BERTHA (sternly and with severity).

And dare you speak to me of love—­of truth! 
You, that are faithless to your nearest ties! 
You, that are Austria’s slave-bartered and sold
To her—­an alien, and your country’s tyrant!

RUDENZ.

How!  This reproach from thee!  Whom do I seek,
On Austria’s side, my own beloved, but thee?

BERTHA.

Think you to find me in the traitor’s ranks? 
Now, as I live, I’d rather give my hand
To Gessler’s self, all despot though he be,
Than to the Switzer who forgets his birth,
And stoops to be a tyrant’s servile tool.

RUDENZ.

Oh heaven, what words are these?

BERTHA.

Say! what can lie
Nearer the good man’s heart than friends and kindred! 
What dearer duty to a noble soul
Than to protect weak suffering innocence,
And vindicate the rights of the oppress’d? 
My very soul bleeds for your countrymen. 
I suffer with them, for I needs must love them;
They are so gentle, yet so full of power;
They draw my whole heart to them.  Every day
I look upon them with increased esteem. 
But you, whom nature and your knightly vow
Have given them as their natural protector,
Yet who desert them and abet their foes
In forging shackles for your native land,
You—­you incense and wound me to the core. 
It tries me to the utmost not to hate you.

RUDENZ.

Is not my country’s welfare all my wish? 
What seek I for her but to purchase peace
’Neath Austria’s potent sceptre?

BERTHA.

Bondage, rather! 
You would drive freedom from the last stronghold
That yet remains for her upon the earth. 
The people know their own true int’rests better: 
Their simple natures are not warp’d by show. 
But round your head a tangling net is wound.

RUDENZ.

Bertha, you hate me—­you despise me!

BERTHA.

Nay! 
And if I did, ’twere better for my peace. 
But to see him despised and despicable—­
The man whom one might love—­

RUDENZ.

Oh, Bertha.  You
Show me the pinnacle of heavenly bliss,
Then, in a moment, hurl me to despair!

BERTHA.

No, no! the noble is not all extinct
Within you.  It but slumbers—­I will rouse it. 
It must have cost you many a fiery struggle
To crush the virtues of your race within you. 
But, heaven be praised, ’tis mightier than yourself,
And you are noble in your own despite!

RUDENZ.

You trust me, then?  Oh, Bertha, with thy love
What might I not become!

BERTHA.

Be only that
For which your own high nature destin’d you. 
Fill the position you were born to fill;—­
Stand by your people and your native land,
And battle for your sacred rights!

RUDENZ.

Alas! 
How can I win you—­how can you be mine,
If I take arms against the Emperor? 
Will not your potent kinsmen interpose
To dictate the disposal of your hand?