See, the feast of love is spread,
Drink the wine and break the bread;
Sweet memorials, till the Lord
Call us round His heavenly board;
Some from earth, from glory some,
Severed only "Till He come."'
(Written in French.) Hubert Bohun to the Sieur Armand de Clairville, greeting.
MOST DEAR BROTHER,—At last I have found opportunity to send thee a letter. Bertrand of Avignon, bachelor of the University here, desires to go back to the Sorbonne, from whence he came. As agreed upon between us in Constance, he will give these presents to the rector for thee. I hope that, through him, they will reach thee in safety.
I am much disquieted by the rumors which are current here, of a great battle between the English and the French, fought at a place called Azincort—or some such name. It is said that the French have been utterly overthrown, and many thousands of them slain. I am sore troubled with fears for thy safety, my Armand; since I know well that where fighting is, there wouldest thou be. Hard would it be for thee to turn thy foot from a lost battle, or thy face from the foe. Still, I am fain to trust God for thee, dear brother; and may He have thee ever in His good keeping.
As for me, I may say indeed in the words of the Psalter, "The lines have fallen unto me in pleasant places." The good knight, Jean de Chlum, or as they say here, Pan Jan z Mum, is as noble a lord as a squire ever had; and his household show me much kindness. But I pray of thee, Armand, if thou hearest aught from any man concerning the Chancellor of Paris, to tell me thereof in thy letter; for his goodness unto me, a poor scholar, shall I never forget, but shall pray for him daily, to the end of my life.
This Prague, or Praha, as the inhabitants call it, is a wonderful city. It hath five parts: the Altstadt, which is the center; the Neustadt, on the right bank of the river Moldau; and the Kleinseite, on the left; the Judenstadt, where the Jews live, of whom there be very many; and the Hradschin, on the hill, which is a most strong fortress, and hath in it also the cathedral and the king's palace—but King Wenzel likes it not, and is seldom there. To go from the old town to the Hradschin and the Kleinseite, you cross the Moldau by a broad and fair bridge, wherewith the late Kaiser, Charles, hath adorned the town. In the Altstadt are the Town Hall and the University, also many noble churches; especially those two where the Word of God is preached faithfully—the Teyn Church and the Chapel of Bethlehem. In the Kleinseite the archbishop hath a fine palace; and there be many other goodly buildings which I cannot tell thee of; nor yet of the Jews' quarter, which last is very curious, and strange to see. Never did I behold so many Jews together in my life; it is said that their ancestors came here from Jerusalem when it was destroyed by the Paynims, for their wickedness in crucifying our Lord. I saw their chief Rabbi, as they call their head priest, or bishop, the other day, when I attended my lord to their quarter, whither he had to go upon some private business. He is an old man, having a long white beard, and a goodly robe, with words or sentences in some strange tongue wrought upon the hem. I suppose they be cabalistic signs, unlawful for Christian men to wear or to read.
The city is very unquiet: there have been great tumults of late; on account, partly, of that which has been done at Constance. Here Czech and German, Hussite and Papist, are as ready to fly at one another's throats as were Burgundian and Armagnac in the old days in Paris.
Thus much I wrote to thee yesterday; but I could proceed no further, for my lord summoned me to attend him as his squire to the great meeting of the barons of Bohemia and Moravia, who were come together in the Bethlehem Church to protest against the counsel and deed of those who put Master John Huss to death.
Never saw I such a sight! The great church—the same in which he used to preach—was filled from door to door with splendid, martial knights. You could not have kept your eyes, Armand, off the broideries of gold and silver on their mantles and surcoats of crimson, blue, or violet, and the jeweled hilts and scabbards of their swords and poniards. And then the men themselves! Bareheaded they stood, for it was the house of God—some heads white with age, many more raven black, and the dark faces full of wrath and sorrow. As one spoke after another in words which, being Czech, I could not wholly understand, dark eyes kindled, hands flew to the scabbards of their swords. Sometimes steel clashed on steel so loudly as to drown the speaker's voice. Then someone in a long robe—clerk or notary—read aloud the great protest. It ended thus: "We will protect with our lives those true preachers who preach the Word of God, and we are ready to shed our blood in their defense." At this there arose a great shout, and all pressed forward to sign. I think they would have gladly signed it with their blood. A very aged knight with a snow white head was the first. I think he was blind, for his squire led him up to the table where the great roll of parchment lay, and held his hand as he wrote. The others paused for him, but came up eagerly after, pressing one upon another. My lord was in no haste; first or last was the same to him. Enough for him to know that not one among them all loved Master John as he did. I trove there were sixty names and more, of the barons of Bohemia and Moravia, written there today. Had those of lower rank been allowed to sign, all the parchment in the city would not have sufficed. The University has its own protest—as well it may.
But enough of these matters. Dear brother, I desire earnestly to hear of thy welfare. Should this letter reach thee—as, through the favor of God and the kindness of Bertrand of Avignon, I hope it will—I entreat of thee to write by the hand of any thou canst find who is coming to Prague. See that thou put upon the cover the name of my lord, the Baron of Chlum, for in Bohemia everyone knows him. Spare not, moreover, to tell me of the fair Damozel Jocelyne. No doubt thou dolt wear her favor proudly; and if God spare thee, thou wilt wear it on many a well-fought field. 'Twere easy, methinks, to fight remembering those dark eyes and looking for thy guerdon from those fair lips. Almost I could find it in my heart to envy thee, Armand,—nay, rather, I wish thee joy, and a good issue to thy patient waiting.
Most of all do I pray of thee, dear brother, to remember what we said to each other ere we parted; how we vowed to love the good God and to serve Him, and truly to follow the Lord Christ; so that, whether we meet again on earth or no, we shall meet with joy in His presence. God be with thee, most dear Armand, now and forever.
So prays thy loving brother,
‘HUBERT BOHUN,
‘Given at Prague on the second day of September, in the year of grace fourteen hundred and fifteen,'
As Hubert, having Written the last words, carefully cleansed his good goose-quill, and replaced it in its case, his lord entered the room. ‘Master Hubert,' he said, ‘I have need of that paper, whereon there are certain accounts of moneys, which I gave into thy care when we were leaving Pihel.'
‘Here it is, sir knight,' answered Hubert promptly, diving into a box which stood beside him. As he was secretary as well as squire, the charge of his lord's papers devolved on him. The document he produced was of formidable length, crowded with figures, and with writing in Czech. He knew that the writing was the Pánna's, and that she had taken enormous pains to straighten and set in order her father's very confused and fragmentary accounts. He stood amazed at the young lady's ability, learning, and industry; and it was with deep respect and veneration for all these that he handed the paper to his lord.
‘My friend Svoyshin will have it of me,' explained Chlum, ‘though I see not the need or the use. Master Jerome (whom God deliver, if it be His will!) received from us at Constance a document certifying that he had done all that in him lay in the cause of his friend. Would to God he had been content with it, and gone home quietly! I suspect they mean to give me some such document, lest hereafter men should question —but as for me, I care not.'
After a pause, he added, ‘Hubert, I would speak to thee of another matter, of far greater import. Tomorrow, being Sunday, the holy sacrament of the altar will be administered in both kinds in the Church of Bethlehem. Thou art one of us in heart already, as thou well hast proved. Wilt thou, then, be one of us before God and the world, and partake with us of the cup of Christ, which He hath given to all the faithful? '
‘Hubert bowed his head reverently. If I were but worthy,' he faltered.
Chlum laid his hand on his shoulder. ‘Thou art not worthy, but Christ is worthy,' he said, and passed out without another word.
With a heart full of reverent awe, Hubert followed his lord and Zedenka the next day, and mingled with the dense, but singularly quiet, crowd that streamed into the Church of Bethlehem. It was soon packed full from door to door; but great was the contrast between this and the last assembly there. A grave and solemn stillness brooded over all. Men and women sat or stood, absorbed in silent prayer, or with eyes fixed upon the altar, which had for them a new attraction, although it bore only the usual vessels and adornments. Many, too, there were who looked up sadly at the plain cloth-covered pulpit of pinewood, where one familiar face and figure would be seen no more.
Hubert looked up too; wondering how it must have been when that voice of power, now stilled forever, rang through the great church, ‘thrilling the hearts of the three thousand ' assembled there. Then his eyes fell upon the frescoes on the walls, where some hand, not very skilful, had limned those pictures of Christ' of which the martyr dreamed in his dungeon. Were the ‘better painters ' even now at work as he had foreseen?
Presently there was a movement in the crowd—a raising of bowed heads and turning of eager faces towards the pulpit. The preacher was ascending to his place. He was slight and spare, of small stature and insignificant appearance. Hubert ought to have expected this; he had heard him called Jacobel, or Little Jacob, as a kind of familiar name. But he had heard also that he was a great doctor, learned in the Scriptures, and passing eloquent, and somehow, though unreasonably, he was disappointed.
But he soon forgot the preacher in the sermon. Jacobel gave out as his text, ‘Drink ye all of it.' So clearly and distinctly did he speak, filling the great church without apparent effort, that Hubert, imperfectly as he knew the language, scarce missed a single word. First came a piece of clear, close reasoning from Scripture, about the command and intention of Christ and the practice of the primitive Church, illustrated especially by the First Epistle to the Corinthians. Then followed an able historical survey, showing that in early ages all the faithful alike partook of the cup of Christ. Then life and fire came into the speaker's words when he told that in their own Bohemian Church the practice had been handed down for long ages from father to son, and in some places had been preserved even to within the memory of living men. But gradually the tyranny of Rome, the pride and selfishness of the priests, and the superstition of the people, had robbed the laity of this precious gift. Now, in God's Providence, it was restored to them. God had raised up among them faithful preachers, who shunned not to declare unto them all His counsel. These they might believe and follow without fear, accepting their word as the word of Christ. He who now stood before them was as certain of His will in this matter as of his own existence, and was ready to lay down his life in proof of it. But they had better witness than his. The letter which he held up before them had been penned by a hand they knew—penned faintly, in uneven characters, for the hand was fettered and the dungeon dark—yet would those few brief words have more power with them than an archangel's eloquence. He read them aloud. 'As touching the Communion of the Cup, you have my writing, in which I have given my reasons, and I can say no more, save that the Gospel, and the Epistle of St. Paul, prescribe this custom, and that it was in vigor in the Primitive Church.'
The preacher paused a moment. Here and there in the crowded congregation a sob was heard, and so intense, so breathless was the stillness that the low sound struck upon the ear and seemed to echo through the church.
‘Then draw near in faith,' he resumed, 'and take the cup of Christ without fear. It is no mortal hand, not even the hand of the sainted martyr, that gives it unto you, but the hand that was pierced for you, the hand of Christ Himself. Take, and drink ye all of it! But let the hands that take be henceforth sacred unto Him, and used only in His service. Let the lips that touch it utter henceforth only such words as are pure and blameless in His sight. Let the feet that bear you to His table henceforth bear you nowhere He would not have you go. Let every member of your body, every power of your soul, be given henceforth unto Him who gave Himself once for you upon the cross, and gives Himself now to you continually in this Holy Sacrament, to the joy and comfort of your souls.' The powerful voice ceased, and all was still.
Then a great wave of sound, strong and sweet and solemn, swept over the vast assembly, and rose up to heaven. Three thousand voices, as the voice of one, sang out with heart and soul the words of John Huss:
Glorious Priest, Eternal Son!
With Holy Ghost and Father One,
Our redemption Thou hast done
By Thy love.
Thou on earth with us hast dwelt;
Wounds and anguish Thou hast felt,
Souls to save, and hearts to melt,
By Thy love.
Thou dolt deign for us to 'plead,
And in heaven dost intercede,
Thus supplying all our need,
By Thy love.
Dearly hast Thou bought us, Lord!
Forth for us Thy life was poured,
Keeping thus Thy faithful word,
By Thy love.
Brethren, let us cease from sin,
Take the boon He died to win,
To His kingdom enter in,
Through His love.
Let us praise Him, loving so,
Dying for us here below,
That we endless life may know,
Through His love.'
The burden ‘z ye Milosti' lingered on the ear of Hubert, and in his heart the sweet sense of that supreme and boundless love. The office of the Mass began. A thousand times before had Hubert heard it, but this time was different from all the rest. At last the moment came for the crowd to approach the altar. Chlum and Zedenka went up hand in hand; Hubert followed them. Perhaps no words would have expressed the feelings of his heart so well in that solemn hour as those of the prayer of ‘humble access' in the beautiful English Communion Service. They were not written yet; but the faith and humility they breathe has been the heritage of believing souls from the beginning: ‘We do not presume to come to this Thy table, O merciful Lord, trusting in our own righteousness, but in Thy manifold and great mercies. We are not worthy so much as to gather up the crumbs under Thy table. But thou art the same Lord, whose property is always to have mercy. Grant us, therefore, gracious Lord, so to eat the flesh of Thy dear Son Jesus Christ, and to drink His blood, that our sinful bodies may be made clean by His body, and our souls washed in His most precious blood, and that we may evermore dwell in Him, and He in us.'
An assistant priest administered the wafer, but Jacobel himself gave the cup. In the order in which they knelt Chlum received it first, then Zedenka, then Hubert, with a hand that trembled and a heart that had no room just then for any thought, save that he was obeying the command of Christ. But as he listened to the solemn words, "The blood of our Lord Jesus Christ, which was shed for thee, preserve thy soul and body unto everlasting life,' another thought came, flooding his soul with joy. He was taking the gift of Christ. So the preacher said; but Hubert did not believe because of the saying of the preacher. He knew it for himself. Christ was there—there with him, Hubert Bohun. His voice spoke to him, His hand touched him in mysterious, but most sweet communion. He gave him the gift that includes all others—He gave him Himself.
That he thought the bread and the wine had undergone some miraculous change—had become something which they were not, and which Christ never meant them to be—was an evil and a loss, because all error means loss, and ‘no lie is of the truth.' But no mist can greatly harm when the sun shines through it; and that was the true sun which shone that day in glory upon the bowed and trusting heart of Hubert Bohun.
He rose and gave place to others. Those others pressing round him were not strangers any more. They were friends, brothers; they drank with him of the cup of Christ, and were one with each other, as with Him, in that sacred bond.
Moving slowly down the crowded aisle, he at last regained his place. Still crowds were thronging to the altar, still the cup was being given. Often enough before had he seen it given, though never thus, and never to himself. Once, only once in his life, he had seen it taken away.
The whole scene flashed suddenly before his mental vision —the crowded cathedral, the Fathers of the Council, the Kaiser and his princes in their pomp and glory. Alone in the midst stood the one grand, solitary figure, wearing for the last time the robe of priestly white. The cup was taken from him, and through him it is given back to us today our gain through his loss, our joy through his suffering,' so Hubert thought. Then he heard again those brave words of faith and hope as they rang through the crowded church, ‘Yet shall I drink it with Him this day, through His grace, in His kingdom.' ‘Even now he is drinking of it there, while we drink of it here,' thought Hubert, ‘and his joy and ours alike have come through the loss and the pain of One, whom in my heart I bless and thank this day.' Then in gladness of heart he lifted up his voice with those who sang the Gloria in Excelsis, ‘Glory be to God on high, and on earth peace, goodwill towards men. We praise Thee, we bless Thee, we worship Thee, we glorify Thee, we give thanks to Thee for Thy great glory, O Lord God, Heavenly King, God the Father Almighty.'
Could he, or any of the worshippers assembled that day in the Church of Bethlehem, have foreseen the strife and bloodshed, the woes and agonies, which the claiming of the cup of Christ was to bring on Bohemia—would he, or they, have lifted up their voice in that song of the angels? Nay, would they have dared to raise to their lips that cup which was to be bought at such a price?
Perhaps not: perhaps even the boldest would have quailed had the future been unrolled before him in prophetic vision. Yet if now they know it all—those just souls and true in their place of waiting near the Throne—we think they are content. It may be, even, they are able to rejoice for and with their brethren, to whom was given the cup of the sufferings of Christ, as well as of His salvation and His glory.