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The Legend of King Wencesless by John
Mason Neel. King Wenceslaus sat in his

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palace. He had been watching from
the narrow window of the turret chamber where

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he was the sunset, as its
glory hung for a moment in the western

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clouds, and then died away over
the blue hills. Calm and cold was

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the brightness. A freezing haze came
over the face of the land. The

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moon brightened toward the southwest, and
the leafless trees in the castle gardens,

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and the quaint turret and spires of
the castle itself threw clear, dark shadows

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on the unspotted snow. Still,
the king looked out upon the scene before

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him. The ground sloped down from
the castle towards the forest. Here and

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there, on the side of the
hill, a few bushes gray with moss

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broke the unburied sheet of white.
And as the King turned his eye in

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that direction, a poor man came
up to these bushes and pulled something from

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them. Come hither, page,
called the king. One of the servants

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of the palace entered in answer to
the King's call, Come, my good

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otto, come stand by me.
Do you see yonder poor man on the

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hill side. Step down to him
and learn who he is, and where

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he dwells, and what he is
doing. Bring me word at once.

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Otto went forth on his errand while
the good King watched him go down the

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hill. Meanwhile, the frost grew
more and more intense, and an east

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wind blew from the Black mountains.
The snow became more crisp and the air

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more clear. In a few moments, the messenger was back. Well,

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who is he, sire? Said
Otto? It is Rudolph the swineherd,

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he that lives down by the Brunweiss
fire. He has none nor food,

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and he was gathering a few sticks
where he might find them, lest as

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he says, all his family perish
with the cold. It is a most

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bitter night, Sire, this should
have been better looked to, said the

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king. A grievous fault it is
that it has not been done, But

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it shall be amended. Now,
go to the ewery, Otto, and

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fetch some provisions of the best.
Bring me flesh, and bring me wine.

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Bring me pine logs hither thou and
I will see him dine when we

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bear them. Thither is your majesty
going forth, asked Otto in surprise.

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Yes, to the Bruneweiss, and
you shall go with me. When you

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have everything ready, meet me at
the woodstacks by the little chapel. Come

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be speedy. I pray you,
sire, do not venture out yourself.

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Let some of the men at arms
go forth. It is a freezing wind,

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and the place is a good league. Hence, nevertheless I go,

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said the King. Come with me
if you will, otto If not stay,

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I can carry the food myself.
God forbids Sire that I should let

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you go alone. But I pray
you be persuaded. Not in this,

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said King Wenceslas. Eat me then
where I said, and not a word

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to any one besides. The noblemen
of the court were in the palace hall,

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where a mighty fire went roaring up
the chimney, and the shadows played

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and danced on the steep sides of
the dark roof gaily. They laughed,

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and lightly they talked, and as
they threw fresh logs into the great chimney

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place, one said to another that
so bitter a wind had never before been

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known in the land. But in
the midst of that freezing night, the

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King went forth, page and monarch
forth they went forth. They went together

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through the rude wind's wild lament,
and the bitter weather. The king had

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put on no extra clothing to shelter
himself from the nipping air, for he

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would feel with the poor, that
he might feel for them. On his

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shoulders. He bore a heap of
logs for the swineherd's fire. He stepped

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briskly on, while Otto followed with
the provisions. He had imitated his master

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and had gone out of his common
garments. On. The two trudged together

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over the crisp snow, across fields
by lanes where the hedge trees were heavy

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with their white burden, passed the
pool, over the stile, where the

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rime clustered thick by the wood,
and on out upon the moor, where

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the snow lay yet more unbroken,
and where the wind seemed to nip one's

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very heart. Still, King Wenselsslass
went on, and still Otto followed.

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The king thought it but little to
go forth into the frost and snow,

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remembering him who came into the cold
night of this world of ours. He

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disdained not a king to go to
the beggar, For had not the king

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of kings visited slaves. He grudged
not a king to carry logs on his

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shoulders, for had not the king
of kings born heavier burdens for his sake.

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But at each step Otto's courage and
zeal failed. He tried to hold

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out with a good heart, for
very shame. He did not wish to

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do less than his master. How
could he turn back while the king held

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on his way. But when they
came forth on the white bleak moor,

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he cried out with a faint heart, My liege, I cannot go on.

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The wind freezes my very blood.
Pray you let us return. Seems

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it so much, asked the king. Follow me on, still, only

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tread in my footsteps, and you
will proceed more easily. The servant knew

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that his master spoke not at random. He carefully looked for the footsteps of

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the king. He set his own
feet in the print of his masters.

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In the master's steps. He trod
where the snow lay dented. Heat was

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in the very sod which the saint
had printed. And so great was the

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fire of love that kindled in the
heart of the king, that as the

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servant trod in his steps, he
gained life and heat. Otto felt not

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the wind, He heeded not the
frost, for the Master's footprints glowed as

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with holy fire, and zealously,
he followed the King on his errand.

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Of mercy and of the Legend of
King Wencesles by John Mason Neale