3 Jerome.

Jerome.

Now Huss, with noble steadfastness of heart, joyfully gave up his life in the cause of his Master, we have seen.

I must now tell you of Jerome, his loving and much loved fellow-labourer. They had been one in heart and spirit in life, and it pleased God that in death they should drink of the same cup of martyrdom When the news of Huss’s danger reached Bohemia, Jerome hastened to Constance in the hope of helping him. But he soon found that, without being of any assistance to Huss, he had placed his own life in danger, so with an aching heart he fled from the city that contained his friend. He had almost arrived at Prague when his pursuers arrested him, and he was carried back to Constance loaded with chains like a malefactor. On May 23, 1415, just about a month before the execution of John Huss, he was brought before the Council, and by them was condemned to be thrown into a dreary dungeon in a tower of St Paul. His chains were so placed that they did not permit of his sitting down; his arms were crossed behind his neck, and tied with fetters. This caused his head to bend forward, and gave him great suffering. So much did he endure that he became very ill, and his cruel enemies, fearing that death might snatch their victim from them, relaxed somewhat the rigour of their treatment. Yet for a whole year he pined in that dark noisome dungeon! In the meantime the Council had received a letter from the Barons of Bohemia, expressing their horror and indignation at the death of Huss. They were convinced that, although they had thrown his ashes in the Rhine, he was not done with; they saw clearly that a great storm was rising; already the threatening sounds of its thunders were heard. They dare not, in the face of what they saw around them, plant another stake beside that of Huss. It would, they perceived, be far better to induce Jerome to recant, and so they used all their power and subtilty to this end.

Poor Jerome, ill in body, week and depressed in mind, and cut off from all his friends, in a moment of weakness yielded to their solicitations. Like Peter, when he was out on the stormy deep, he took his eyes for a moment off Christ, and so like him began to sink in the waves. But do you think that Christ would let him be engulphed in the waters? Oh, no, He loved him too well for that. In an agony of mind Jerome reflected in his lonely prison on what he had done. He had submitted to the wicked Counsel; he had subscribed to the justice of the condemnation of his beloved co-worker, Huss; he had promised to live and die in the Catholic faith, and never preach anything contrary to it. He felt he had perjured his soul — and for what? Why to escape a short season of agony at the stake. But, he asked himself, could any bodily agony be greater than the anguish of mind he was now enduring? Where, now, were those sweet times of communion that he had been wont to have with the Lord, moments that had filled even his dreary dungeon with the glory of heaven? Where now was the peace that had flooded his soul, as he had thought of the loving "Well done" of his Master? All gone! All gone! He had turned his back upon his Lord. And then he thought of Huss, and his image would rise before him, constant and courageous to the last, singing while the flames rose around him, and he loathed himself as he thought of his own weak cowardice. "Oh God," he cried, "I am cast off out of Thy sight, but I will look again towards Thy holy temple," and as he cried his soul was filled with tender thoughts of his Saviour’s love, and then he knew that this love was more to him than life. "I will never deny Thee again, my Saviour," we hear him crying; "life is nought to me without Thy smile of love. With my hand in Thine I can meet the Council, I can go to the stake. They can kill the body, but they cannot separate my soul from Thee;" and so he strengthened himself in his God. From this time his courage never failed him, and Jerome rose from his fall, a stronger man than ever. And now we must follow Jerome to his final trial. On May 26, 1416, he was brought for the last time before the council.

There was no sign of fear about him now. Although pale and enfeebled by long and rigorous confinement, his face was peaceful, and lit up with a noble courage.

Kneeling down in the presence of his enemies, before commencing his defence, he earnestly besought God to guard his heart and lips that he might not utter an unworthy word. Then he commenced his defence. It was a wonderful speech, and its power and eloquence filled even his bitterest enemies with admiration. Sometimes the pathos was so tender that his stony-hearted judges were almost melted to "dewy pity;" and yet it was not for life that he pleaded. The bitterness of death seemed to be passed for him. His eloquence was not to rescue his life from the stake, but to defend and exalt the truths of his Master.

It was impossible for him to close his address without showing the Council how bitterly he repented of his recantation. "Of all the sins," said he "that I have committed since my youth, none weighs so heavily on my mind, and causes me such poignant remorse as that which I committed in this fatal place, when I approved of the iniquitous sentence, recorded against Wicliffe and against that holy martyr, John Huss, my master and my friend. Yes! I confess it from my heart, and declare with horror, that I disgracefully quailed when, through a dread of death, I condemned his doctrine. I, therefore, supplicate almighty God to deign to pardon me my sins, and this one in particular, the most heinous of all. You condemned Wicliffe and Huss not because they shook the faith, but because they branded with reprobation the scandals of the clergy, their pomps, their pride, and their luxuriousness." At these words the whole assembly rose in a tumult. The father shook with passion, "What need we of further proof?" cried they. "The most obstinate of heretics is before us." So they hurried him back to his dungeon and loaded him more heavily with chains than before and here he remained until he was brought out to receive his sentence, and to be executed. They took him to the spot in the meadow that to him was consecrated by the death of Huss, and here they tied him to the stake. While they piled the faggots of wood about him he sang joyfully "Hail happy day." The courage that sustained his heart, and the peace that filled his soul, never left him. His death was a slow, lingering one, yet his faith and joy never failed him to the last, for there was one "like unto the Son of God," in the flames with him upholding him until his happy soul sped away from the body of pain, and he had won the martyr’s crown.