[25] This calculation is sadly inaccurate.
William Tell.
I suppose that most people regard William Tell, the hero of
Switzerland, as an historical character, and visit the scenes made
memorable by his exploits, with corresponding interest, when they
undertake the regular Swiss round.
It is one of the painful duties of the antiquarian to dispel many a
popular belief, and to probe the groundlessness of many an historical
statement. The antiquarian is sometimes disposed to ask with Pilate,
"What is truth?" when he finds historical facts crumbling beneath his
touch into mythological fables; and he soon learns to doubt and
question the most emphatic declarations of, and claims to,
reliability.
Sir Walter Raleigh, in his prison, was composing the second volume of
his History of the World. Leaning on the sill of his window, he
meditated on the duties of the historian to mankind, when suddenly
his attention was attracted by a disturbance in the court-yard before
his cell. He saw one man strike another whom he supposed by his dress
to be an officer; the latter at once drew his sword, and ran the
former through the body. The wounded man felled his adversary with a
stick, and then sank upon the pavement. At this juncture the guard
came up, and carried off the officer insensible, and then the corpse
of the man who had been run through.
Next day Raleigh was visited by an intimate friend, to whom he related
the circumstances of the quarrel and its issue. To his astonishment,
his friend unhesitatingly declared that the prisoner had mistaken the
whole series of incidents which had passed before his eyes.
The supposed officer was not an officer at all, but the servant of a
foreign ambassador; it was he who had dealt the first blow; he had not
drawn his sword, but the other had snatched it from his side, and had
run _him_ through the body before any one could interfere; whereupon a
stranger from among the crowd knocked the murderer down with his
stick, and some of the foreigners belonging to the ambassador's
retinue carried off the corpse. The friend of Raleigh added that
government had ordered the arrest and immediate trial of the murderer,
as the man assassinated was one of the principal servants of the
Spanish ambassador.
"Excuse me," said Raleigh, "but I cannot have been deceived as you
suppose, for I was eye-witness to the events which took place under my
own window, and the man fell there on that spot where you see a
paving-stone standing up above the rest."
"My dear Raleigh," replied his friend, "I was sitting on that stone
when the fray took place, and I received this slight scratch on my
cheek in snatching the sword from the murderer; and upon my word of
honor, you have been deceived upon every particular."
Sir Walter, when alone, took up the second volume of his History,
which was in MS., and contemplating it, thought--"If I cannot believe
my own eyes, how can I be assured of the truth of a tithe of the
events which happened ages before I was born?" and he flung the
manuscript into the fire.[26]
Now, I think that I can show that the story of William Tell is as
fabulous as--what shall I say? any other historical event.
It is almost too well known to need repetition.
In the year 1307, Gessler, Vogt of the Emperor Albert of Hapsburg, set
a hat on a pole, as symbol of imperial power, and ordered every one
who passed by to do obeisance towards it. A mountaineer of the name of
Tell boldly traversed the space before it without saluting the
abhorred symbol. By Gessler's command he was at once seized and
brought before him. As Tell was known to be an expert archer, he was
ordered, by way of punishment, to shoot an apple off the head of his
own son. Finding remonstrance vain, he submitted. The apple was placed
on the child's head, Tell bent his bow, the arrow sped, and apple and
arrow fell together to the ground. But the Vogt noticed that Tell,
before shooting, had stuck another arrow into his belt, and he
inquired the reason.
"It was for you," replied the sturdy archer. "Had I shot my child,
know that it would not have missed your heart."
This event, observe, took place in the beginning of the fourteenth
century. But Saxo Grammaticus, a Danish writer of the twelfth century,
tells the story of a hero of his own country, who lived in the tenth
century. He relates the incident in horrible style as follows:--
"Nor ought what follows to be enveloped in silence. Toki, who had for
some time been in the king's service, had, by his deeds, surpassing
those of his comrades, made enemies of his virtues. One day, when he
had drunk too much, he boasted to those who sat at table with him,
that his skill in archery was such, that with the first shot of an
arrow he could hit the smallest apple set on the top of a stick at a
considerable distance. His detractors, hearing this, lost no time in
conveying what he had said to the king (Harald Bluetooth). But the
wickedness of this monarch soon transformed the confidence of the
father to the jeopardy of the son, for he ordered the dearest pledge
of his life to stand in place of the stick, from whom, if the utterer
of the boast did not at his first shot strike down the apple, he
should with his head pay the penalty of having made an idle boast. The
command of the king urged the soldier to do this, which was so much
more than he had undertaken, the detracting artifices of the others
having taken advantage of words spoken when he was hardly sober. As
soon as the boy was led forth, Toki carefully admonished him to
receive the whir of the arrow as calmly as possible, with attentive
ears, and without moving his head, lest by a slight motion of the body
he should frustrate the experience of his well-tried skill. He also
made him stand with his back towards him, lest he should be frightened
at the sight of the arrow. Then he drew three arrows from his quiver,
and the very first he shot struck the proposed mark. Toki being asked
by the king why he had taken so many more arrows out of his quiver,
when he was to make but one trial with his bow, 'That I might avenge
on thee,' he replied, 'the error of the first, by the points of the
others, lest my innocence might happen to be afflicted, and thy
injustice go unpunished.'"
The same incident is told of Egil, brother of the mythical Velundr,
in the Saga of Thidrik.
In Norwegian history also it appears with variations again and again.
It is told of King Olaf the Saint (d. 1030), that, desiring the
conversion of a brave heathen named Eindridi, he competed with him in
various athletic sports; he swam with him, wrestled, and then shot
with him. The king dared Eindridi to strike a writing-tablet from off
his son's head with an arrow. Eindridi prepared to attempt the
difficult shot. The king bade two men bind the eyes of the child and
hold the napkin, so that he might not move when he heard the whistle
of the arrow. The king aimed first, and the arrow grazed the lad's
head. Eindridi then prepared to shoot; but the mother of the boy
interfered, and persuaded the king to abandon this dangerous test of
skill. In this version, also, Eindridi is prepared to revenge himself
on the king, should the child be injured.
But a closer approximation still to the Tell myth is found in the life
of Hemingr, another Norse archer, who was challenged by King Harald,
Sigurd's son (d. 1066). The story is thus told:--
"The island was densely overgrown with wood, and the people went into
the forest. The king took a spear and set it with its point in the
soil, then he laid an arrow on the string and shot up into the air.
The arrow turned in the air and came down upon the spear-shaft and
stood up in it. Hemingr took another arrow and shot up; his was lost
to sight for some while, but it came back and pierced the nick of the
king's arrow.... Then the king took a knife and stuck it into an oak;
he next drew his bow and planted an arrow in the haft of the knife.
Thereupon Hemingr took his arrows. The king stood by him and said,
'They are all inlaid with gold; you are a capital workman.' Hemingr
answered, 'They are not my manufacture, but are presents.' He shot,
and his arrow cleft the haft, and the point entered the socket of the
blade.
"'We must have a keener contest,' said the king, taking an arrow and
flushing with anger; then he laid the arrow on the string and drew his
bow to the farthest, so that the horns were nearly brought to meet.
Away flashed the arrow, and pierced a tender twig. All said that this
was a most astonishing feat of dexterity. But Hemingr shot from a
greater distance, and split a hazel nut. All were astonished to see
this. Then said the king, 'Take a nut and set it on the head of your
brother Bjorn, and aim at it from precisely the same distance. If you
miss the mark, then your life goes.'
"Hemingr answered, 'Sire, my life is at your disposal, but I will not
adventure that shot.' Then out spake Bjorn--'Shoot, brother, rather
than die yourself.' Hemingr said, 'Have you the pluck to stand quite
still without shrinking?' 'I will do my best,' said Bjorn. 'Then let
the king stand by,' said Hemingr, 'and let him see whether I touch the
nut.'
"The king agreed, and bade Oddr Ufeigs' son stand by Bjorn, and see
that the shot was fair. Hemingr then went to the spot fixed for him by
the king, and signed himself with the cross, saying, 'God be my
witness that I had rather die myself than injure my brother Bjorn; let
all the blame rest on King Harald.'
"Then Hemingr flung his spear. The spear went straight to the mark,
and passed between the nut and the crown of the lad, who was not in
the least injured. It flew farther, and stopped not till it fell.
"Then the king came up and asked Oddr what he thought about the
shot."
Years after, this risk was revenged upon the hard-hearted monarch. In
the battle of Stamfordbridge an arrow from a skilled archer penetrated
the windpipe of the king, and it is supposed to have sped, observes
the Saga writer, from the bow of Hemingr, then in the service of the
English monarch.
The story is related somewhat differently in the Faroe Isles, and is
told of Geyti, Aslak's son. The same Harald asks his men if they know
who is his match in strength. "Yes," they reply; "there is a peasant's
son in the uplands, Geyti, son of Aslak, who is the strongest of men."
Forth goes the king, and at last rides up to the house of Aslak. "And
where is your youngest son?"
"Alas! alas! he lies under the green sod of Kolrin kirkgarth." "Come,
then, and show me his corpse, old man, that I may judge whether he was
as stout of limb as men say."
The father puts the king off with the excuse that among so many dead
it would be hard to find his boy. So the king rides away over the
heath. He meets a stately man returning from the chase, with a bow
over his shoulder. "And who art thou, friend?" "Geyti, Aslak's son."
The dead man, in short, alive and well. The king tells him he has
heard of his prowess, and is come to match his strength with him. So
Geyti and the king try a swimming-match.
The king swims well; but Geyti swims better, and in the end gives the
monarch such a ducking, that he is borne to his house devoid of sense
and motion. Harald swallows his anger, as he had swallowed the water,
and bids Geyti shoot a hazel nut from off his brother's head. Aslak's
son consents, and invites the king into the forest to witness his
dexterity.
"On the string the shaft he laid,
And God hath heard his prayer;
He shot the little nut away,
Nor hurt the lad a hair."