For the wrong that needs resistance,
For the cause that lacks assistance,
For the future in the distance,
And the good that I can do.'
HUBERT BOHUN and Petr Mladenowič walked quickly from the Stefan's Platz, where was the Franciscan Monastery, to the Ober Markt, which they crossed, and turned into what was then called the street of St. Paul, but now bears the name of the Husenstrasse. They stopped near the Schnetz Thor, before a modest but substantial house, now called the Husenhaus, although the man whose name it bears lodged beneath its roof for only twenty days. In the town that witnessed his long and bitter agony, his, after all these centuries, is the name best remembered and most highly honored. As one said on the spot, ‘That man's spirit pervades the place.' This is something more than the slow revenge of Time; it is surely His hand who says, ‘The righteous shall be had in everlasting remembrance.'
Petr knocked, and the door was instantly opened by a handsome dark-eyed boy of eleven or twelve, in the festive dress of a page of chivalry. He asked an eager question in a tongue unknown to Hubert, and Petr answered by a torrent of words in the same. Then, turning to Hubert, and resuming the Latin in which they had been conversing, ‘The lords have not yet returned, which is strange. We must wait for them.' He led the way into a room where the presence of various articles of knightly use showed the quality of the occupants. But though arms and armor hung upon the walls, paper, pens, and an inkhorn lay upon the table.
The boy disappeared immediately; for he knew what became his father's son when a stranger crossed their threshold. Almost before Petr had time to say that he was the young lord, or ‘Panec̆, Vaclav, the only son of the knight of Chlum, whom I serve in the same capacity that you serve the Chancellor of Paris—,' he returned, bearing a cup of wine, which, with modest grace, he presented to Hubert. A gray-haired woman, whose dress showed her to be the widow of a citizen of the better class, and who was, in fact, the owner of the house, followed him, and with a look full of anxiety asked Petr in German what was done in the Council.
‘Naught was done there, Mother Fidelia,' said he in the same tongue. ‘However, God's Providence so ordered it that our friend Ulric chanced to stand in the outer ring, behind the clerk of the Council, so that he could read over his shoulder the papers he held in his hand. What think you he saw amongst them? Master John's condemnation, forsooth, ready drafted and prepared, before he had been tried or heard at all!’
Hubert cried out in amazement, but Petr went on unheeding: ‘Then Ulric beckoned me and told me what he had seen, and I ran hither with the tidings to my lords, as doubtless you know already. They went in all haste to the Kaiser; and he sent the princes to stay the hands of the Council, and to prevent such gross miscarriage of justice. Small use in that! But at least the Kaiser shall know how they used him today.'
‘I can't believe it,' said Hubert. ‘About the draft of the condemnation—there is some mistake.'
‘Can you not, Master Hubert? I think what your own eyes have seen might have prepared you for that, or any other injustice.'
Fidelia shook her head sorrowfully. ‘They will never let him out of their hands alive,' she said. ‘I knew it the day they took him from us, and I believe he knew it too. Standing on you stair, he said farewell, and blessed me and my house in the name of God.'
‘Ay, and how you wept that day,' said Václav. ‘But here they are!’ he cried, springing to the door. He admitted three tall, noble-looking men in sword and cloak. Two were quite young; and the third was not old, though his hair and beard were gray. He had an oval face and a high forehead, with a thoughtful, steadfast air. This was Janz Chlum, or John of Chlum, that loyal knight, ‘the best and dearest friend ' of John Huss. To him chiefly Petr addressed himself, using the Czech, or Bohemian tongue, in which he had spoken to Václav.
It was easy to read in their looks and gestures the anger of the knights when they heard his tale. The voices of the young men were loud and passionate, and one of them put his hand on his sword. Chlum, outwardly the calmest of the three, laid his upon the arm of his companion, as if to check his violence. Then turning to Hubert, he said in German, ‘Good master secretary, I pray you hold us excused. It is not the wont of Bohemian knights to leave a stranger in their house ungreeted and unwelcomed; especially when he is come upon an errand of kindness. But the tidings brought by our friend here of what passed in the Council—where we could not obtain admittance—have made us forget all else. He says you can confirm them. Is it so? '
Here the young knight broke in—'They promised him a fair hearing, and this is the way they keep their word! Liars!—Hypocrites! '
‘Be quiet, Henri!’ said Chlum, looking towards him for a moment. Then to Hubert, ‘Was it a fair hearing that they gave him, master scholar? '
‘Sir knight, it was no hearing at all!’ cried Hubert passionately; ‘he had not leave to utter a single word. Each time he began, they shouted him down, or stopped him with jeers and insults.'
‘Good! What you have said now in the presence of these our friends, Baron Vaclav of Duba and Baron Henri of Latzembok, will you say, and stand to without fear, in the presence of our lord the Kaiser? '
‘That will I, for it is the truth,' said Hubert boldly.
‘Right bravely spoken! Come with us, then, to the Leiter House.'
Although the distance was short, the knights called out their servants and their horses, that they might present themselves with due ceremony before the Kaiser. Hubert and Petr accompanied the party on foot.
There was ready admission at the Leiter House for the Bohemian lords. Sigismund, indeed, was afraid of offending them. Wenzel, the present King of Bohemia, was his brother, and was childless, and he expected at his death to succeed to his throne. It is easy to understand, therefore, what tremendous pressure must have been brought to bear upon him by the Council in order to induce him to violate the safe-conduct which one of these very lords, Duba, had himself obtained from him, and given to John Huss at Nuremberg.
The bold, free-hearted barons of Bohemia came into the presence of their Kaiser with due respect, but without servility. It was, as we know, for the second time that day. They found him seated at the upper end of the great hall, surrounded by knights and nobles, and engaged in inspecting certain handsome falcons, which some foreign merchants were exhibiting. The beautiful birds were resting, carefully hooded, on the wrists of their keepers. One, however, was in the hands of a slight, graceful youth in crimson velvet, who, on giving it back, very cautiously and cleverly, to the keeper, turned for a moment—and Hubert was surprised to recognize his brother Armand. As the Bohemians advanced to the dais where the Kaiser sat, the nobles and merchants made way for them. Armand, with others, came down the hall, and soon approached the spot where Hubert and Petr stood, modestly awaiting a summons to draw near and give their testimony.
‘What wind has blown you here?' asked Armand of his brother, in great surprise.
‘I have come with the Bohemian lords,' said Hubert briefly, not at all choosing to tell his errand. He was far too anxious to hear what was passing on the dais to question Armand in his turn; but Armand was quite willing to take questions for granted. ‘Doubtless you want to know what brings me here,' he said. ‘My slight skill in falconry, being talked of in the queen's court, and generally amongst the Hungarians (where they think much of our Burgundian training in these matters), and these new Flemish falcons being brought to the Kaiser, I was invited with the rest to come and judge of them. Dost see yon bird with the blue hood, and the white feathers in his tail? No, not that one —the other, which the little gray-headed man in curried leather has upon his wrist. That is the best I have seen yet. Just like one my lord of Burgundy had last year. But you are not listening, Hubert. No use to talk of falconry or other knightly sports to churchmen like you. And why —why in Heaven's name!—when you were coming into the presence of the Kaiser, did you not at least take the trouble to don your holiday gown? Look, your sleeve is half torn off! One would take you for a poor scholar, going about to sing placebos for a penny and a piece of bread.'
‘They are beckoning me forward—I must go,' Hubert interrupted hastily.
‘Go, and I am sure I wish you well out of the business that has brought you here, whatever it may be,' said Armand, very doubtfully.
Summoned by Chlum, Hubert and Petr advanced. Touching every step with their knees, they ascended the dais, and stood humbly before the splendid, terrible Kaiser. Armand came as near as he could, and tried to see and hear what passed. He observed, with a thrill of pride, his brother's modest, manly bearing, and the ease and grace with which he moved and spoke, for the first time in his life, in the presence of royalty. In this he showed to more advantage than his companion, and proved how well the Bohemian lords had done to bring him with them. His part, however, was soon over; Sigismund gave the lords an answer which seemed to content them; and they, with thanks to their ‘most gracious Kaiser,' respectfully but proudly took their leave, Hubert and Petr following them out. Before he mounted his horse, Chlum stretched out his hand to Hubert. ‘Brave scholar,' he said, ‘take our thanks for your true and honest words. Not ours alone,' he added, lowering his voice, `but His who regards what is done unto His servant as done unto Him. And if you should ever need a friend, come to my lodging in St. Paul's Street. Farewell! '
He rode away with the other knights, and Armand came ‘What have you done?’ he asked anxiously.
‘This,' said Hubert, joyfully. ‘The Kaiser has given his word that when Master John Huss is brought again before the Council, he will himself preside, and see him used with fairness and courtesy.'
‘Indeed?’ said Armand. ‘I was under the impression that—speaking with all due reverence—the Holy Ghost Himself presided over the meetings of the Council.'
Hubert was silent, but there was in his face such bitter pain and shame that even his thoughtless young brother forbore to press him. Yet he said with some anxiety in his voice, ‘But what thanks-think you-is your chancellor like to give you for the work you have been doing today?'
Strange as it may seem, Hubert had not thought of this before. He knit his brows; he grew even a little pale. But at length he answered confidently, ‘The chancellor will say I did well. He is so just, so generous, above all, so true, that when I speak the truth most entirely, then I know that I please him best.'
‘Possibly! Yet I advise you not to speak more than you can help about this affair. Do not think me over-bold. I am younger than you, and far less learned; but then I am a man of the world, and you are only a scholar, and a churchman half-fledged, so to speak. Still, I wish you would tell me in one word how they used that Bohemian today in the Council; for I could not hear half what was said on the dais, though I saw those knights were in a mighty chafe. And there is a lady at the queen's court '—Armand looked conscious, and even flushed a little—'a lady whom I hold in high esteem, and who takes an interest in his fate.'
‘In very truth,' said Hubert, his brow darkening, they used him shamefully. ‘Don't let me talk of it or, churchman as you call me, I shall make your ears ring again. Any man would swear who saw what I saw today.'
‘What? In the Holy Council? However, Hubert, I may congratulate you. So boldly and so well did you speak to the Kaiser that I was proud of my brother.'
‘I deserve no praise,' said Hubert shortly. ‘I did not heed the Kaiser. Indeed, I scarcely saw him.'
He said no more: he could not tell Armand that what he saw all the time was not the royal pomp and state of the Kaiser, not even the terrible eyes' that so often made the stoutest tremble—but one noble, patient face.
That face was stamped forever on his memory. Wherever he went he would carry its remembrance with him, together with the bitter sense that the Holy Council had degraded itself; that it could be cruel and unjust, and—what was perhaps worse in his estimation—undignified and contemptible.