Emperor Ly Thanh Tong

On a winter night nearly 1,000 years ago, the north wind swept through Thăng Long, the city now called Hanoi, and the cold bit to the bone. In the palace, an emperor sat beside a glowing brazier of coals, a fur robe across his shoulders. Even so, the chill seeped into him. And in that moment, his thoughts went out to the people shivering beyond the palace walls.

He was Lý Thánh Tông, the third emperor of the Lý dynasty, which ruled Vietnam from 1009 to 1225. He reigned from 1054 to 1072. In his first year on the throne, he changed the name of the country from Đại Cồ Việt to Đại Việt. Đại Việt is an old name for Vietnam. It was a short and proud name, like a promise of a peaceful land for its people. Later generations remember him above all for something simpler, a heart that cared for his people.

Now back to the glowing brazier on that windy night. The old records say that as the emperor sat there, still feeling the cold, he thought of the people held in prison. He told himself, "Here in the inner palace I have coals and a fur robe, and still I am this cold. Those people have clothes too thin to warm them and rice too little to fill them. How will they bear the cold?"

He acted at once. He sent men to open the storehouse, and blankets and mats were carried out and given to the prisoners. He also ordered that they be given two meals of rice every day. An emperor, in the middle of a winter night, was thinking about the blankets and the meals of people whom many had forgotten. That kindness was warmer than any brazier.

And his kindness did not warm only winter nights. The records tell of another time, when the emperor sat in judgment. The person who had broken the law and stood before him was very young, about the age of his own daughter. Looking at that young face, he thought of his daughter. He told the prison officer to be lenient and to go gently.

Then he spoke words that people still repeat. "I love my child," he said, "just as every parent under heaven loves theirs." And he let the young person go. It was only a few words, yet they held so much understanding.

He wished to leave that same warmth to children not yet born. In 1070, he had the Temple of Literature built, a temple to honor Confucius and the sages. For him it was a roof for learning, a place where children could come to grow bright and grow up well. An emperor who pitied his people on a cold night was also an emperor who wanted them to stand on firm ground. The two were really one heart.

The brazier went cold long ago. The gentle emperor, too, passed away nearly 1,000 years ago. But one thing is still warm: the act of a person who, on a freezing night, thought of others before he thought of himself.