The Legend of King Wencesless by John Mason Neel. King Wenceslaus sat in his
palace. He had been watching from the narrow window of the turret chamber where
he was the sunset, as its glory hung for a moment in the western
clouds, and then died away over the blue hills. Calm and cold was
the brightness. A freezing haze came over the face of the land. The
moon brightened toward the southwest, and the leafless trees in the castle gardens,
and the quaint turret and spires of the castle itself threw clear, dark shadows
on the unspotted snow. Still, the king looked out upon the scene before
him. The ground sloped down from the castle towards the forest. Here and
there, on the side of the hill, a few bushes gray with moss
broke the unburied sheet of white. And as the King turned his eye in
that direction, a poor man came up to these bushes and pulled something from
them. Come hither, page, called the king. One of the servants
of the palace entered in answer to the King's call, Come, my good
otto, come stand by me. Do you see yonder poor man on the
hill side. Step down to him and learn who he is, and where
he dwells, and what he is doing. Bring me word at once.
Otto went forth on his errand while the good King watched him go down the
hill. Meanwhile, the frost grew more and more intense, and an east
wind blew from the Black mountains. The snow became more crisp and the air
more clear. In a few moments, the messenger was back. Well,
who is he, sire? Said Otto? It is Rudolph the swineherd,
he that lives down by the Brunweiss fire. He has none nor food,
and he was gathering a few sticks where he might find them, lest as
he says, all his family perish with the cold. It is a most
bitter night, Sire, this should have been better looked to, said the
king. A grievous fault it is that it has not been done, But
it shall be amended. Now, go to the ewery, Otto, and
fetch some provisions of the best. Bring me flesh, and bring me wine.
Bring me pine logs hither thou and I will see him dine when we
bear them. Thither is your majesty going forth, asked Otto in surprise.
Yes, to the Bruneweiss, and you shall go with me. When you
have everything ready, meet me at the woodstacks by the little chapel. Come
be speedy. I pray you, sire, do not venture out yourself.
Let some of the men at arms go forth. It is a freezing wind,
and the place is a good league. Hence, nevertheless I go,
said the King. Come with me if you will, otto If not stay,
I can carry the food myself. God forbids Sire that I should let
you go alone. But I pray you be persuaded. Not in this,
said King Wenceslas. Eat me then where I said, and not a word
to any one besides. The noblemen of the court were in the palace hall,
where a mighty fire went roaring up the chimney, and the shadows played
and danced on the steep sides of the dark roof gaily. They laughed,
and lightly they talked, and as they threw fresh logs into the great chimney
place, one said to another that so bitter a wind had never before been
known in the land. But in the midst of that freezing night, the
King went forth, page and monarch forth they went forth. They went together
through the rude wind's wild lament, and the bitter weather. The king had
put on no extra clothing to shelter himself from the nipping air, for he
would feel with the poor, that he might feel for them. On his
shoulders. He bore a heap of logs for the swineherd's fire. He stepped
briskly on, while Otto followed with the provisions. He had imitated his master
and had gone out of his common garments. On. The two trudged together
over the crisp snow, across fields by lanes where the hedge trees were heavy
with their white burden, passed the pool, over the stile, where the
rime clustered thick by the wood, and on out upon the moor, where
the snow lay yet more unbroken, and where the wind seemed to nip one's
very heart. Still, King Wenselsslass went on, and still Otto followed.
The king thought it but little to go forth into the frost and snow,
remembering him who came into the cold night of this world of ours. He
disdained not a king to go to the beggar, For had not the king
of kings visited slaves. He grudged not a king to carry logs on his
shoulders, for had not the king of kings born heavier burdens for his sake.
But at each step Otto's courage and zeal failed. He tried to hold
out with a good heart, for very shame. He did not wish to
do less than his master. How could he turn back while the king held
on his way. But when they came forth on the white bleak moor,
he cried out with a faint heart, My liege, I cannot go on.
The wind freezes my very blood. Pray you let us return. Seems
it so much, asked the king. Follow me on, still, only
tread in my footsteps, and you will proceed more easily. The servant knew
that his master spoke not at random. He carefully looked for the footsteps of
the king. He set his own feet in the print of his masters.
In the master's steps. He trod where the snow lay dented. Heat was
in the very sod which the saint had printed. And so great was the
fire of love that kindled in the heart of the king, that as the
servant trod in his steps, he gained life and heat. Otto felt not
the wind, He heeded not the frost, for the Master's footprints glowed as
with holy fire, and zealously, he followed the King on his errand.
Of mercy and of the Legend of King Wencesles by John Mason Neale