TELL.

Yes, I am he.  I hide the fact from no man.

MONK.

And you are Tell!  Ah! it is God’s own hand,
That hath conducted me beneath your roof.

TELL (examining him closely).

You are no monk.  Who are you?

MONK.

You have slain
The governor, who did you wrong.  I, too,
Have slain a foe, who robb’d me of my rights. 
He was no less your enemy than mine. 
I’ve rid the land of him.

TELL (drawing back).

You are—­oh, horror! 
In—­children, children—­in, without a word,
Go, my dear wife!  Go!  Go!  Unhappy man,
You should be—­

HEDWIG.

Heav’ns, who is it?

TELL.

Do not ask. 
Away! away! the children must not hear it. 
Out of the house—­away!  You must not rest
’Neath the same roof with this unhappy man!

HEDWIG.

Alas!  What is it?  Come.

[Exit with the children.]

TELL (to the MONK).

You are the Duke
Of Austria—­I know it.  You have slain
The Emperor, your uncle, and liege lord.

JOHN.

He robb’d me of my patrimony.

TELL.

How! 
Slain him—­your king, your uncle!  And the earth
Still bears you!  And the sun still shines on you!

JOHN.

Tell, hear me, ere you—­

TELL.

Reeking with the blood
Of him that was your Emperor, your kinsman,
Dare you set foot within my spotless house,
Dare to a honest man to show your face,
And claim the rites of hospitality?

JOHN.

I hoped to find compassion at your hands. 
You took, like me, revenge upon your foe!

TELL.

Unhappy man!  Dare you confound the crime
Of blood-imbued ambition with the act
Forced on a father in mere self-defence? 
Have you to shield your children’s darling heads,
To guard your fireside’s sanctuary—­ward off
The last, the direst doom from all you loved? 
To Heaven I raise my unpolluted hands,
To curse your act and you!  I have avenged
That holy nature which you have profaned. 
I have no part with you.  You murdered, I
Have shielded all that was most dear to me.

JOHN.

You cast me off to comfortless despair!

TELL.

I shrink with horror while I talk with you. 
Hence, on the dread career you have begun,
Cease to pollute the home of innocence!

[JOHN turns to depart.]

JOHN.

I cannot and I will not live this life!

TELL.

And yet my soul bleeds for you.  Gracious Heaven,
So young, of such a noble line, the grandson
Of Rudolph, once my lord and emperor,
An outcast—­murderer—­standing at my door,
The poor man’s door—­a suppliant, in despair!

[Covers his face.]

JOHN.