On Saturday, July 6th, 1415, there was great excitement in the city of
Constance. For the last half-year the city had presented a brilliant and
gorgeous scene. The great Catholic Council of Constance had met at last.
From all parts of the Western World distinguished men had come. The
streets were a blaze of colour. The Cardinals rode by in their scarlet
hats; the monks in their cowls were telling their beads; the revellers
sipped their wine and sang; and the rumbling carts from the country-side
bore bottles of wine, cheeses, butter, honey, venison, cakes and fine
confections. King Sigismund was there in all his pride, his flaxen hair
falling in curls about his shoulders; there were a thousand Bishops,
over two thousand Doctors and Masters, about two thousand Counts, Barons
and Knights, vast hosts of Dukes, Princes and Ambassadors--in all over
50,000 strangers.
And now, after months of hot debate, the Council met in the great
Cathedral to settle once for all the question, What to do with John Hus?
King Sigismund sat on the throne, Princes flanking him on either side.
In the middle of the Cathedral floor was a scaffold; on the scaffold a
table and a block of wood; on the block of wood some priestly robes. The
Mass was said. John Hus was led in. He mounted the scaffold. He breathed
a prayer. The awful proceedings began.
But why was John Hus there? What had he done to offend both Pope
and Emperor? For the last twelve years John Hus had been the boldest
reformer, the finest preacher, the most fiery patriot, the most powerful
writer, and the most popular hero in Bohemia. At first he was nothing
more than a child of his times. He was born on July 6th, 1369, in a
humble cottage at Husinec, in South Bohemia; earned coppers in his
youth, like Luther, by chanting hymns; studied at Prague University; and
entered the ministry, not because he wanted to do good, but because
he wanted to enjoy a comfortable living. He began, of course, as an
orthodox Catholic. He was Rector first of Prague University, and then
of the Bethlehem Chapel, which had been built by John of Milheim for
services in the Bohemian language. For some years he confined himself
almost entirely, like Milic and Stitny before him, to preaching of an
almost purely moral character. He attacked the sins and vices of all
classes; he spoke in the Bohemian language, and the Bethlehem Chapel was
packed. He began by attacking the vices of the idle rich. A noble lady
complained to the King. The King told the Archbishop of Prague that he
must warn Hus to be more cautious in his language.
"No, your Majesty," replied the Archbishop, "Hus is bound by his
ordination oath to speak the truth without respect of persons."
John Hus went on to attack the vices of the clergy. The Archbishop now
complained to the King. He admitted that the clergy were in need of
improvement, but he thought that Hus's language was rash, and would do
more harm than good. "Nay," said the King, "that will not do. Hus is
bound by his ordination oath to speak the truth without respect of
persons."
And Hus continued his attacks. His preaching had two results. It fanned
the people's desire for reform, and it taught them to despise the clergy
more than ever.
At the same time, when opportunity offered, John Hus made a practice of
preaching on the burning topics of the day; and the most popular topic
then was the detested power of Germans in Bohemia. German soldiers
ravaged the land; German nobles held offices of state; and German
scholars, in Prague University, had three-fourths of the voting power.
The Bohemian people were furious. John Hus fanned the flame. "We
Bohemians," he declared in a fiery sermon, "are more wretched than dogs
or snakes. A dog defends the couch on which he lies. If another dog
tries to drive him off, he fights him. A snake does the same. But us the
Germans oppress. They seize the offices of state, and we are dumb. In
France the French are foremost. In Germany the Germans are foremost.
What use would a Bohemian bishop or priest, who did not know the German
language, be in Germany? He would be as useful as a dumb dog, who cannot
bark, to a flock of sheep. Of exactly the same use are German priests
to us. It is against the law of God! I pronounce it illegal." At last a
regulation was made by King Wenceslaus that the Bohemians should be more
fairly represented at Prague University. They had now three votes out
of four. John Hus was credited by the people with bringing about the
change. He became more popular than ever.
If Hus had only halted here, it is probable that he would have been
allowed to die in peace in his bed in a good old age, and his name would
be found enrolled to-day in the long list of Catholic saints. However
wicked the clergy may have been, they could hardly call a man a heretic
for telling them plainly about the blots in their lives. But Hus soon
stepped outside these narrow bounds. The more closely he studied the
works of Wycliffe, the more convinced he became that, on the whole,
the great English Reformer was right; and before long, in the boldest
possible way, he began to preach Wycliffe's doctrines in his sermons,
and to publish them in his books. He knew precisely what he was doing.
He knew that Wycliffe's doctrines had been condemned by the English
Church Council at Black-Friars. He knew that these very same doctrines
had been condemned at a meeting of the Prague University Masters. He
knew that no fewer than two hundred volumes of Wycliffe's works had been
publicly burned at Prague, in the courtyard of the Archbishop's Palace.
He knew, in a word, that Wycliffe was regarded as a heretic; and yet he
deliberately defended Wycliffe's teaching. It is this that justifies us
in calling him a Protestant, and this that caused the Catholics to call
him a heretic.
John Hus, moreover, knew what the end would be. If he stood to his guns
they would burn him, and burned he longed to be. The Archbishop forbade
him to preach in the Bethlehem Chapel. John Hus, defiant, went on
preaching. At one service he actually read to the people a letter he had
received from Richard Wyche, one of Wycliffe's followers. As the years
rolled on he became more "heterodox" than ever. At this period there
were still two rival Popes, and the great question arose in Bohemia
which Pope the clergy there were to recognise. John Hus refused to
recognise either. At last one of the rival Popes, the immoral John
XXIII., sent a number of preachers to Prague on a very remarkable
errand. He wanted money to raise an army to go to war with the King of
Naples; the King of Naples had supported the other Pope, Gregory XII.,
and now Pope John sent his preachers to Prague to sell indulgences at
popular prices. They entered the city preceded by drummers, and posted
themselves in the market place. They had a curious message to deliver.
If the good people, said they, would buy these indulgences, they would
be doing two good things: they would obtain the full forgiveness of
their sins, and support the one lawful Pope in his holy campaign. John
Hus was hot with anger. What vulgar traffic in holy things was this? He
believed neither in Pope John nor in his indulgences.
"Let who will," he thundered, "proclaim the contrary; let the Pope, or a
Bishop, or a Priest say, 'I forgive thee thy sins; I free thee from the
pains of Hell.' It is all vain, and helps thee nothing. God alone, I
repeat, can forgive sins through Christ."
The excitement in Prague was furious. From this moment onwards Hus
became the leader of a national religious movement. The preachers went
on selling indulgences {1409.}. At one and the same time, in three
different churches, three young artisans sang out: "Priest, thou liest!
The indulgences are a fraud." For this crime the three young men were
beheaded in a corner near Green Street. Fond women--sentimental, as
usual--dipped their handkerchiefs in the blood of the martyrs, and a
noble lady spread fine linen over their corpses. The University students
picked up the gauntlet. They seized the bodies of the three young men,
and carried them to be buried in the Bethlehem Chapel. At the head of
the procession was Hus himself, and Hus conducted the funeral. The whole
city was in an uproar.
As the life of Hus was now in danger, and his presence in the city
might lead to riots, he retired for a while from Prague to the castle of
Kradonec, in the country; and there, besides preaching to vast crowds
in the fields, he wrote the two books which did the most to bring him to
the stake. The first was his treatise "On Traffic in Holy Things";
the second his great, elaborate work, "The Church."[1] In the first he
denounced the sale of indulgences, and declared that even the Pope
himself could be guilty of the sin of simony. In the second, following
Wycliffe's lead, he criticised the whole orthodox conception of the day
of the "Holy Catholic Church." What was, asked Hus, the true Church of
Christ? According to the popular ideas of the day, the true Church of
Christ was a visible body of men on this earth. Its head was the Pope;
its officers were the cardinals, the bishops, the priests, and other
ecclesiastics; and its members were those who had been baptized and
who kept true to the orthodox faith. The idea of Hus was different. His
conception of the nature of the true Church was very similar to that
held by many Non-conformists of to-day. He was a great believer in
predestination. All men, he said, from Adam onwards, were divided into
two classes: first, those predestined by God to eternal bliss; second,
those fore-doomed to eternal damnation. The true Church of Christ
consisted of those predestined to eternal bliss, and no one but God
Himself knew to which class any man belonged. From this position a
remarkable consequence followed. For anything the Pope knew to the
contrary, he might belong himself to the number of the damned. He could
not, therefore, be the true Head of the Church; he could not be the
Vicar of Christ; and the only Head of the Church was Christ Himself. The
same argument applied to Cardinals, Bishops and Priests. For anything he
knew to the contrary, any Cardinal, Bishop or Priest in the Church
might belong to the number of the damned; he might be a servant, not
of Christ, but of Anti-Christ; and, therefore, said Hus, it was utterly
absurd to look to men of such doubtful character as infallible spiritual
guides. What right, asked Hus, had the Pope to claim the "power of
the keys?" What right had the Pope to say who might be admitted to
the Church? He had no right, as Pope, at all. Some of the Popes were
heretics; some of the clergy were villains, foredoomed to torment in
Hell; and, therefore, all in search of the truth must turn, not to the
Pope and the clergy, but to the Bible and the law of Christ. God alone
had the power of the keys; God alone must be obeyed; and the Holy
Catholic Church consisted, not of the Pope, the Cardinals, the Priests,
and so many baptized members, but "of all those that had been chosen
by God." It is hard to imagine a doctrine more Protestant than this.
It struck at the root of the whole Papal conception. It undermined the
authority of the Catholic Church, and no one could say to what, ere
long, it might lead. It was time, said many, to take decisive action.
For this purpose Sigismund, King of the Romans and of Hungary, persuaded
Pope John XXIII. to summon a general Church Council at Constance; and at
the same time he invited Hus to attend the Council in person, and there
expound his views. John Hus set out for Constance. As soon as he arrived
in the city, he received from Sigismund that famous letter of "safe
conduct" on which whole volumes have been written. The King's promise
was as clear as day. He promised Hus, in the plainest terms, three
things: first, that he should come unharmed to the city; second, that he
should have a free hearing; and third, that if he did not submit to
the decision of the Council he should be allowed to go home. Of those
promises only the first was ever fulfilled. John Hus soon found himself
caught in a trap. He was imprisoned by order of the Pope. He was placed
in a dungeon on an island in the Rhine, and lay next to a sewer; and
Sigismund either would not or could not lift a finger to help him. For
three and a-half mouths he lay in his dungeon; and then he was removed
to the draughty tower of a castle on Lake Geneva. His opinions were
examined and condemned by the Council; and at last, when he was called
to appear in person, he found that he had been condemned as a heretic
already. As soon as he opened his month to speak he was interrupted; and
when he closed it they roared, "He has admitted his guilt." He had
one chance of life, and one chance only. He must recant his heretical
Wycliffite opinions, especially those set forth in his treatise on the
"Church." What need, said the Council, could there be of any further
trial? The man was a heretic. His own books convicted him, and justice
must be done.
And now, on the last day of the trial, John Hus stood before the great
Council. The scene was appalling. For some weeks this gallant son of the
morning had been tormented by neuralgia. The marks of suffering were on
his brow. His face was pale; his cheeks were sunken; his limbs were weak
and trembling. But his eye flashed with a holy fire, and his words rang
clear and true. Around him gleamed the purple and gold and the scarlet
robes. Before him sat King Sigismund on the throne. The two men looked
each other in the face. As the articles were rapidly read out against
him, John Hus endeavoured to speak in his own defence. He was told to
hold his tongue. Let him answer the charges all at once at the close.
"How can I do that," said Hus, "when I cannot even bear them all in
mind?"
He made another attempt.
"Hold your tongue," said Cardinal Zabarella; "we have already given you
a sufficient hearing."
With clasped hands, and in ringing tones, Hus begged in vain for a
hearing. Again he was told to hold his peace, and silently he raised
his eyes to heaven in prayer. He was accused of denying the Catholic
doctrine of transubstantiation. He sprang to his feet in anger.
Zabarella tried to shout him down. The voice of Hus rang out above the
babel.
"I have never held, taught or preached," he cried, "that in the
sacrament of the altar material bread remains after consecration."
The trial was short and sharp. The verdict had been given beforehand.
He was now accused of another horrible crime. He had actually described
himself as the fourth person in the Godhead! The charge was monstrous.
"Let that doctor be named," said Hus, "who has given this evidence
against me."
But the name of his false accuser was never given. He was now accused
of a still more dangerous error. He had appealed to God instead of
appealing to the Church.
"O Lord God," he exclaimed, "this Council now condemns Thy action and
law as an error! I affirm that there is no safer appeal than that to the
Lord Jesus Christ."
With those brave words he signed his own death warrant. For all his
orthodoxy on certain points, he made it clearer now than ever that
he set the authority of his own conscience above the authority of the
Council; and, therefore, according to the standard of the day, he had to
be treated as a heretic.
"Moreover," he said, with his eye on the King, "I came here freely to
this Council, with a safe-conduct from my Lord the King here present,
with the desire to prove my innocence and to explain my beliefs."
At those words, said the story in later years, King Sigismund blushed.
If he did, the blush is the most famous in the annals of history; if he
did not, some think he ought to have done. For Hus the last ordeal had
now arrived; and the Bishop of Concordia, in solemn tones, read out the
dreadful articles of condemnation. For heretics the Church had then but
little mercy. His books were all to be burned; his priestly office must
be taken from him; and he himself, expelled from the Church, must be
handed over to the civil power. In vain, with a last appeal for justice,
he protested that he had never been obstinate in error. In vain he
contended that his proud accusers had not even taken the trouble to read
some of his books. As the sentence against himself was read, and the
vision of death rose up before him, he fell once more on his knees and
prayed, not for himself, but for his enemies.
"Lord Jesus Christ," he said, "pardon all my enemies, I pray thee, for
the sake of Thy great mercy! Thou knowest that they have falsely accused
me, brought forward false witnesses and false articles against me. O!
pardon them for Thine infinite mercies' sake."
At this beautiful prayer the priests and bishops jeered. He was ordered
now to mount the scaffold, to put on the priestly garments, and to
recant his heretical opinions. The first two commands he obeyed; the
third he treated with scorn. As he drew the alb over his shoulders, he
appealed once more to Christ.
"My Lord Jesus Christ," he said, "was mocked in a white robe, when led
from Herod to Pilate."
There on the scaffold he stood, with his long white robe upon him and
the Communion Cup in his hand; and there, in immortal burning words, he
refused to recant a single word that he had written.
"Behold," he cried, "these Bishops demand that I recant and abjure. I
dare not do it. If I did, I should be false to God, and sin against my
conscience and Divine truth."
The Bishops were furious. They swarmed around him. They snatched the Cup
from his hand.
"Thou cursed Judas!" they roared. "Thou hast forsaken the council of
peace. Thou hast become one of the Jews. We take from thee this Cup of
Salvation."
"But I trust," replied Hus, "in God Almighty, and shall drink this Cup
this day in His Kingdom."
The ceremony of degradation now took place. As soon as his robes had
been taken from him, the Bishops began a hot discussion about the proper
way of cutting his hair. Some clamoured for a razor, others were all for
scissors.
"See," said Hus to the King, "these Bishops cannot agree in their
blasphemy."
At last the scissors won the victory. His tonsure was cut in four
directions, and a fool's cap, a yard high, with a picture of devils
tearing his soul, was placed upon that hero's head.
"So," said the Bishops, "we deliver your soul to the devil."
"Most joyfully," said Hus, "will I wear this crown of shame for thy
sake, O Jesus! who for me didst wear a crown of thorns."
"Go, take him," said the King. And Hus was led to his death. As he
passed along he saw the bonfire in which his books were being burned. He
smiled. Along the streets of the city he strode, with fetters clanking
on his feet, a thousand soldiers for his escort, and crowds of admirers
surging on every hand. Full soon the fatal spot was reached. It was a
quiet meadow among the gardens, outside the city gates. At the stake he
knelt once more in prayer, and the fool's cap fell from his head. Again
he smiled. It ought to be burned along with him, said a watcher, that he
and the devils might be together. He was bound to the stake with seven
moist thongs and an old rusty chain, and faggots of wood and straw were
piled round him to the chin. For the last time the Marshal approached to
give him a fair chance of abjuring.
"What errors," he retorted, "shall I renounce? I know myself guilty of
none. I call God to witness that all that I have written and preached
has been with the view of rescuing souls from sin and perdition, and
therefore most joyfully will I confirm with my blood the truth I have
written and preached."
As the flame arose and the wood crackled, he chanted the Catholic burial
prayer, "Jesu, Son of David, have mercy upon me." From the west a gentle
breeze was blowing, and a gust dashed the smoke and sparks in his face.
At the words "Who was born of the Virgin Mary" he ceased; his lips moved
faintly in silent prayer; and a few moments later the martyr breathed
no more. At last the cruel fire died down, and the soldiers wrenched his
remains from the post, hacked his skull in pieces, and ground his bones
to powder. As they prodded about among the glowing embers to see how
much of Hus was left, they found, to their surprise, that his heart was
still unburned. One fixed it on the point of his spear, thrust it
back into the fire, and watched it frizzle away; and finally, by the
Marshal's orders, they gathered all the ashes together, and tossed them
into the Rhine.
He had died, says a Catholic writer, for the noblest of all causes. He
had died for the faith which he believed to be true.