Myths and Myth-Makers | Page 4

whatever. In spite of the wrath of unlearned but patriotic Swiss,
especially of those of the cicerone class, this conclusion is forced upon
us as soon as we begin to study the legend in accordance with the
canons of modern historical criticism. It is useless to point to Tell's
lime-tree, standing to-day in the centre of the market-place at Altdorf,
or to quote for our confusion his crossbow preserved in the arsenal at
Zurich, as unimpeachable witnesses to the truth of the story. It is in
vain that we are told, "The bricks are alive to this day to testify to it;
therefore, deny it not." These proofs are not more valid than the
handkerchief of St. Veronica, or the fragments of the true cross. For if
relics are to be received as evidence, we must needs admit the truth of
every miracle narrated by the Bollandists.
The earliest work which makes any allusion to the adventures of
William Tell is the chronicle of the younger Melchior Russ, written in
1482. As the shooting of the apple was supposed to have taken place in
1296, this leaves an interval of one hundred and eighty-six years,
during which neither a Tell, nor a William, nor the apple, nor the
cruelty of Gessler, received any mention. It may also be observed,
parenthetically, that the charters of Kussenach, when examined, show
that no man by the name of Gessler ever ruled there. The chroniclers of
the fifteenth century, Faber and Hammerlin, who minutely describe the
tyrannical acts by which the Duke of Austria goaded the Swiss to
rebellion, do not once mention Tell's name, or betray the slightest
acquaintance with his exploits or with his existence. In the Zurich
chronicle of 1479 he is not alluded to. But we have still better negative
evidence. John of Winterthur, one of the best chroniclers of the Middle
Ages, was living at the time of the battle of Morgarten (1315), at which
his father was present. He tells us how, on the evening of that dreadful

day, he saw Duke Leopold himself in his flight from the fatal field, half
dead with fear. He describes, with the loving minuteness of a
contemporary, all the incidents of the Swiss revolution, but nowhere
does he say a word about William Tell. This is sufficiently conclusive.
These mediaeval chroniclers, who never failed to go out of their way
after a bit of the epigrammatic and marvellous, who thought far more of
a pointed story than of historical credibility, would never have kept
silent about the adventures of Tell, if they had known anything about
them.
After this, it is not surprising to find that no two authors who describe
the deeds of William Tell agree in the details of topography and
chronology. Such discrepancies never fail to confront us when we leave
the solid ground of history and begin to deal with floating legends. Yet,
if the story be not historical, what could have been its origin? To
answer this question we must considerably expand the discussion.
The first author of any celebrity who doubted the story of William Tell
was Guillimann, in his work on Swiss Antiquities, published in 1598.
He calls the story a pure fable, but, nevertheless, eating his words,
concludes by proclaiming his belief in it, because the tale is so popular!
Undoubtedly he acted a wise part; for, in 1760, as we are told, Uriel
Freudenberger was condemned by the canton of Uri to be burnt alive,
for publishing his opinion that the legend of Tell had a Danish
origin.[1]
[1] See Delepierre, Historical Difficulties, p. 75.
The bold heretic was substantially right, however, like so many other
heretics, earlier and later. The Danish account of Tell is given as
follows, by Saxo Grammaticus:--
"A certain Palnatoki, for some time among King Harold's body-guard,
had made his bravery odious to very many of his fellow-soldiers by the
zeal with which he surpassed them in the discharge of his duty. This
man once, when talking tipsily over his cups, had boasted that he was
so skilled an archer that he could hit the smallest apple placed a long
way off on a wand at the first shot; which talk, caught up at first by the

ears of backbiters, soon came to the hearing of the king. Now, mark
how the wickedness of the king turned the confidence of the sire to the
peril of the son, by commanding that this dearest pledge of his life
should be placed instead of the wand, with a threat that, unless the
author of this promise could strike off the apple at the first flight of the
arrow, he should pay the penalty of his empty boasting by the loss of
his head. The king's command forced the soldier to perform