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Speaker 1: The Legend of King Wencesless by John Mason Neel. King

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Wenceslaus sat in his palace. He had been watching from

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the narrow window of the turret chamber where he was

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the sunset, as its glory hung for a moment in

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the western clouds, and then died away over the blue hills.

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Calm and cold was the brightness. A freezing haze came

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over the face of the land. The moon brightened toward

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the southwest, and the leafless trees in the castle gardens,

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and the quaint turret and spires of the castle itself

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threw clear, dark shadows on the unspotted snow. Still, the

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king looked out upon the scene before him. The ground

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sloped down from the castle towards the forest. Here and there,

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on the side of the hill, a few bushes gray

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with moss broke the unburied sheet of white. And as

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the King turned his eye in that direction, a poor

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man came up to these bushes and pulled something from them.

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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,

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my good otto, come stand by me. Do you see

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yonder poor man on the hill side. Step down to

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him and learn who he is, and where he dwells,

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

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Otto went forth on his errand while the good King

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watched him go down the hill. Meanwhile, the frost grew

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more and more intense, and an east wind blew from

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the Black mountains. The snow became more crisp and the

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air 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

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none nor food, and he was gathering a few sticks

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where he might find them, lest as he says, all

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his family perish with the cold. It is a most

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

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said the king. A grievous fault it is that it

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has not been done, But it shall be amended. Now,

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go to the ewery, Otto, and fetch some provisions of

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the best. Bring me flesh, and bring me wine. Bring

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me pine logs hither thou and I will see him

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dine when we bear them. Thither is your majesty going forth,

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asked Otto in surprise. Yes, to the Bruneweiss, and you

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shall go with me. When you have everything ready, meet

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me at the woodstacks by the little chapel. Come be speedy.

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I pray you, sire, do not venture out yourself. Let

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some of the men at arms go forth. It is

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a freezing wind, and the place is a good league. Hence,

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nevertheless I go, said the King. Come with me if

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you will, otto If not stay, I can carry the

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food myself. God forbids Sire that I should let you

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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

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not a word to any one besides. The noblemen of

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the court were in the palace hall, where a mighty

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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.

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They laughed, and lightly they talked, and as they threw

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fresh logs into the great chimney place, one said to

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another that so bitter a wind had never before been

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known in the land. But in the midst of that

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freezing night, the King went forth, page and monarch forth

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they went forth. They went together through the rude wind's

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wild lament, and the bitter weather. The king had put

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

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for he would feel with the poor, that he might

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feel for them. On his shoulders. He bore a heap

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of logs for the swineherd's fire. He stepped briskly on,

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while Otto followed with the provisions. He had imitated his

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master and had gone out of his common garments. On.

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The two trudged together over the crisp snow, across fields

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by lanes where the hedge trees were heavy with their

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

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rime clustered thick by the wood, and on out upon

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the moor, where the snow lay yet more unbroken, and

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where the wind seemed to nip one's very heart. Still,

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King Wenselsslass went on, and still Otto followed. The king

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thought it but little to go forth into the frost

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and snow, remembering him who came into the cold night

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of this world of ours. He disdained not a king

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to go to the beggar, For had not the king

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of kings visited slaves. He grudged not a king to

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carry logs on his shoulders, for had not the king

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of kings born heavier burdens for his sake. But at

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

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hold out with a good heart, for very shame. He

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did not wish to do less than his master. How

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could he turn back while the king held on his way.

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But when they came forth on the white bleak moor,

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he cried out with a faint heart, My liege, I

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cannot go on. The wind freezes my very blood. Pray

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you let us return. Seems it so much, asked the king.

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Follow me on, still, only tread in my footsteps, and

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you will proceed more easily. The servant knew that his

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master spoke not at random. He carefully looked for the

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footsteps of the king. He set his own feet in

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the print of his masters. In the master's steps. He

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trod where the snow lay dented. Heat was in the

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very sod which the saint had printed. And so great

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was the fire of love that kindled in the heart

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of the king, that as the servant trod in his steps,

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he gained life and heat. Otto felt not the wind,

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

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as with holy fire, and zealously, he followed the King

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on his errand. Of mercy and of the Legend of

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King Wencesles by John Mason Neale