tent of ominous hue the waiting nobles were admitted, one at a
time, and were here received by the emperor, who peremptorily bade them
declare what lands they held as gifts from the crown.

Those who gave the information asked, and agreed to cede these lands
back to the crown, were led into the white tent, where an ample feast
awaited them. Those who refused were dismissed with frowns into the red
tent, where they found awaiting them the headsman's fatal block and axe.
The hapless guests were instantly seized and beheaded.

This ghastly jest, if such it may be considered, proceeded for some time
before the nobles still waiting learned what was going on. When at
length a whisper of the frightful mystery of the red tent was borne to
their ears, there were no longer any candidates for its favors. The
emperor found them eagerly willing to give up the ceded lands, and all
that remained found their way to the white tent and the feast.

The emperor's next act of arbitrary tyranny was directed against the
Jews. One of that people had ridiculed the sacrament, in consequence of
which three thousand Jews of Prague were massacred by the populace of
that city. Wenceslas, instead of punishing the murderers, as justice
would seem to have demanded, solaced his easy conscience by punishing
the victims, declaring all debts owed by Christians to Jews to be null
and void.

His next act of injustice and cruelty was perpetrated in 1393, and arose
from a dispute between the crown and the church. One of the royal
chamberlains had caused two priests to be executed on the accusation of
committing a flagrant crime. This action was resented by the Archbishop
of Prague, who declared that it was an encroachment upon the prerogative
of the church, which alone had the right to punish an ecclesiastic. He,
therefore, excommunicated the chamberlain.

This action of the daring churchman threw the emperor into such a
paroxysm of rage that the archbishop, knowing well the man he had to
deal with, took to flight, saving his neck at the expense of his
dignity. The furious Wenceslas, finding that the chief offender had
escaped, vented his wrath on the subordinates, several of whom were
seized. One of them, the dean, moved by indignation, dealt the emperor
so heavy a blow on the head with his sword-knot as to bring the blood.
It does not appear that he was made to suffer for his boldness, but two
of the lower ecclesiastics, John of Nepomuk and Puchnik, were