the courts,—his, too, | |
| The highways; nay, the very carrier’s horse, | |
| That traffics on the Gotthardt, pays him toll. | |
| By his dominions, as within a net, | 135 |
| We are enclosed, and girded round about. | |
| —And will the Empire shield us? Say, can it | |
| Protect itself ’gainst Austria’s growing power? | |
| To God, and not to emperors must we look! | |
| What store can on their promises be placed, | 140 |
| When they, to meet their own necessities, | |
| Can pawn, and even alienate the towns | |
| That flee for shelter ’neath the Eagle’s wings? 5 | |
| No, uncle! It is wise and wholesome prudence, | |
| In times like these, when faction’s all abroad, | 145 |
| To vow attachment to some mighty chief. | |
| The imperial crown’s transferred from line to line. 6 | |
| It has no memory for faithful service: | |
| But to secure the favour of these great | |
| Hereditary masters, were to sow | 150 |
| Seed for a future harvest. | |
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| Atting. Art so wise? | |
| Wilt thou see clearer than thy noble sires, | |
| Who battled for fair freedom’s priceless gem, | |
| With life, and fortune, and heroic arm? | 155 |
| Sail down the lake to Lucerne, there inquire, | |
| How Austria’s thraldom weighs the Cantons down. | |
| Soon she will come to count our sheep, our cattle, | |
| To portion out the Alps, e’en to their peaks, | |
| And in our own free woods to hinder us | 160 |
| From striking down the eagle or the stag; | |
| To set her tolls on every bridge and gate, | |
| Impoverish us, to swell her lust of sway, | |
| And drain our dearest blood to feed her wars. | |
| No, if our blood must flow, let it be shed | 165 |
| In our own cause! We purchase liberty | |
| More cheaply far than bondage. | |
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| Rudenz. What can we, | |
| A shepherd race, against great Albert’s hosts? | |
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| Atting. Learn, foolish boy, to know this shepherd race! | 170 |
| I know them, I have led them on in fight,— | |
| I saw them in the battle at Favenz. | |
| What! Austria try, forsooth, to force on us | |
| A yoke we are determined not to bear! | |
| Oh, learn to feel from what a stock thou’rt sprung; | 175 |
| Cast not, for tinsel trash and idle show, | |
| The precious jewel of thy worth away, | |
| To be the chieftain of a free-born race, | |
| Bound to thee only by their unbought love, | |
| Ready to stand—to fight—to die with thee, | 180 |
| Be that thy pride, be that thy noblest boast! | |
| Knit to thy heart the ties of kindred-home— | |
| Cling to the land, the dear land of thy sires, | |
| Grapple to that with thy whole heart and soul! | |
| Thy power is rooted deep and strongly here, | 185 |
| But in yon stranger world thou’lt stand alone, | |
| A trembling reed beat down by every blast. | |
| Oh come! ’tis long since we have seen thee, Uly! | |
| Tarry but this one day. Only to-day! | |
| Go not to Altdorf. Wilt thou? Not to-day! | 190 |
| For this one day, bestow thee on thy friends. [Takes his hand. | |
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| Rud. I gave my word. Unhand me! I am bound. | |
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| Atting. (drops his hand and says sternly). Bound, didst thou say? Oh yes, unhappy boy, | |
| Thou art indeed. But not by word or oath. | |
| ’Tis by the silken mesh of love thou’rt bound. [RUDENZ turns away. | 195 |
| Ah, hide thee, as thou wilt. ’Tis she, I know, | |
| Bertha of Bruneck, draws thee to the court; | |
| ’Tis she that chains thee to the Emperor’s service. | |
| Thou think’st to win the noble knightly maid | |
| By thy apostasy. Be not deceived. | 200 |
| She is held out before thee as a lure; | |
| But never meant for innocence like thine. | |
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| Rud. No more, I’ve heard enough. So fare you well. [Exit. | |
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| Atting. Stay, Uly! Stay! Rash boy, he’s gone! I can | |
| Nor hold him back, nor save him from destruction. | 205 |
| And so the Wolfshot has deserted us;— | |
| Others will follow his example soon. | |
| This foreign witchery, sweeping o’er our hills, | |
| Tears with its potent spell our youth away. | |
| O luckless hour, when men and manners strange | 210 |
| Into these calm and happy valleys came, | |
| To warp our primitive and guileless ways! | |
| The new is pressing on with might. The old, | |
| The good, the simple, all fleet fast away. | |
| New times come on. A race is springing up, | 215 |
| That think not as their fathers thought before! | |
| What do I hear? All, all are in the grave | |
| With whom erewhile I moved, and held converse; | |
| My age has long been laid beneath the sod; | |
| Happy the man, who may not live to see | 220 |
| What shall be done by those that follow me! | |
