an unfortunate man—to me, a heretic, in chains, despised and loudly condemned by all. I shall not much longer hold discourse with you; salute, therefore, our faithful Bohemians.
Paletz came to visit me in prison, and accosted me in my deep distress, by telling me, in presence of the Commissioners, that since the birth of Christ, there had risen no heretic more dangerous than Wycliffe and myself. He further declared, that all those who have listened to my preachings are infected with this heresy, which consists in affirming that the material bread remains in the sacrament of the altar. “O Paletz,” I answered, “how cruel are these words! and how much thou sinnest against me. I am about to die; perhaps when I rise from my bed I shall be conducted to the stake. What reward will they give thee in Bohemia?” I should have perhaps abstained from writing these things, for fear of appearing to hate them.
I have ever kept in mind these words, “Put not your trust in princes;” and this other text, which says, “Cursed is he who trusts in man only.”
Be prudent, for the sake of God, whether you should remain in this place, or whether you return; do not carry about you any of my letters, but disperse my writings amongst all our friends.
Learn that. I have had a great combat to sustain, in not wondering at my dreams. I dreamed of the Pope’s
