I think often with pleasure of the noble Seignior Wenceslaus Duba. I pray you to transmit to him, saluting him from me, what I say of him in my prison, and thank him for his undeviating fidelity. Salute also all the other faithful Bohemians.
I accuse myself, that, on the unexpected appearance of Master Christian, my faithful master and benefactor, I could not restrain the tears which flowed from my eyes.
I was told you had left some time since with all your suite, but my soul is comforted. The God of all goodness at one time consoles, at another afflicts me; but I hope he will not forsake me in my trials. I have again suffered horribly from the stone, from which I had never suffered previously to my imprisonment; I have also been attacked by fever, and seized with vomitings, and my jailors, who took me out of the prison, thought I should have died here.
There are now presented to me many articles, heaps of falsehoods, besides those concerning which you have already received many answers. I have not dared reply to the writing which you transmitted to me, on the subject of the articles of the Parisian Doctors; for I could not do it secretly, being closely watched. It is better for me to abstain, rather than place in peril this faithful friend whom I recommend to you.[1]
