Who was it? I will know. [Friesshardt steps forward.] And who art thou? And why hast thou this man in custody? [Gives his falcon to an attendant.] FRIESS. Dread sir, I am a soldier of your guard. And station'd sentinel beside the cap; This man I apprehended in the act Of passing it without obeisance due, So as you ordered, I arrested him, Whereon to rescue him the people tried. GESSL. (after a pause). And do you, Tell, so lightly hold your King, And me, who act as his viceregent here, That you refuse obeisance to the cap, I hung aloft to test your loyalty? I read in this a disaffected spirit. TELL. Pardon me, good my lord! The action sprung From inadvertence,--not from disrespect. Were I discreet, I were not Wilhelm Tell. Forgive me now--I'll not offend again. GESSL. (after a pause). I hear, Tell, you're a master with the bow, From every rival bear the palm away. WALT. That's very truth, sir! At a hundred yards He'll shoot an apple for you off the tree. GESSL. Is that boy thine, Tell? TELL. Yes, my gracious lord. GESSL. Hast any more of them? TELL. Two boys, my lord. GESSL. And, of the two, which dost thou love the most? TELL. Sir, both the boys are dear to me alike. GESSL. 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! 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! GESSL. Thou art to shoot an apple from his head! I do desire--command it so. TELL. What, I! Level my crossbow at the darling head Of mine own child? No--rather let me die! GESSL. 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. GESSL. 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 marvellous. 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. BERTH. 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. GESSL. 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!