Speaker 1: 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