THE LEGEND OF ST. WENCESLAS

 A REFLECTION FOR THE FEAST OF ST. STEPHEN

One of the best known Christmas carols is about the holy Duke of Bohemia, good King Wenceslas.  His name is forever linked with Christmastide through an act of charity he performed “on the feast of Stephen,” that is today. Winter had set in over Germany with unusual severity; hedges, fields, and ways, were blotted out in the deep soft snow.  Wenceslas had been sitting next to the narrow window of his castle, watching the sunset as its glory hung for a moment on the western clouds, and then died away over the Erzgebirge, and the blue hills of Rabenstein.  As he gazed forth on the scene, the moon shone down upon a poor man, illuminating his misery and his rags.  This poor unfortunate struggled through the deep snow up to some bushes, and seemed to pull something from them.  Wenceslas called out to his servant Otto, and told him to run out to the poor man on the hillside, to learn who he was, where he dwelt, and what he was doing.

As the King waited for Otto to return, the frost grew more and more intense; the east wind breathed from the bleak mountains of Galicia, the snow became more crisp and the air more clear. When Otto returned, he reported that the poor man was Rudolf the swineherd who lived down by the Brunweiss.  "My liege," said Otto, fire he has none, nor food neither: and he was gathering a few sticks where he might find them, lest, as he says, all his family perish with cold. It is a most bitter night, Sire."

Forthwith, Wenceslas decided to set out into the night to help the poor man.  Despite Otto’s pleadings that there was a freezing wind and that it was at least a league to the Brunweiss, Wenceslas insisted that he would go, alone if needs be.  The loyal servant could not permit that, of course, and agreed to accompany the King.

As the noblemen of the court made merry in the great hall of the castle, a mighty fire went roaring up the chimney, and they bade fresh logs be thrown into the chimney-place.  Their remarks were of the weather, and one said to another that so bitter a winter had never been known in Bohemia.

But in the midst of that freezing night, the King of Bohemia went forth. He had put on nothing warm to shelter himself from the nipping air; for he desired to feel with the poor, that he might feel for them. On his shoulder he bore a heap of logs for the swineherd's fire; and stepped briskly on, while Otto followed with the provisions. He, too, had imitated his master, and went in his common garments over the crisp snow, across fields, by lanes where the hedgetrees were heavy with their white load, past the frozen pool, through the little copse, where the wind made sweet melody in summer with the leaves, and rivers of gold streamed in upon the ground, but now silent and ghastly — over the stile where the rime clustered thick, by the road with its ruts of mire, and so out upon the moor, where the snow lay yet more unbroken, and the wind seemed to nip the very heart.

Still the King went on first: still the servant followed. The Saint thought it but little to go forth into the frost and the darkness, remembering Him Who came into the cold night of this world of ours; he disdained not, a King, to go to the beggar, for the King of Kings had visited slaves; he grudged not to carry the logs on his shoulder, for the Lord of all things had carried the Cross for his sake. But the servant, though he long held out with a good heart, at each step lost courage and zeal. Then very shame came to his aid; he would not do less than his master; he could not return to the court, while the King held on his way alone. But when they came forth on the white, bleak moor, his courage failed.  "My liege," he said, "I cannot go on. The wind freezes my very blood. Pray you, let us return."  “Seems it so much?" asked the King. "Was not His journey from Heaven a wearier and a colder way than this?  Follow me on still," said St. Wenceslas. "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 lord's feet.  And so great was the virtue of this Saint of the Most High, such was the fire of love that was kindled in him, that, as he trod in those steps, Otto gained life and heat. He felt not the wind; he heeded not the frost; the footprints glowed as with a holy fire, and zealously he followed the King on his errand of mercy.

This legend of St. Wenceslas encapsulates the whole spirit of Christmas.  It is a spirit of love, of charity towards those less fortunate than ourselves.  It is a spirit of giving, one where we give gifts to those we love and perhaps also to those whom we ought to love more.  It is the spirit of God himself, who on this day so many years ago gave us the greatest gift of all, that of his only-begotten Son.