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