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."