# The New Monthly Magazine/Volume 99/King Wenzel's Escape

KING WENZEL'S ESCAPE.
From the German of Moritz Hartmann.
By John Oxenford.
[According to history, Wenzel VI., King of Bohemia, better known as the Emperor Wenceslas, having been imprisoned for his misdeeds by the insurgent citizens of Prague, effected his escape through the assistance of a woman of low origin, named Susan, who took him into a fishing-boat while he was bathing, and rowed him across the Moldau. The version of the story given in the following poem differs from the common account, inasmuch as Wenzel is represented, not as a prisoner, but as in peril from a mob while he is taking a bath.]
Extended in his bath King Wenzel lies;
About his limbs the tepid water plays, As soothing as the sound of am'rous lays, Or sleep that follows drunken revelries. Ring Wenzel is so wrapp'd in tranquil joy, That with the flood he sports like any boy; The fluid o'er his back and neck he flings, And yields himself to thoughts of pleasant things, As softly sweet, as though all strife were past, And endless peace had come to reign at last, As though the holy Empire was no more One spacious field of battle, stain'd with gore; As though the citizen was free from dread, And blood of Hebrews was no longer shed; As though the trav'ler could receive no wrong, From force unbridled, wielded by the strong;
As though the stream of life no more was flowing From hearts of brave Bohemians, wildly glowing;
As though wan, pale-faced hunger no more stood In Prague's throng'd streets, and shriek'd aloud for food.
'Tis only such a King can have such dreams, When rocking like a boat his kingdom seems;
A king, who often plung'd in inebriety, Looks on a hangman as the best society; A king who to the dogs his queen can fling. And then a dulcet strain of love can sing.
Yes, Wenzel's a musician, and he oft— Luxurious wight—can tell a tale full soft, Which falls persuasively upon the ear,— No holy heirs more soothing or more clear; While thus in pleasant slumber he reposes, Perhaps a song he fashions as he doses.
A noise arouses him—a distant cry Now voices, wildly menacing, draw nigh;
Then comes a thump of clubs—a clash of swords, A shout triumphant—angry muttered words, ​Blended together in a tempest dread. King Wenzel, much amaz'd, lifts up his head, And from the bath thrusts forth his potent beard. "Were those the Moldau's billows that I heard? The storm against the planks makes such a din, It seems as if resolv'd to break them in."
The words grew plainer as the sound increas'd: "Long live John Huss, and down with ev'ry priest!"
"Nay; is that all?—pray take the priests," quoth he;
"John Huss for ever!—there we both agree." "Down with the king's advisers!" says a shout, "They starve our bodies till the soul flies out." "With all my heart, if such is your fond pleasure," Says Wenzel, "I detest them beyond measure."
Forth now the storm with greater fury breaks, The house beneath the people's anger shakes; One voice cries—"Lazy Wenzel, give us bread!"
Another—"Men be free, and strike him dead!"
The pond'rous clubs against the portals knock, And words of death the monarch's senses shock. King Wenzel trembles—no escape he hath, Here is the Moldau—there the people's wrath.
A strapping servant-girl darts in and brings A cloth, which round the royal form she flings; Then firmly seizes him—then drags him out— Then thrusts him in a boat (her arm is stout). "Off and away," the damsel cries, "before, To shed your blood, these wretches burst the door."
She takes the oar, which readily she plies, Across the stormy waves the vessel flies; Till the harsh voices of the rebel rout Fade in the distance, and at last die out. Their way lies up the stream, and as they go, The billows rock the vessel to and fro, As though it were a pleasure with them all To play with royal life as 'twere a ball.
But stout Susanna, with her steady oar, Batters the wat'ry traitors as they roar;
Making a sound with her incessant splashing, As when a sword with helm or shield is clashing.
Quick by the islands, edg'd with verdant grass, And by the rocks of Wissebad they pass; With band of pow'r the fragile bark she drives, And in the open country soon arrives.
King Wenzel on his bench, with all his care, Scarce keeps the water from his shoulders bare. The waves press near, and as he wards them off, Appear to stretch out human hands and scoff. Yet, though the billows toss him to and fro, But little can they of King Wenzel know, Who think that mobs or floods his soul engage;
He eyes the maid, who braves the water's rage, ​With love-sick glance, and thinks her passing fair, While she stands proudly with her flowing hair, Which in rude sport the breezes wildly fling— The sight, in short, has quite bewitch'd the king.
The royal face grows brighter with a smile As still she rows, and moves her limbs the while; Wave-like herself ; and as the crimson plays Over her cheeks, at last the monarch says:
"Maiden, who art so lovely, brave, and stout, Within whose veins flows Wlasta's blood, no doubt, I thank thee, and I will in velvet dress And ermine robe that form of loveliness; Henceforward at my court thou shalt be seen, The glory of thy sex—nay, more—the queen. With gold, and pearls, and diamonds, I'll deck, As fitting ornaments that charming neck, Among my raptur'd songsters thou shalt shine, And live immortalis'd by verse divine."
Susanna's face with wrath is redden'd o'er, And with a shock she brings the boat ashore; Then leaning on her oar, with flashing eyes, Thus to the monarch's offer she replies:
"The people's child I am, and will remain, What by thy gems and ermines should I gain?
To thee I leave thy curse-encumber'd court, Thy subjects' cries of misery for sport;
I could not live upon thy people's blood, And sweat, and marrow, as a dainty food, Seated at one of thy right-royal feasts Among thy songsters and thy lordly guests. Hearest thou not thy nation's miseries, How for a scanty crust it groans and cries— Nay, for the crumbs thou scatter'st from thy table? Thinkst thou to join such feasts I should be able? I curse thee—ay, as deeply as the rest, And something like repentance fills my breast, That I so weak, so womanish could feel, As from their hands their lawful spoil to steal. Now quickly fly, or I perchance may rue, That to my brethren I have prov'd untrue; And once more wielding this, my trusty oar,
Across the billows, which now wildly roar, That I have let the people rage in vain, May bear thee to their vengeance back again."
Into the open country flies the king, The scanty cloth his limbs scarce covering; While floating down the river, like a queen, To join the rebel band, is Susan seen.
* ↑ A massacre of Jews was one of the horrors of this horrible period of Bohemian history.—J. O.
* ↑ This favourite executioner, whom Wenzel called his gossip, he afterwards beheaded with his own hand.—J. O.
* ↑ This is probably an exaggeration, though Wenzel's queen, Johanna, was attacked and killed by one of his dogs.—J. O.
* ↑ Wlasta is an important personage in the old mythic history of Bohemia.