In a picturesque¹ little châlet high up in the mountains, covered with snow and edelweiss (which is a flower that grows in the Alps, and you are not allowed to pick it), dwelt William Tell, his wife Hedwig, and his two sons, Walter and William. Such a remarkable² man was Tell that I think I must devote a whole chapter to him and his exploits. There was really nothing he could not do. He was the best shot with the cross-bow in the whole of Switzerland. He had the courage of a lion, the sure-footedness of a wild goat, the agility³ of a squirrel, and a beautiful beard. If you wanted someone to hurry across desolate⁴ ice-fields, and leap from crag to crag after a chamois, Tell was the man for your money. If you wanted a man to say rude things to the Governor, it was to Tell that you applied⁵ first. Once when he was hunting in the wild ravine of Schächenthal, where men were hardly ever to be seen, he met the Governor face to face. There was no way of getting past. On one side the rocky wall rose sheer up, while below the river roared. Directly Gessler caught sight of Tell striding along with his cross-bow, his cheeks grew pale and his knees tottered⁶, and he sat down on a rock feeling very unwell indeed.