GESSLER.

Hast any more of them?

TELL.

Two boys, my lord.

GESSLER.

And, of the two, which dost thou love the most?

TELL.

Sir, both the boys are dear to me alike.

GESSLER.

Then, Tell, since at a hundred yards thou canst
Bring down the apple from the tree, thou shalt
Approve thy skill before me.  Take thy bow—­
Thou hast it there at hand—­make ready, then,
To shoot an apple from the stripling’s head! 
But take this counsel—­look well to thine aim,
See, that thou hit’st the apple at the first,
For, shouldst thou miss, thy head shall pay the forfeit.

[All give signs of horror.]

TELL.

What monstrous thing, my lord, is this you ask? 
What I from the head of mine own child!—­No, no! 
It cannot be, kind sir, you meant not that—­
God, in His grace, forbid!  You could not ask
A father seriously to do that thing!

GESSLER.

Thou art to shoot an apple from his head! 
I do desire—­command it so.

TELL.

What, I! 
Level my cross-bow at the darling head
Of mine own child?  No—­rather let me die!

GESSLER.

Or thou must shoot, or with thee dies the boy.

TELL.

Shall I become the murderer of my child! 
You have no children, sir—­you do not know
The tender throbbings of a father’s heart.

GESSLER.

How now, Tell, on a sudden so discreet? 
I had been told thou wert a visionary—­
A wanderer from the paths of common men. 
Thou lov’st the marvelous.  So have I now
Cull’d out for thee a task of special daring. 
Another man might pause and hesitate;—­
Thou dashest at it, heart and soul, at once.

BERTHA.

Oh, do not jest, my lord, with these poor souls! 
See, how they tremble, and how pale they look,
So little used are they to hear thee jest.

GESSLER.

Who tells thee that I jest?

[Grasping a branch above his head.]

Here is the apple. 
Room there, I say!  And let him take his distance—­
Just eighty paces—­as the custom is—­
Not an inch more or less!  It was his boast
That at a hundred he could hit his man. 
Now, archer, to your task, and look you miss not!

HARRAS.

Heavens! this grows serious—­down, boy, on your knees,
And beg the governor to spare your life.

FUeRST (aside to MELCHTHAL, who can scarcely restrain his indignation).

Command yourself—­be calm, I beg of you!

BERTHA (to the governor).

Let this suffice you, sir!  It is inhuman
To trifle with a father’s anguish thus. 
Although this wretched man had forfeited
Both life and limb for such a slight offence,
Already has he suffer’d tenfold death. 
Send him away uninjured to his home;
He’ll know thee well in future; and this hour
He and his children’s children will remember.