FUeRST.

The floodgate’s burst.  They’re not to be restrained.

     [Enter MELCHTHAL and BAUMGARTEN.]

MELCH.

What!  Stands the fortress still, when Sarnen lies
In ashes, and the Rossberg’s in our hands?

FUeRST.

You, Melchthal, here?  D’ye bring us liberty? 
Are all the Cantons from our tyrants freed?

MELCH.

We’ve swept them from the soil.  Rejoice, my friend,
Now, at this very moment, while we speak,
There’s not one tyrant left in Switzerland!

FUeRST.

How did you get the forts into your power?

MELCH.

Rudenz it was who by a bold assault
With manly valor mastered Sarnen’s keep. 
The Rossberg I had storm’d the night before. 
But hear what chanced!  Scarce had we driven the foe
Forth from the keep, and given it to the flames,
That now rose crackling upwards to the skies,
When from the blaze rush’d Diethelm, Gessler’s page,
Exclaiming, “Lady Bertha will be burnt!”

FUeRST.

Good heavens!

[The beams of the scaffold are heard falling.]

MELCH.

’Twas she herself.  Here had she been
By Gessler’s orders secretly immured. 
Up sprang Rudenz in frenzy.  For even now
The beams and massive posts were crashing down,
And through the stifling smoke the piteous shrieks
Of the unhappy lady.

FUeRST.

Is she saved?

MELCH.

’Twas not a time to hesitate or pause! 
Had he been but our baron, and no more,
We should have been most chary of our lives;
But he was our confederate, and Bertha
Honor’d the people.  So, without a thought,
We risk’d the worst, and rush’d into the flames.

FUeRST.

But is she saved?

MELCH.

She is.  Rudenz and I
Bore her between us from the blazing pile,
With crashing timbers toppling all around. 
And when she had revived, the danger past,
And raised her eyes to look upon the sun,
The baron fell upon my breast; and then
A silent vow between us two was sworn,
A vow that, welded in yon furnace heat,
Will last through ev’ry shock of time and fate.

FUeRST.

Where is the Landenberg?

MELCHTHAL.

Across the Bruenig. 
’Twas not my fault he bore his sight away,
He who had robb’d my father of his eyes! 
He fled—­I followed—­overtook him soon,
And dragg’d him to my father’s feet.  The sword
Already quiver’d o’er the caitiff’s head,
When from the pity of the blind old man,
He wrung the life which, craven-like, he begged. 
He swore URPHEDE,[59] never to return
He’ll keep his oath, for he has felt our arm.

FUeRST.

Oh, well for you, you have not stain’d with blood
Our spotless victory!

CHILDREN (running across the stage with fragments of wood).