Jan Hus: The Life and Death of a Preacher 9781557538765, 9781612496061, 9781612496078

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Central European Studies

Charles W. Ingrao, founding editor Paul Hanebrink, editor Maureen Healy, editor Howard Louthan, editor Dominique Reill, editor Daniel L. Unowsky, editor Nancy M. Wingfield, editor The demise of the Communist Bloc a quarter century ago exposed the need for greater understanding of the broad stretch of Europe that lies between Germany and Russia. For four decades the Purdue University Press series in Central European Studies has enriched our knowledge of the region by producing scholarly monographs, advanced surveys, and select collections of the highest quality. Since its founding, the series has been the only English-language series devoted primarily to the lands and peoples of the Habsburg Empire, its successor states, and those areas lying along its immediate periphery. Among its broad range of international scholars are several authors whose engagement in public policy reflects the pressing challenges that confront the successor states. Indeed, salient issues such as democratization, censorship, competing national narratives, and the aspirations and treatment of national minorities bear evidence to the continuity between the region’s past and present. Other titles in this series: Making Peace in an Age of War: Emperor Ferdinand III (1608–1657) Mark Hengerer Universities in Imperial Austria 1848–1918: A Social History of a Multilingual Space Jan Surman A History of Yugoslavia Marie-Janine Calic The Charmed Circle: Joseph II and the “Five Princesses,” 1765–1790 Rebecca Gates-Coon Lemberg, Lwów, L’viv, 1914–1947: Violence and Ethnicity in a Contested City Christoph Mick Center Stage: Operatic Culture and Nation Building in Nineteenth-Century Central Europe Philipp Ther

Purdue University Press  ♦  West Lafayette, Indiana

Copyright 2020 by Purdue University. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. Cataloging-in-Publication data is on file at the Library of Congress. Paperback ISBN: 978-1-55753-876-5 ePub: ISBN 978-1-61249-606-1 ePDF ISBN: 978-1-61249-607-8 Originally published in German as Jan Hus by Pavel Soukup. Copyright 2014 W. Kohlhammer GmbH, Stuttgart. This volume is based upon the updated and augmented Czech translation Jan Hus. Život a smrt kazatele. Translated from the Czech by Joan Boychuk and Ivana Horacek. Cover image courtesy of Prague, National Library of the Czech Republic, MS. XVI A 17, fol. 122v.

Contents Preface to the English Edition vii Abbreviations xi Chapter 1 Introduction: The Defendant at Constance

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Chapter 2 Jan Hus in the Hands of Historians

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Chapter 3 Master Jan Hus: A Brief Biography

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Chapter 4 Hus the Preacher: The Appointment as Rector of the Bethlehem Chapel, 1402

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Chapter 5 Prague Wycliffism and the “Learned Heresy”: The First Condemnation of Wyclif’s Articles, 1403

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Chapter 6 Jan Hus and Church Reform: The Synodal Sermons, 1405 and 1407

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Chapter 7 The University Career of Master Hus: The Rector’s Speech of 1409, “Strengthen Your Hearts”

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Chapter 8 The Generation of the Decree of Kutná Hora: The University of Prague as a Central European Crossroads

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Chapter 9 The Hussites’ Media Campaign: Appealing the Papal Prohibition of Preaching, 1410

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Chapter 10 Public Engagement and Political Support: Royal Expropriation of Church Property, 1411

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Chapter 11 Leader of the Protest Movement: The Prague Indulgence Disputes, 1412

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Chapter 12 The Judicial Process: The Appeal to Christ, 1412

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Chapter 13 The Invisible Church and Conditional Obedience: Hus’s Book On the Church, 1413

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Chapter 14 Writing in the Vernacular and Mission in the Countryside: The Czech Postil, 1413

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Chapter 15 The Council of Constance: Conviction and Execution, 1414–15

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Chapter 16 Epilogue: Hussitism and Reformation

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Notes 167 Works of Jan Hus 197 Further Primary Sources 199 Bibliography 203 Index of Personal Names 219 About the Author 225

Preface to the English Edition This book, originally written in German, was first published by W. Kohlhammer Press in Stuttgart in 2014. A year later, the Nakladatelství Lidové noviny Press in Prague released an augmented and updated Czech edition. Both versions appeared just in time to participate in the extensive literary output marking the sexennial of Jan Hus’s death. Between 2013–16, several dozen book-length publications dealing with Hus—monographs, source editions, exhibition catalogs, and even novels and comic books—have been published, both in and outside of the Czech Republic. This busy publishing schedule alone attests to the importance of Jan Hus in history and memory. Who was the man whose life found its tragic end at the stake on 6 July 1415? Of course, this entire book seeks to answer this question. However, it may be useful for many Anglophone readers to outline here the significance of Jan Hus in Czech history. From the sixth century on, the historical lands of Bohemia and Moravia (also called the Czech Lands and forming, along with a small portion of Silesia, the territory of today’s Czech Republic) have been inhabited by the Czechs. The temperate climate of Central Europe and relative security in a basin surrounded by medium-height mountain ridges (up to 5,250 feet) offered the Slavic settlers favorable conditions. As the westernmost Slavic nation, the Czechs like to think of themselves as sitting in the heart of Europe and bridging the East and West. At any rate, their proximity to German-speaking areas led to long-term cultural and material exchanges, processes accelerated in the thirteenth century by large-scale German immigration into the Czech Lands, connected with a massive urbanization. In the ninth century, despite the Slavic-Byzantine mission of 863, the Czechs accepted the western (Roman) rite of Christianity. As a result, they shared in the fate of the Latin Church, which included the schisms and reforms of the Late Middle Ages. By that time Bohemia, originally a duchy, had become a kingdom (permanently from 1212 on), forming a politically important part of the Holy Roman Empire. In the mid-fourteenth century, the King of Bohemia—Charles IV of House Luxembourg—ascended to the imperial dignity, and Bohemia’s capital, Prague, became the center of the Empire. Charles University, the oldest in

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Central and Eastern Europe (1348), was just one indicator of the cultural and political rise of the Bohemian Kingdom. All these factors played greater or lesser roles in the story of Jan Hus and Hussitism. The preacher, intellectual, and Church reformer strove to find remedies for the problems of his age, with the decline of Church life among the most pressing. Hus’s influence, even after his execution, was strong enough to trigger a protest movement that developed into an open uprising (the Hussite Revolution), giving birth to a distinct ecclesiastic structure (the so-called Utraquists, often seen as part of the Bohemian Reformation). Hus’s motivation was undoubtedly religious, yet the controversies that unfolded during and after his lifetime were also fed by national tensions (most Germans belonged to Hus’s opponents) and various sociopolitical interests (of nobles, burghers, and rulers). As a consequence, the figure of Jan Hus remained highly relevant for various agendas long after his death. Although this book argues that Hus was an important figure of his time, and is among the central figures for anyone who wants to understand the Late Middle Ages, his significance in subsequent centuries cannot be denied. The sixteenth-century Reformations—Lutheran, and to some extent even Calvinist—diversified the religious landscape in the “kingdom of dual-faith” (i.e., Hussite and Catholic) even more. In 1526, the Crown of Bohemia became part of the Habsburg realm. A century later, the Habsburg counterreformation eliminated non-Catholics from the Czech Lands for the next 160 years. Though Enlightened Absolutism introduced a limited religious toleration, its centralizing processes caused a considerable Germanization of high culture and politics. In reaction, Czech patriots mobilized and sparked a remarkable revival of Czech language and culture around 1800. Nationalistic sentiments and Czech-German/Austrian antagonism shaped the entire nineteenth century, yet it was not until its second half that the Hussites became an important point of reference for Czech society. The Hussite revival was somewhat paradoxical; even after full religious toleration was introduced in the 1860s, the vast majority of the Czechs (95 percent) remained Catholic. Nevertheless, the Hussites (and the Protestant concept of Czech history) enjoyed great, and almost uncontested, popularity. The Hussites were seen as champions of the national cause rather than religious enthusiasts. After the establishment of the Czechoslovak Republic in 1918, the veneration of the Hussites continued and—with an emphasis shifted to social revolution—survived well into the times of communist totalitarianism (1948–89). Contemporary Czech society is not religious. Only one-fifth of the population declared themselves to be believers in the census of 2011, and 10 percent claimed allegiance to the Roman Catholic Church. The second and third largest churches are the Evangelical Church of the Czech Brethren and



Preface to the English Editionix

the Czechoslovak Hussite Church, both claiming Hus among their spiritual fathers; their combined membership amounted to 1 percent in 2011. (It should be noted that 45 percent of respondents did not answer the question about religion. A telling indicator is that three out of five Czechs claimed no religion in 2001, while only 9 percent remained silent.) If Hus and the Hussites still attract the attention of the general public, the reasons lay beyond religion, and— with a few extreme exceptions—beyond nationalism, too. The phenomenon of Hussitism is perceived as historically important, and the prevailing view of Jan Hus is that of a virtuous, moral man, who chose death over betraying his conscience. While the long tradition remembering Hus ensures the object of this book its relevance, the following pages want to reduce Jan Hus to his proper, original environs—the late medieval Church. Before various aspects of Hus’s career will be discussed, a note on terminology might be appropriate. The followers of Jan Hus are generally called Hussites. This term, in multiple Latin variants, emerged in the last years of Hus’s life, and was coined by his opponents. At the time, it was a label from the outside, and was never used by the Hussites themselves. In today’s scholarly discourse, however, it is a perfectly neutral, descriptive term. Most historians use it for the group of religious dissidents in Bohemia and Moravia who remained faithful to Hus after his condemnation, faced repression, and repelled the crusaders’ attacks in the 1420s. Speaking of Hussites during Hus’s life, as this book does, is perhaps a less usual usage. It reflects the fact that a group of followers began to form around Hus already during his life. Naturally, they did not turn into “Hussites” in 1415. I use this term especially for such phenomena contemporary to Hus that remained relevant for Hussitism in later phases as well, like the “Hussite media campaign.” The term Utraquism is also a modern one. It refers to the liturgical practice of giving communion to laypeople in both kinds (Latin: sub utraque specie), that is, in the form of the host and the wine from the chalice. This old Christian practice, abandoned by the Roman Church in the thirteenth century, was restored by Jakoubek of Stříbro in 1414 and adopted by the Hussites without any involvement from Jan Hus. In a more general sense, the term is used for the moderate Hussite wing, especially after 1436, when the building of the Utraquist Church began. Most of the radical currents in Hussitism, however, also gave communion in both kinds. The chalice and the reverence of Jan Hus were the most distinctive markers shared by all groups within Hussitism. The present English edition of this book is based on the Czech text, translated from German by myself. The footnotes have been completely reworked, although references have been limited to the most relevant sources. Concerning the key events, I refer to Václav Novotný’s two volumes as the

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most comprehensive scholarly work on Hus, and to Matthew Spinka’s book as the standard, chronologically organized biography in English. References to primary sources and to specialized studies are provided throughout the book; the numerous standard works and biographies of Jan Hus are not cited at each individual occasion. Where applicable, references have been changed to English versions, and to the most recent source editions that have appeared since the publication of the German edition. Occasional errors, discovered over further study, or pointed out by reviewers, have been corrected. Chapter 2 was written at the request of the Czech publisher and is not included in the German edition. I would like to thank people who contributed significantly to the publication of this translation: Howard Louthan, who first suggested preparing an English edition of this book during a seminar at the Center for Austrian Studies in 2016 and later coordinated the editing process; Joan Boychuk and Ivana Horacek, who translated the text from Czech; the reviewers of this and the previous editions, whose comments helped improve many details; and Michael Van Dussen, who, as always, offered invaluable help and advice. This English edition is a result of the cooperation between the Centre for Medieval Studies at the Institute of Philosophy of the Czech Academy of Sciences, and the Center for Austrian Studies at the University of Minnesota. The Czech Academy supported the translation with a grant within its “Strategy AV21” scheme.

Abbreviations CCCM De ecclesia Documenta FRB H&M Hardt Korespondence MIHOO

Corpus christianorum. Continuatio mediaevalis Mistr Jan Hus, Tractatus de ecclesia Documenta Mag. Joannis Hus vitam, doctrinam, causam illustrantia Fontes rerum Bohemicarum Historia et monumenta Magnum oecumenicum Constantiense concilium M. Jana Husi Korespondence a dokumenty Magistri Iohannis Hus Opera omnia

Chapter 1 Introduction: The Defendant at Constance On Wednesday, 28 November 1414, after spending more than three weeks in the town of Constance where the Church Council had been convened, Master Jan Hus received an important visit. The bishops of Trent and of Augsburg arrived as ambassadors on behalf of the College of Cardinals, accompanied by the burgomaster of Constance and others. Sir John of Chlum, the master’s loyal guide and protector, accepted them with some suspicion. He reminded the visitors that Hus had arrived in Constance under the protection of King Sigismund, and warned them against any wrongdoing against the king’s will. As the prelates began to explain their intentions, Jan Hus arose from the table, revealing his identity to the bishops who had not yet recognized him, and proclaimed: I did not come here to merely see the cardinals nor have I ever desired to speak with them in private; but I have come to address the whole Council where I will say whatever God grants me to say and answer whatever I shall be asked. Nonetheless, at the request of the Eminent Cardinals I am ready to come to them at once; and should I be questioned about any matter, I hope that I may choose death rather than deny the truth, which I have learned from the Scriptures or otherwise.1

Hus professed similar views on numerous occasions while in Constance; in the end, his words proved true, as he indeed chose death. The bishops then led Hus into the pope’s palace, where the cardinals addressed him as follows: “Master John, there is much strange talk about you. It is said that you hold many errors and that you have disseminated them in the Kingdom of Bohemia.” Hus answered the accusation in the same manner as he addressed the bishops earlier: “Most revered Father, be it known to You that I would rather die than hold a single error. For indeed, I have come freely to this sacred Council.”2 After the meeting, Hus was placed under guard until late in the evening. Later, in the middle of the night, he was taken to the house

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Jan Hus: The Life and Death of a Preacher

of the cantor of Constance Cathedral, where he was held captive for a week. Later he was imprisoned at a Dominican monastery on the shores of Lake Constance. After Pope John XXIII’s secret flight from Constance on 25 March 1415, Hus was transferred to the custody of the archbishop of Constance who kept him captive at Gottlieben Castle on the River Rhine. At the beginning of June he was taken back to the city and imprisoned at the Franciscan convent for questioning until his conviction and execution. On the day of Hus’s capture, Sir John complained to Pope John XXIII on Hus’s behalf. Later he made his protest to the cardinals as well, but without a positive outcome. Even a proclamation that publicly acknowledged all the facts surrounding Hus’s unjust capture, which he hung on the gates of the city cathedral and other churches in Constance, had no effect. The proclamation John of Chlum put forth read: Master [Jan] Hus, bachelor formatus of sacred theology, under the safe-conduct and protection of the most illustrious prince and lord, Lord Sigismund [. . .] came to Constance to render full account for his faith in a public hearing to anyone demanding it. The above mentioned Master [Jan], in this imperial city, under the safe-conduct of the said my lord, king of the Romans and of Hungary, was detained and is kept detained.3

In the proclamation Sir John addressed Hus formally, using the title bachelor of theology—his highest title—while keeping silent about the fact that Hus was still the rector of the Bethlehem Chapel in Prague, and as such held extraordinary respect in the role of a preacher. Hus’s capture in Constance unambiguously signaled his downfall and sealed the path to a tragic end.4 Yet seven years prior to his execution, he enjoyed the support of the Royal Court and the friendship of the archbishop of Prague. He was then already preoccupied with deliberations on how to repair the reputation of the Church, which had been damaged by the Papal Schism and the undignified lifestyle of its clerics. Similar concerns troubled the majority of the fathers present at the Council of Constance, who even criticized the improprieties and offenses of the Church themselves, and called for rectification. The members of the Council of Constance tasked themselves with restoring the unity of the Latin Church and purging it of all abuses and indecencies. The well-attended international gathering represented probably the most serious attempt at Church reform in the fifteenth century.5 Why, then, did Hus’s ideas about the necessary reforms stand in such sharp contrast to the reformism of the majority of Catholic theologians, so much so that they felt compelled to burn him at the stake?



1. The Defendant at Constance3

This is not an easy issue to resolve. While in Constance, Hus was accused of a whole series of crimes. The charges against him were already accumulating as early as 1408. But can the allegations themselves shed light upon Hus’s untimely demise? It is insufficient to simply seek answers within the text of the final judgment, the genesis of which will preoccupy the chapters that follow. From the historian’s point of view, however, investigation of the trial proceedings alone will not provide the necessary answers to resolve the question posed above. Other sources may shed additional light on the grounds for Hus’s conviction and reveal reasons for his condemnation, which the judges may have concealed, or of which they may not themselves have been aware. What is it that so provoked the Church authorities and secular representatives? Moreover, what was it about Jan Hus and his teaching that was so dangerous to warrant his annihilation? In order to adequately elucidate the demise of this renowned late medieval preacher and university scholar, one must investigate the society in which he lived, the society’s understanding of the world, and its internal tensions and biases. This book examines Jan Hus and his career at the juncture of late medieval political conflicts, and deals only briefly with his “second life.” During the fifteenth century, Hus was an emblematic figure for the Utraquists. Later, he was the antagonist in a baroque legend who defiled Czech orthodoxy. In the nineteenth century Hus served as an integrative symbol of the Czech National Revival. A little later, at the hands of leftist historians, Hus became a fighter for social justice. Finally, for the Evangelical churches, not only in Bohemia but also abroad, he is a significant predecessor (or cocreator) of the Reformation. In a recent monograph, Hus’s posthumous glory takes up a good 40 percent of the text.6 It is therefore clear that the recollection of Hus’s “second life” is a separate topic in itself, one that this book will only lightly outline. Although the last chapter addresses the relationship between Jan Hus and the German Reformation, my intention is not to portray the Czech reformer as a predecessor of Martin Luther. This book argues that the history of the Reformation begins with Hussitism in the fifteenth century. The comparison with the “classic” Reformation is intended to ameliorate our appreciation of Hus’s importance for the development of Czech society in the fifteenth century. The fact that over the course of the first half of the fifteenth century the Utraquist Church evolved into a particular variant of the new reformed church does not preclude that Hus himself wanted to embark on such a path. However, for Hus and his followers, a break with the Roman Catholic Church was an inevitable component of their concept of reform. And it is precisely these impulses that led to the formation of the Hussites as a group distancing themselves from the Catholic Church that are the focus of discussion in the following chapters.

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Hus is thus taken up as a figure within his own time, emerging from both the specific circumstances in Luxembourg Bohemia and from the broader context of the developing Western Church during the time of the Great Schism. In the text that follows, rather than including a separate introduction on the history and culture of the Late Middle Ages, each chapter takes up the broader historical associations. Hus’s distinctiveness and the ways in which he was embedded in late medieval culture can only be determined on the basis of comparison with his European contemporaries and Czech forerunners. Therefore, in order to illustrate the historical figure of Hus, concurrent comparisons to other fifteenth-century ecclesiastical and university figures are included. Retrospective in nature, the present biography interrogates the roots of the issues and controversies that pushed Hus to his limits. It recounts Hus’s successes and his demise, how he gained notoriety and created a circle of followers, why this attracted the attention of the Church authorities, and why the Church finally found it necessary to eliminate him. Although it is Hus’s death that serves as the basis of our inquiry, I do not agree with the opinion that Hus’s historical significance lies only in the fact that he was burned at the stake, and then was variously used and misused by history.7 Jan Hus was a publicly active and energetic scholar, and as such he must not only be of interest to scholars in death, but especially in life and through his deeds. From a historical point of view, as a significant actor and sometimes even the instigator of key events, Hus would be an attractive figure of study without the reformation, revolution, and national revival that were instigated in his name. In this book, the figure of Jan Hus is primarily taken up as a well-documented medieval intellectual and a publicly engaged professor who gets into serious problems due to his popularity. It is Hus’s conflicts and controversies that have left the most noteworthy traces in historical sources. Owing to these disputes and to his posthumous fame, we have an infinitely deeper knowledge about Hus than about any of his contemporaries. What is more, no other Czech medieval author has left behind such an extensive and preserved body of work; Hus’s surviving correspondence is equally unique. Reports and documents that implicate him should also be added to the body of evidence. The many surviving documents provide insight into the world of the medieval scholar, something that would be impossible with any other contemporary figure. This book includes a relatively wide scope devoted to the public activities of Hus, particularly the responses to his sermons and the emergence of a group of followers. As with any historical undertaking, the thematic focus of this piece is influenced by the experiences of the contemporary world. Hus’s image always corresponded and answered to the needs of the times inhabited by those who studied him. If today we are experiencing how political, civic, and social movements are organized through digital communications



1. The Defendant at Constance5

networks and social media, it is no wonder that the social impact of communicative behavior becomes a relevant topic of cultural-historical studies. For the purpose of the present book, however, this of course does not imply that we should create anachronistic parallels between the time of Hus and the present time. Rather, the focus on communication and group formation is an attempt to make Hus’s story relevant for the readers of today. The subsequent two chapters give a concise overview of the historiography and of Jan Hus’s life. Each of the chapters that follow begins with a major event in the life of Hus. While these events form the chronological axis of the book, the problem-structured interpretation always takes into account additional testimonials from other phases of Hus’s life. A question is then posed at the end of each chapter that addresses the significance of a phenomenon or event in Hus’s life and whether it contributed to his conviction. In this way, Hus as defendant and, later, convict at Constance always stands at the center of this account.

Chapter 2 Jan Hus in the Hands of Historians The Czech film The Elementary School (Obecná škola, 1991), directed by Jan Svěrák, features the character of a particularly favorite teacher. One of his most moving lectures is the one describing the life and death of Master Jan Hus. Two boys are incited by this story to confess the truth to the magician Mrázek about the tools they had previously stolen from him. “We suffer like Hus,” says one of the boys as the dog of the angry illusionist chases them out of his house. The boys became acquainted with Hus’s life and his suffering for the truth in 1946, a time that saw an upsurge of patriotism in the wake of the liberation from the Nazi occupation. The relevance of such a discourse about the martyr of Constance would have hardly been imaginable a century earlier, let alone even half a century later. Czech patriots of the late Austro-Hungarian monarchy and of the first Czechoslovak Republic vehemently seized the story of Hus, popularizing him to an unprecedented level not seen since the time of the Utraquist Church. Despite the fact that Hus’s popularity had its ups and downs, for centuries he has remained one of the most famous figures of early Czech history, not only in his country of origin, but also around the world. The so-called “second life of Hus,” his variously interpreted story, begins as soon as the preacher’s earthly pilgrimage came to an end by fire at the border of Constance. From a Catholic perspective, the day of death of a medieval martyr was also a birth. But Hus’s death marked the simultaneous birth of a martyr and a heretic, and both perceptions began to unfold without delay.1 The preacher’s execution was documented by two chroniclers whose reports differ not only in the details they provided, but also in the overall assessment of the event. Ulrich Richental, from Constance, recorded Hus’s burning as an event connected to the Council, which of course attracted attention to the execution.2 Peter of Mladoňovice wrote with the intention of eternally preserving Hus’s memory.3 The overall course and scope of the execution were described by the two eyewitnesses in roughly the same manner. The text of Hus’s prayer that the master uttered while walking to

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his execution is also the same. However, according to Richental, Hus was praying on his way to the execution, and again upon arrival. According to Mladoňovic, he sang the prayer, but only once the stake was lit. According to Richental, “Hus began to scream horribly, and quickly burned.” The laconically realistic description offered by Richental likely did not correspond with Mladoňovic’s notion of the martyr in the flames. Nor does Richental’s detail of the smell of burning flesh that spread around the site of the execution appear in Mladoňovic’s version, let alone the anecdotal explanation that it was likely the stench of a decomposing mule that had earlier been buried there by a cardinal. Equally distinctive is another detail, about which the two accounts differ. On two occasions, Ulrich explicitly states that Hus was fully dressed, and with the regret of a cloth merchant he describes the quality of Hus’s clothing. According to Mladoňovic, Hus’s clothing was immediately thrown into the fire by the bailiffs at the wearer’s death. Another similar yet brief account of Hus’s martyrdom is offered by John Bradáček, who wrote that the Count Palatine, Ludwig III, promised the executioners damages for the burned clothing. Clearly, the image of soldiers dividing amongst themselves the robe of a martyr must have invited association with the torture and resurrection of Jesus.4 In contrast to Richental, who saw Hus as an unrepentant heretic, both Mladoňovic and Bradáček, who stylized the last moments of Jan Hus according to the motifs of the Passion, a Christological association was precisely their intention.5 The two contrasting readings of Hus’s death established two different traditions that persisted throughout the early modern era. In both roles, the person of Jan Hus, either as a martyr or a heretic, becomes a type. Devotion to Saint John Hus emerged shortly after his death in the community of his Czech followers, and became one of the most important distinguishing features of the Utraquist Church. Hus was represented in altarpieces alongside national patron saints. During the fifteenth century he also found an importance place in the Utraquist liturgy. Texts borrowed from liturgies of other saints were used for his feast day, celebrated on 6 July. By the end of the fifteenth century and throughout the sixteenth we also find texts composed specifically for Hus’s Day. Texts about ancient martyrs served as models for composing liturgical texts on Hus. Among them was the first Christian martyr, Saint Stephen, as well as Saint Vitus, the patron saint of the Prague Cathedral. In addition, due to his ascendance to the heavenly realm on a fiery chariot, the prophet Elijah was likened to Hus, as was John the Baptist, whose criticisms of the sins of the mighty formed another suitable parallel to Hus.6 However, the emphasis on Hus’s criticisms of the clergy could also be turned against the Calixtine ecclesiastics. In 1522 the following verse was added to an older song, Master Jan Hus, in the Hope in God:



2. Jan Hus in the Hands of Historians9

Master Jan Hus was burned without mercy, For he exposed the wrongs of the clergy To the common people, To all the faithful and devout. Priests praise his life, Yet they distance themselves from him, For he was humble even poor, and patient.7

Prior to the Battle of White Mountain, which introduced the CounterReformation in Bohemia in 1620, contemporary readers had at their disposition several printed editions of Hus’s writings. As evidenced by various estate inventories, there was a relatively high interest in Hus among non-Catholic townspeople. Between 1509 and 1510, the print shop run by the Unity of Brethren in Litomyšl published Books Against the Cook-Priest and a Czech version of On the Six Errors. In 1520 Utraquist author and editor Mikuláš Konáč published Hus’s Exposition of the Creed, while smaller editions followed in the 1520s. A commendable publishing success was the double edition of the Czech Postil, along with other smaller works written by Hus in Czech, printed in Nuremberg in 1563 and again in 1564. Lutherans also published some of Hus’s Latin texts. On Luther’s initiative the tract De ecclesia was printed in 1520. Seventeen years later, Hus’s letters were also printed, accompanied by a preface composed by Martin Luther.8 However, an epoch-making achievement was a two-volume edition of works by Hus and Jerome, titled Ioannis Hus et Hieronymi Pragensis confessorum Christi Historia et monumenta. A team of humanist historians stood behind the accomplishment, led by Matija Vlačić, a Lutheran from Istria, known in Latin as Flacius Illyricus. The ensemble, published in Nuremberg in 1558, contained all of Hus’s writings that Flacius could locate during his extended search, particularly those he found among Czech manuscripts. Because some of Hus’s works have only ever been published in this edition, in the centuries that followed, Flacius’s edition became an indispensable resource for Hussite studies and has continued to be used to the present day.9 The popular Czech Chronicle of 1541, written by Václav Hájek of Libočany, significantly mediated the collective memory of Hus throughout the early modern period. As a Catholic, Hájek respected Hus for his virtuous life but he could not approve of Wycliffite heresy. As a saint, Hus naturally disappeared from the scene with the re-Catholization of Bohemia after the Battle of White Mountain. Baroque scholars of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries did not show much interest in Hus. The Jesuit Bohuslav Balbín, the most prominent and patriotic Czech scholar of the time, included a section on “heretical” writers in his Bohemia docta where he briefly mentions Hus

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and Jerome. According to Balbín, the two Hussite authors “could have had their names included among scholars, if all the treasures of their talents and scholarship were not defeated and ruined by heresy. Such they were, superior by their stubbornness rather than by education, so that it is shameful to name them, they who must be cursed as ungodly.”10 In his Miscellanea historica (1681), in the brief account of the Hussite Wars, Balbín only mentions Hus as an instigator of Hussitism, whose followers were “infected by Hus’s poison.”11 If the memory of Hus was cultivated in the Baroque era, it was only so in a negative sense; he served as a deterrent example of a heretic. In order to save the reputation of the country, Catholic authors were searching for holy men in Czech history. Balbín attempted to emphasize, for instance, the fourteenthcentury reformist preacher Milíč of Kroměříž,12 but John Nepomuk, a priest who suffered death by torture in 1393, became the clear winner of the concourse. In 1710 Piarists from Litomyšl featured a school play that counterposed the heretical Hus to the true believer, Nepomuk. Furthermore, during Nepomuk’s beatification in 1721, the following motto appeared in one of the emblems of the celebratory ornamentation: “The swan prevails over the goose and prevents the power of hell.” The swan symbolized the blessed Nepomuk, while the goose, “husa” in Czech, stood for Jan Hus.13 Historians writing at the end of the eighteenth century attempted to overcome the narrow point of view offered by chroniclers and legendists, but even they did not succeed in approaching the fabric of the story impartially. Within the discipline of history, fundamental progress on Hus was made by the work of František Palacký. Pertinent passages of his The History of the Czech Nation (1850) are based on extensive archival research, advancing the work on the history of fifteenth century in Bohemia and Moravia to an unprecedented level. In his approach to the subject, Palacký promoted the alleged Slavic democracy in opposition to German feudalism and Roman Catholic authoritarianism. In Palacký’s conception, Hussitism thus becomes a high point of Czech history. In spite of the overwhelming Catholic majority in the Czech Lands, due to his strong connection to national sentiment, Palacký’s Protestant interpretation of history took hold. When it comes to the interpretation of Hussitism, polemics between Czech and German historians living in Bohemia also contributed to the escalation of nationalist contradictions. In 1864 Prague professor Constantin Höfler published a book on the genesis and consequences of the Decree of Kutná Hora, titled Master Jan Hus and the Departure of German Professors and Students from Prague. He considered the decree to be a calculated policy led by national hatred, and named Hus as the chief instigator of the events that contributed to the exodus of German scholars. According to Höfler, “provided that for Jan Hus the end was to justify the means, he should not be so honoured, and the Germans should finally stop their foolish admiration of him.”14



2. Jan Hus in the Hands of Historians11

In the 1860s political development in the German lands was directed toward unification under Prussian leadership and thus to a definitive separation of Habsburg countries from other German-speaking territory. For the Germans living in Bohemia, this signaled a potentially perilous existence, as they would find themselves in the midst of increasing emancipation efforts on the part of the Czech majority. Just like the Czechs, the Germans also were searching for comfort and support in a distinctive interpretation of the past.15 In response to Höfler’s challenge, František Palacký’s polemic, published in 1868, celebrated Hus as an incarnation of Slavic freedom standing against German expansiveness.16 For liberal and nationalistic German historians and politicians in Bohemia (who were often one and the same person), the understanding of Hus’s character represented a certain difficulty. Eventually, they gave preference to the national perspective over the political one, and rather than praising Hus as a progressive figure, they dismissed him as an antiGerman agent. In Adolf Bachmann’s account, the fact that Hus was a publicly engaged priest made his story overly reminiscent of clerical politics.17 Johann Loserth, a professor in Czernowitz, author of Hus and Wyclif: On the Genesis of Hussite Teachings (1884), contributed significantly to the discussion. By comparing Hus’s and Wyclif’s texts, something that had not yet been done, Loserth demonstrated Hus’s extensive integration of Wyclif’s texts into his own, thereby suggesting unoriginal thought on the part of the Czech reformer. The book also was translated into English and supplied the author with repeated commissions for editing Wyclif’s writings, on which Loserth had been working for several decades. Since then, generations of Czech historians have responded to his book, which in 1925 was published under a second edition.18 The extent of the borrowings from Wyclif surprised both Hus’s supporters and his opponents. In the absence of scholarly editions, Loserth relied upon the 1558 Nuremberg edition as well as various manuscript tracts. Since the beginning of critical historiography on Hus, inquiry has gone hand in hand with exploration of unknown sources. Already in 1869 Palacký published a collection of documents, which are still an invaluable source for historians investigating Hus. In 1865–68 Karel Jaromír Erben published Hus’s Collected Writings in Czech, but it was not until the beginning of the twentieth century that Václav Flajšhans launched a much more extensive work drawing on Hus’s Latin writings and documents. An important contribution was also the diligent research activity of Professor Jan Sedlák at the Episcopal Seminary in Brno. After Loserth’s publication of several editions in journals, Sedlák’s archival research on the Hussite period, especially on the works of Hus’s followers and opponents, represented a major step forward. This is evidenced by the contributions made by Sedlák in the volumes titled Studies and Texts on Czech Religious History, as well as by the extensive appendices in the monograph

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Jan Hus: The Life and Death of a Preacher

M. Jan Hus. The latter was published in 1915, and therefore available for the anniversary of Hus’s death and for the competition organized by the Czech Academy of Sciences, Literature and Arts, which was to feature the best book on Jan Hus.19 Sedlák concedes a moral integrity to Hus and comments on the master’s “noble corrective effort,” but from his standpoint he could have only condemned Hus’s doctrine, which questioned the teachings of the Catholic Church. Sedlák states: “The combative nature of his reform movement urged the development of a revolution within the Church from which no permanent remedy could have ever arisen, and instead incited the birth of sectarianism.” Therefore, in Sedlák’s view the Hussite movement finally embroiled the Czech nation in turmoil and “threw heavy blows at its cultural life.”20 While Sedlák’s work produced a successful synopsis of Hus’s life and corresponded to the most recent state of research, it is not surprising that it was not met with unanimous acceptance. In the early twentieth century, the predominant view of Hussitism was in line with Palacký’s conception that was cultivated by former students of Jaroslav Goll, the so-called Goll school of historical writing. Therefore, after a two-year extension of the competition deadline, the Czech Academy awarded the prize marking the anniversary of Hus’s death to two followers of the Goll’s school, Václav Novotný and Vlastimil Kybal. In a double volume on Hus’s life and works, Novotný summarized all the available sources and scholarly literature, including Sedlák’s research. While doing so, he could rely on his own critical edition of Hus’s correspondence as well as an edition in press containing the accounts of the processes at Constance and other texts relating to Hus (published in 1932). The second part of the publishing project, and a pendant to Novotný’s work, was Kybal’s three volume contribution that summarized Hus’s doctrine and was published from 1923 to 1934. As is often the case with great positivist historians, Novotný’s work is not a straightforward accumulation of historical facts, but reveals the author’s broad knowledge and opinions. The pages and notes of his writings clearly show the positive evaluation of the majority of Hus’s activities and also reveal Novotný’s unconditional admiration for the master. Speaking of Hus’s doubts about his exile, which Sedlák described in a footnote as “a mental confusion,” Novotný states, “If there is a mental confusion here, it is of a kind that you cannot think of a more noble one, such that serves as the most telling proof of the mental magnificence of the person who thought this way. [. . .] So majestically from Hus’s own expressions are spoken the depth and truth of all of his efforts.”21 Novotný’s sentimental account does not escape the color of its time. From the second half of the nineteenth century onward, Hus was also honored during national celebrations and thus became subject to the creativity of public speakers. A favorite destination of pilgrimage was Constance, where “Hus’s Stone,”



2. Jan Hus in the Hands of Historians13

a monument commemorating his burning, was erected in 1862. Furthermore, the speeches given at the Bohemian Parliament in 1889 reached a significant degree of expressivity in celebrating the Czech martyr. The Young Czech Party objected to the fact that Hus was missing among the personalities whose names were to decorate the building of the National Museum. Party member Josef Šíl insisted that “Hus means our glory, our education, our knowledge, our lives, all of us.” Eduard Grégr regarded Hus as “an excellent example of a citizen,” while the conservative parliamentarian Karel Schwarzenberg described the Hussites as “a gang of robbers and arsonists.”22 Placing Hus’s name plate on the facade of the National Museum was finally approved by the Provincial Committee. Meanwhile, the dispute sparked the preparation of a much more magnificent act of remembrance of Hus—the Prague memorial. Over the course of the debates about its most suitable location, Old Town Square, where the Marian column already stood, was finally deemed more appropriate over Bethlehem Square and other locations. Proposals were submitted anonymously under slogans such as “You sprouted over the swamp” or “Spotless you perished, leaving a trace.” Ladislav Šaloun’s proposal won the contest without compromise; in 1903 there was a ceremonial placing of the foundation stone, but the monument’s full realization was postponed. It was not until 6 July 1915 that the memorial was finally revealed to mark the 500th anniversary of Hus’s execution.23 Incited by the publication projects marking the jubilee of Hus’s death and by the unveiling of the Old Town monument, in the inter war years of the Czechoslovak Republic, the cult of Hus could finally develop without Austrian censorship. President Tomáš Garrigue Masaryk and the recently established Evangelical and Hussite Churches openly embraced the Hussite tradition. Masaryk had enriched Palacký’s conception of Czech history with his own central humanist idea even before World War I. Within the Reformation, and mainly the Unity of Brethren, Masaryk saw the impulses that helped to implement humanist ideals. In his book, Jan Hus: Our Revival and Our Reformation (1896), Masaryk claimed that the Czech National Revival was a continuation of the reform efforts and ideas for which Hus was martyred. However, as Masaryk states, an ethical rebirth was still an ongoing task: “our awareness that our program of [national] renewal should be a continuation of the reformist tradition is weak.”24 For Masaryk, the Czechs were not yet a Hussite nation. In the so-called dispute over the meaning of Czech history, the historian Josef Pekař challenged this understanding. He set himself against Masaryk’s selective use of historical events and against the idea of ​​thinking into the past and imputing to historical figures motives totally alien to them. For example, in 1912 Pekař said: “Neither Hus, nor the Czech Reformation, nor the Czech Brotherhood demanded freedom for the subjects; their outlook was entirely feudal.”25

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Jan Hus: The Life and Death of a Preacher

In the 1920s the figure of Hus continued to cause unrest and even political tension. In 1925 the Parliament of Czechoslovakia adopted a law regulating national holidays, marking the anniversary of Hus’s death as a day of remembrance, an act that was supported by Masaryk. During the celebration of Hus’s day on 6 July of the same year, official speakers and even the masses of people in attendance paid tribute to Masaryk, among other things in commemoration of his Geneva speech ten years before, in which he had declared the struggle for independence against Austria-Hungary. Masaryk’s personal assistant reported that the president was feeling jubilant and that in his militant mood he was inspired to drape a Hussite flags from Prague Castle, and that “after dinner he played the piano and sang Slavic songs and danced the cake-walk.”26 The result of the celebrations, however, caused a diplomatic rupture between Czechoslovakia and the Vatican. As a sign of protest, the Apostolic Nuncio Francesco Marmaggi proceeded to promptly leave Czechoslovakia. Until 1947, scholarly research had been awaiting a volume that would be devoted to Hus’s time within the “Czech History” series that offered summaries of individual epochs. The contribution to this prestigious series produced by the publisher Jan Laichter was eventually made by the evangelical historian František M. Bartoš, under the title Bohemia in the Time of Hus. By then, the powerful Marxist assertion and perspective on Jan Hus and the Hussites had taken hold. Only a year prior to Bartoš’s book, Zdeněk Nejedlý produced a brochure The Communists: Inheritors of the Grand Progressive Tradition of the Czech Nation that was widely circulated. Therefore, when after the February coup of 1948, Marxism-Leninism became the official ideology in Czechoslovakia, the Marxists had a source upon which to draw. The communist version of Hussite history continued to build upon concepts established in the nineteenth century by left-wing historiography, even drawing on the work by Palacký. In order to present communism as an outcome of domestic traditions, rather than as a foreign ideology, the task was to establish a link to key moments in Czech history. Such a goal was achieved through an enhanced and selective emphasis on the social agenda of Hussitism. According to this version of the history, Hus had relinquished his role as a religious thinker and became a social rebel and leader of the people. Later, during the early 1950s, Marxist historians located evidence of a class struggle within Hussite history. The more inherent legacy of the Marxist concept, one that was shared by the communists and older progressivists with a variety of agendas, was the disparagement of the religious aspect of Hus and Hussitism. In his 1913 contribution to the dispute over the meaning of Czech history, Nejedlý suggested disregarding the theological terminology of Hus’s tracts and characterized this approach as “historical.” Nejedlý commended how such an approach to the study of Hus allows for “religious and denominational differences to fall



2. Jan Hus in the Hands of Historians15

aside, allowing for the man to come forth in his purity, full of love for his nation, contemplating his duty to himself and to society.”27 The idea that a religious language used by people living in the past is a necessary evil (since they did not know how else to express themselves) is a long-standing view; it holds that if we want to come to understand their views, we must overlook the religious aspect of their expression. Marxist historians criticized the work of their predecessors for giving preference to the history of personalities and (religious) ideas and for failing to take into account the social determination of historical processes. When it came to the study of the Late Middle Ages, Marxist historians were more interested in the study of the subjugated and urban poor; when it came to the study of Hussitism, they were more interested in Taborite communism rather than Jan Hus. Nevertheless, due to his popularity, the preacher from Bethlehem Chapel did receive a positive evaluation: “Throughout his life, Master Jan Hus was destined to express, for all our people, the depths of his sorrow and pain and to show the exploited how to move forward.” Thus began the passage on Hus in the book Tábor in the Hussite Revolutionary Movement, by Josef Macek. According to Macek, Hus “complied with the requirements of a small bourgeoisie” and his influence offered “an example of the growth of a revolutionary ideology.” 28 In a later popular biography on Hus, Macek further attributes to Hus a forward-thinking attitude and a religious motivation, but insists that the objective outcome of his work was “to prepare the people for a revolutionary struggle.”29 In the philosophical analysis of Hussite ideology of 1961, Robert Kalivoda classified individual doctrines according to the social class whose interests he served, and ranked Hus under the heading of “a bourgeois Hussitism,” in contrast to “peasant-plebeian.”30 However, we must keep in mind that during a period of socialism, the nuances of Marxist nomenclature within the historical process were not the only results of inquiry into Hussitism. On the initiative of Nejedlý, the newly formed Czechoslovak Academy of Sciences began the critical edition of Hus’s works. By the mid-1990s, out of the twenty-five volumes that were planned, nine volumes were released: the complete set of Hus’s Czech writings by Jiří Daňhelka in four volumes; three volumes of Hus’s Latin writings by Anežka Vidmanová; and two more Latin volumes by Jaroslav Eršil and Bohumil Ryba, respectively.31 The study of the life and works of Jan Hus also has developed outside of today’s Czech Republic. “John Huss belongs not to Bohemia alone”—with these words the American ecclesiastical historian David S. Schaff opened his 1915 monograph on Jan Hus.32 In the 1960s, Matthew Spinka published both a monograph on Hus’s ecclesiology and his book-length biography. Spinka was born in 1890 in Bohemia, and grew up in Chicago in a Reformed milieu.

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He characterized Hus as a theologically moderate, yet morally uncompromising reformer of the Church, a man consistently devoted to the truth. Hus was more conservative than Wyclif and some of the Bohemians, yet his ideas nevertheless represented “the initial stages of the Reformation.”33 Still in the 1960s, Howard Kaminsky published his magisterial work on the Hussite Revolution. In his analysis of the revolutionary movement, the American historian assigned Hus the role of the “patron of subversive tendencies.” Under Hus’s leadership, theoreticians like Jakoubek of Stříbro and Nicholas of Dresden (the latter being revealingly studied by Kaminsky) developed more radical ideas than even Hus himself. “The ideology of Hus encouraged others to revolt,” Kaminsky concluded his succinct account of the historic contribution of the Bethlehem preacher.34 Both Spinka’s and Kaminsky’s interpretations of Hus reacted explicitely, and critically, to one influential work. In 1960, the Belgian Church historian Paul De Vooght published his research on Hus in two volumes, titled The Heresy of Jan Hus and Hussiana. Based upon a careful study of sources and an in-depth theological erudition, the conclusions of De Vooght’s book drew attention as they relativized the “heresy” mentioned within its title. Similar to the work of Kybal, De Vooght finds the majority of Hus’s theses to be in line with Catholicism, in which Hus made use of passages from Wyclif and avoided extreme opinions and erroneous thoughts. The heresy, according to De Vooght, relates to the Hus’s teachings in relation to the pope. De Vooght agreed with Hus’s criticism of crimes committed by the clergy (such as the indulgences granted by John XXIII), and highly valued Hus’s clerical reform program, with which he clearly exceeded his judges. Indeed, for De Vooght, in their approach to the papacy, the members of the Council of Constance strayed even more than Hus, which made the “crime of the Fathers of the Council” even more abhorrent.35 De Vooght’s book incited curiosity whether the Catholic Church was preparing to rehabilitate Hus.36 During the Second Vatican Council (1962–65), opinions were voiced that the Church should critically reconsider their judgment on Hus. It should be pointed out that the demand for Hus’s rehabilitation was not new, and began as early as 1869 with the historian Josef Kalousek, followed by Flajšhans in 1904. Such a view could build on interpretations that had been emerging since the Enlightenment, seeing Hus as a true reform-minded Catholic rather than a heretic.37 In 1986, Stefan Swieżawski, a philosopher from the circle of Pope John Paul II, again stimulated the rehabilitation case. During his first visit to Czechoslovakia in 1990, the pope expressed an interest in further study of Jan Hus, which ultimately would better define his place “among the reformers of the Church.”38 The pope’s express wish was fulfilled by a special commission set up by the Czech Bishops’ Conference whose



2. Jan Hus in the Hands of Historians17

activities culminated in the international symposium at the Lateran University in Rome at the end of 1999. Pope John Paul II’s address was anxiously awaited. He expressed a “deep regret in regards to the cruel death that John Hus experienced.”39 His speech somewhat improperly eclipsed the speech by Václav Havel, who said that “the great contribution of Jan Hus to European history is that of the principle of individual accountability” in one’s quest for truth. Therefore, an important merit of his thinking, according to Havel, was the emphasis put on the “personal decision which cannot be delegated to any other person and which is based on one’s own conviction.”40 Revisionist debates on the theme of Hus’s trial occasionally return and will likely continue to do so in the future. From a legal perspective, Jiří Kejř, a specialist on medieval law, considers any revocation of the sentence impossible. He points out that for Protestants, a “rehabilitated, that is, recatholicized Hus” would forfeit in the realm of moral authority.41 Evangelical historians have indeed opposed the attempts to interpret Hus as an essentially Catholic thinker. At the Symposium Hussianum held in Prague in 1965, Amedeo Molnár highlighted Hus’s role in the so-called “First Reformation,” and this perspective continues to influence scholars today.42 What is the current state of research on Jan Hus? In comparison to his contemporaries, it is not sparse. In spite of the oft-repeated complaints that his complete oeuvre has not yet been published, it must be said that the state of editing Hus is much better than with any other comparable Czech author. In addition to a number of specific studies, there are multiple biographies. The same cannot be said about his contemporaries. Many researchers, and not only Czechs, have taken up the topic of Hus and his times. In German, Peter Hilsch produced a reliable and detailed monograph in 1999.43 Also in German, in 2011 Thomas Krzenck published a succinct biography on Hus for general readership.44 In 2005 the French historian Olivier Marin presented a synthesis of the Czech reform movement between the years 1360–19, which renders Hus a greater service than many biographies by placing his thought and religious life firmly within the context of his times.45 Thomas Fudge, active in various parts of the Anglophone world, added another three books to his already extant work from 2010, which presently makes him the most prolific historian on Hus.46 Following the publication of a four-volume revision of Marxist research on the Hussite Revolution (1993) and complete edition of works by Jerome of Prague (2010), František Šmahel published a biography on Jan Hus (2013), thus presenting yet another comprehensive work in the field of Bohemian Reformation history.47 However, current research on Jan Hus and Hussitism is not limited to newly conceived synthetic perspectives; it also takes up specific issues. Hus’s writings continue to be published in the Corpus christianorum series. In 2004

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Jan Hus: The Life and Death of a Preacher

Jiří Kejř published Hus’s Quaestiones; in 2011 Dicta de tempore, a work attributed to Hus was published (edited by Jana Zachová); Exposition of the Psalms (under the direction of Jana Nechutová) were produced in 2013, and Hus’s writings from Constance have been published by a collective in 2016 (under the direction of Helena Krmíčková).48 In 2000, Kejř produced a complete reevaluation of Hus’s trial in the area of legal history.49 A new reflection on Hus’s legal process, as well as the study of medieval rhetoric, was given a year earlier by Božena Kopičková and Anežka Vidmanová, who questioned the authenticity of the letters composed in Hus’s defense.50 Important contributions also have recently emerged in the field of Hussite iconography and liturgical celebration as well as the commemoration of Hus.51 In 2015 various institutions in the Czech Republic as well as abroad (especially in Germany) commemorated the 600th anniversary of Hus’s burning. The celebrations happened to coincide with Luther’s decade as well as the anniversary of the Council of Constance. In Prague, no new monument to honor Hus was constructed, as it had been a hundred years ago. Instead, all six thousand screws attaching the existing monument in Old Town Square were replaced, and a metric ton of grime was removed. Metaphorically, albeit in a somewhat exaggerated manner, this act symbolizes the different ways we may grapple with the figure of Hus today: Do we just want to replace the screws in the old memorial, or clean out the deposits of historical memory? For historians, Hussitism is in the “distant past.”52 Or is it? In 1999 Thomas Fudge wrote a letter to Pope John Paul II, in which he argued against the rehabilitation of Hus’s memory. According to Fudge, Hus was neither Luther’s predecessor nor a Catholic condemned by coincidence; he should therefore remain a medieval heretic because “there is no shame in that.”53 In the introduction to A Companion to Jan Hus (2015), Šmahel writes that “it is time for history to be emancipated fully from the theology, even if ecumenical.”54 The story of Hus, as first told through the confessional views of the first chroniclers, has not yet ended. I believe that new findings can only be brought forward through research that relies not only on methods used by the discipline of general history, but also from the history of theology, codicology, philology, literary studies, and other fields. Historians have a lot of work to do; in fact, even a fact-oriented biography of Jan Hus would, after nearly a hundred years, benefit from a completely new reworking and would bring new information that has not yet been covered by Novotný. In my view, the most important requirement for research on Hus and Hussitism, within the context of the multifaceted Church of the Late Middle Ages, is a detailed comparison with other contemporary European movements. This book attempts to suggest some areas for potential comparison.



2. Jan Hus in the Hands of Historians19

As I stated in the introductory chapter, Hus can only be seen through the eyes of the times. For the liberals, he was a fighter for freedom; for nationalists, he was pushing the rights of the nation; for the socialists, he was a revolutionary. Our times also would find a Hus that suits our needs. It is possible that today’s Hus, in comparison to the Hus of the past, may not be as exciting, since today we are somewhat indifferent to the ideals that once excited our predecessors. However, it is better to write a history of Hus that is to the point, without romantic undertones and exaggerations.

Chapter 3 Master Jan Hus: A Brief Biography When the cardinals elected the counter-pope in the September of 1378 in Fondi, they had no idea that the schism that followed would last for nearly forty years. Clement VII left for Avignon, where previous popes had already been residing since 1309. Western Christianity was thus divided into two powerful factions: one that was affiliated with Rome and the other with Avignon. The Great Schism caused a severe blow to the moral authority of the papacy and Church hierarchy, which already was corrupted by the increased financial demands of the ecclesiastical apparatus and the worldly life of the clergy. The divided Church was not able to stand effectively against its wrongdoers. For late medieval society, which had already been exposed to the demographic and social turmoil caused by the Black Death in the years 1347–53, the ecclesiastical crisis presented yet another shock and even deeper uncertainty.1 The news of the Church schism would have barely reached Jan Hus, who was then just a young boy and would have been attending the parish school in Prachatice in southern Bohemia. Perhaps a local priest mentioned the schism in his presence, but no one could have known that Jan would devote his life to the fight against the dishonors of the Church, or that he would be executed at the Council that would convene in order to eliminate this very schism. Hus was born around 1370 (a later tradition indicates 1369) in Husinec near Prachatice to a family of meager fortune. He probably acquired a basic education at the grammar school in Prachatice, after which he decided to pursue a career within the Church and enrolled at the University of Prague. In 1393 he graduated with a bachelor’s degree in liberal arts. He did not neglect his studies, though in his memoirs he later regretted his participation in various student carnival games. In 1396 he obtained a master’s degree. The mandatory two-year teaching commitment at the Faculty of Arts was not difficult for Hus. He wanted to continue working at the university, and he began his studies at the Faculty of Theology. By 1400 he became an ordained priest.

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Jan Hus: The Life and Death of a Preacher

Two years later Hus was appointed rector of the Bethlehem Chapel and diligently dedicated himself to his new office. He lived in the preacher’s house, which was adjoined to the chapel, and the preaching center of Prague’s Old Town became the focal point of his life. In the letters he wrote while in exile, and in particular while he was imprisoned in Constance, Hus asked his recipients to greet several of his friends. Among them were university colleagues, but also laymen, as well as ordinary people who lived near Bethlehem Chapel, or who regularly attended his sermons.2 During the ten years that Hus worked at Bethlehem, he established friendships with many people. His pastoral activity was multifaceted and profound. He usually held two sermons on Sundays and one to two sermons per week for feast days. During Lent, he preached daily, often even twice a day. In Advent his preaching activity also intensified. If the collection of the so-called Bethlehem Sermons (Sermones in Bethlehem) faithfully reflects the reality, Hus delivered some 280 sermons each year. To his activities at Bethlehem we must add his pedagogical work at the university as well as his duties as a student of theology. According to the testimony of the Augustinian Oswald Reinlein, in addition to the abovementioned sermons, Hus also delivered two lectures daily to students who lived at residences connected to the Bethlehem Chapel.3 An ordinary day in the life of Jan Hus can, to a certain extent, be reconstructed. Little is known of his physical characteristics with any certainty. The tall, slender figure and the bearded, rather ascetic face that we find depicted in most extant images belong to the imagination of the early modern age. During the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries Hus was styled as Luther’s predecessor. In woodcuts and engravings he was portrayed as a scholar, with the appropriate attributes of a humanist. Earlier representations may be closer to reality, as they represent Hus as a beardless priest.4 It is equally difficult to reconstruct the master’s character. The fact that even Hus’s enemies did not blame him for gross moral sins is noteworthy. The general criticisms of every heretic in the Middle Ages should not mislead us. The secret wealth that some of Hus’s critics assigned to him never existed. The yearly income of the rector of the Bethlehem Chapel was 20 schock of Prague groschen, which corresponded to the income of a typical Prague rectory. Hus certainly did not suffer from poverty; however, for his trip to Constance he did have to borrow money from his supporters. From the usual repertoire of the vices that were ascribed to heretics, pride may be ascribed to the master if we are to understand his occasionally uncompromising obstinacy when it came to theological debates as prideful. Other moral misconduct, such as sexual impropriety or drunkenness, has never appeared in the extensive body of polemical literature. In any case, Hus always strove to meet the strict morals he preached. Because he urged his pupil



3. A Brief Biography23

Martin of Volyně and other young priests to avoid the company of frequent pubgoers and not to converse too much with women, we can assume that he himself abided by such principles. A restrained lifestyle was likely not easy for him, for we know that he was rather passionate and hot-blooded in nature. For instance, in one letter he recalled how angry he would get playing chess in his youth.5 It seems that he enjoyed life and that he possessed an interest in the world around him, but this never took precedence over his moral principles and theological accountability. In his writings he demonstrates a sense of humor. His sermons given during academic festivities are often peppered with witty puns, his polemical writings with blistering sarcasm. Hus certainly was not a drab person.6 Hus lived through the reign of two kings of Bohemia, six Prague archbishops, five kings of the Holy Roman Empire, and nine popes. He lived in a time of great controversy. Bohemia had experienced an efflorescence in the second half of the fourteenth century, which in turn likely made the chaos that followed in the subsequent decades seem all the more dramatic. King Charles IV (1346–78) was the first of the Czech sovereigns to gain the Roman crown, becoming emperor in 1355. The rise of Prague as an imperial metropolis is reflected in the foundation and gradual construction of the New Town. The growing importance of the country also was highlighted by the promotion of the Prague bishopric to an archbishopric. The diplomatic talents of the first two kings from the Luxembourg dynasty, John and Charles IV, significantly expanded their Central European domain, which originally included only Bohemia and Moravia. Due to their efforts, Moravia, Silesia, Lusatia, the Upper Palatinate, and Brandenburg were added to the land holdings of the Crown of Bohemia. Cultural development also flourished. It is unlikely that Hus would have ever personally encountered Charles IV; however, the emperor’s glory lived on. During one of his sermons, Hus himself respectfully recalled the emperor as the founder of the University in Prague.7 Charles’s son and successor, Wenceslas IV, began his reign under particularly challenging circumstances following the Papal Schism. This was accompanied by a generational change in secular and ecclesiastical administration in Bohemia, which robbed Wenceslas of his father’s trustworthy advisers. The opposition of the Czech nobility and the intrigues of his brother, King Sigismund of Hungary, further complicated Wenceslas’s situation; he was captured twice by his opponents. In the end, Wenceslas was not able to deal effectively with the increasingly pressing political problems, and in 1400 he was deposed as king of the Romans by the Rhine electors. However, after the death of his rival, Rupert of the Palatine, the Roman crown once again belonged to the Luxembourgs: In 1410 two elections took place, during which Jobst, the Margrave of Moravia, was elected king of the Romans concurrently

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Jan Hus: The Life and Death of a Preacher

with King Sigismund of Hungary. The former died soon after the election, leaving Sigismund, the heir of his childless brother, to interfere in political affairs in Bohemia. This had consequences for Hus as well.8 Political upheavals and Wenceslas’s gradual resignation from active politics contrasted with the continued cultural development of the Czech Lands. The arts during the time of Wenceslas IV, particularly the creations made in the so-called Beautiful Style, in no way lagged behind the cultural production that took place during the reign of Charles IV. Even the intellectual production coming out the University in Prague did not really develop until the end of Charles IV’s reign, and especially during the reign of his son Wenceslas. During the second half of the fourteenth century—that is, in a relatively short period of time—the Czech Lands caught up with the advances of Western Europe and benefited from the cultural products and achievements of the previous centuries. This applies especially in the area of ​​religion and the Church. From the mid-fourteenth century, the material and organizational conditions of spiritual care improved significantly. The demands of believers also increased, and with them a general disgust when Church leaders did not meet certain moral standards. The religious revival found its base in the work of charismatic preachers, in the circles of concerned laypeople, and at the university.9 During his studies in the 1390s, Hus formed a group of like-minded colleagues at the University of Prague. Together they shared an interest in the philosophy of the Oxford professor John Wyclif (d. 1384). Wyclif’s theological writings, which were available in the Czech capital thanks to the work of Jerome of Prague by at least 1400, also brought powerful impulses concerning Church reform. In addition to Hus and Jerome, in the first years of the fifteenth century the nucleus of the Wycliffite reform group was formed by other young masters, such as Jakoubek of Stříbro and Stephen of Páleč. Their teacher, the slightly older Master Stanislav of Znojmo, was then intensively engaged in Wyclif’s sacramental teachings, engaging in controversial dogmatic debate. In 1403, the University of Prague condemned forty-five of Wyclif’s theses as heretical. Nevertheless, for Hus the first years of the fifteenth century passed quite peacefully. Hus even collaborated in the area of clerical reform with Archbishop Zbyněk, and in 1405 and 1407 he preached at the synods.10 However, this cooperation was soon to come to an end. From 1408 Jan Hus was drawn into steadily worsening conflict with the Church authorities. This was in part because Stanislav of Znojmo, accompanied by Páleč, had left for Italy to face charges of Eucharistic heresy, leaving Jan Hus at the head of the Czech Wycliffite reform movement. At one point Hus incurred the ire of the Archbishop of Prague, Zbyněk Zajíc of Házmburk, for a critical and allegedly outrageous sermon in which Hus showed sympathies to Wyclif. Zbyněk occupied the archiepiscopal office from 1402–11, and on several



3. A Brief Biography25

occasions sought to promote his will, even against secular power. The conflict between Wenceslas IV and the archbishop influenced Hus’s dispute with Zbyněk, whose stance pushed the Bethlehem preacher to the king’s side. The following archbishops, Albík of Uničov, and from 1412, Conrad of Vechta, were on the other hand close to the king. In comparison to Zbyněk, the latter two archbishops posed a much lesser threat to Hus. However, by then a trial against Hus was already underway at the hands of the Roman curia. The circumstances of Hus’s situation were greatly influenced by the development of the Western Schism, which did not end with the deaths of the two rival popes. After Pope Clement’s reign in Avignon, in 1394, Pope Benedict XIII was appointed and remained head of the Church during the Council of Constance. For Hus, the two consecutive Roman popes were of a greater significance, since Bohemia sided with the Roman faction. Following popes Boniface IX and Innocent VII, Gregory XII ascended the throne of the Roman pontif in 1406, and it was he who confirmed the charter of the Bethlehem Chapel for Hus and his flock. In 1409 the cardinals of both obediences convened a council in Pisa that was intended to end the schism. King Wenceslas considered a change in allegiance and would have needed support from the University of Prague. Wycliffite masters in Hus’s circle, who formed the majority of the Bohemian university nation, demonstrated a willingness to provide such support. But the Bohemian nation was only one of four nations at the university. In the so-called Decree of Kutná Hora of 1409, King Wenceslas gave three voices to the Bohemian nation when it came to the university’s self-governence, while the Bavarian, Polish, and Saxon nations together had only one voice. The superiority of one corporation in university governance encouraged the non-Bohemian members to leave Prague altogether. The Council of Pisa ultimately failed to resolve the the schism. It managed to elect a new pope, but was unable to ensure that the two previously elected popes would resign. In this turn of events, the Kingdom of Bohemia now supported the Pisan faction and the newly elected Pope Alexander V. The high hopes that Hus initially had for the Pisan papacy quickly dissipated. Alexander V intervened in the Prague dispute by ordering the confiscation of all the writings of John Wyclif and forbade all chapel preaching, which of course included the Bethlehem Chapel. The publication of the bull in the summer of 1410 and the implementation of its regulations by Archbishop Zbyněk intensified the conflict between the Hussite group and the ecclesiastical authorities. In response Hus organized a defense of Wyclif’s writings at the university and filed an appeal to the pope against the burning of Wyclif’s books. This finally triggered the trial on the part of the papal curia, and Hus was summoned to Rome. Since he did not obey the summons, neglecting even to send a proxy to represent him, Hus was excommunicated.

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Jan Hus: The Life and Death of a Preacher

John XXIII, the subsequent head of the Church in the Pisan papal lineage, pushed Hus into another conflict. When in the spring of 1412 the new pope’s commissioners arrived in Prague and began to give out indulgences in support of the crusade against Ladislaus of Naples, Hus decried the selling of forgiveness. While the anti-papal campaign gained extraordinary support among the population, it nevertheless led to a split among the Wycliffite reform group. Some of Hus’s previous colleagues and supporters, namely the masters Stanislav of Znojmo and Stephen of Páleč, renounced Wycliffism and became Hus’s most energetic opponents. Even King Wenceslas, who in the previous year supported Hus, now turned his back on him. Nor did a second defense of Wyclif’s teachings at the university improve things for Hus. Another catastrophe immediately followed. In October of 1412, for failing to appear at court, an aggravated papal excommunication against Hus was announced. All the places that Hus frequented were threatened by the interdict, which meant a complete ban on worship and of any service of the sacraments. Hus decided to leave Prague. For two years, he lived incognito in northwestern and southern Bohemia, before the high ecclesiastical politics were able to reach him again. In order to unite the three factions of the Church and to finally end the schism, King Sigismund and Pope John XXIII agreed to convene another council, this time in Constance. In 1417, thanks to a European consensus and the election of the new Pope, Martin V, the Church crisis finally came to an end. Hus also hoped that the Council would help to resolve his case. In the autumn of 1414, under increasing pressure, he accepted Sigismund’s invitation, and under the protection of a safe conduct that the king promised him he decided to go to Constance. Hus’s life journey, briefly outlined here, was to come to an end in Constance in 1415. The following chapters will introduce those areas of public life and literary production in which Hus’s influence was most pronounced.

Chapter 4 Hus the Preacher: The Appointment as Rector of the Bethlehem Chapel, 1402 “We appoint the esteemed Master John of Husinec, the rightful rector and spiritual keeper of the Chapel of the Holy Innocents, known as the Bethlehem Chapel, located in the Old Town of Prague, vacated by the voluntary resignation of the esteemed Stephen of Kolín, the last and preceding rector of this chapel, which he passed into our hands and which we have accepted and acknowledged.” Thus reads the excerpt from the charter issued by Ogier, the archbishop’s vicar general, on 14 March 1402, which had been entered into the official books of the archbishopric.1 By this time, Jan Hus had already occupied the position of university master for five years, but he was still preoccupied with his studies. This is because he continued to study theology even after reaching the rank of master in the field of liberal arts (the foundation for disciplines such as grammar, rhetoric, arithmetic, and astronomy). Like most university graduates, in June of 1400, he also was ordained as a priest.2 In order to ensure a livelihood, priests often tried to secure an ecclesiastical benefice. However, it seems that Jan Hus was not in a particular hurry to do so. In the first two years of his priesthood, Hus occasionally delivered sermons as an invited guest, already attracting some attention. The appointment as preacher of the Bethlehem Chapel ensured financial stability, but it also secured something more: the preaching office, which became his life’s mission. The appointment as preacher of the Bethlehem Chapel took place under the patronage of John of Mühlheim, who was the chapel’s founder and a member of the court of King Wenceslas. It was John who ensured the necessary political support. The impetus for the foundation of the chapel was initiated by a Prague merchant, called Kříž, who donated the land and also contributed financially to the whole project. The founding of the chapel took place on 24 May 1391. Consisting of a simple hall construction with a double Gothic gable and a trapezoidal ground plan enveloping a large space that could accommodate up to three thousand worshippers, three and a half years later the

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Jan Hus: The Life and Death of a Preacher

building was completed and the chapel was consecrated. At the time, only the Church of St. Vitus at Prague Castle, or the collegiate church at Vyšehrad, had a comparable capacity. Kříž’s new building was so large that it could hold about a tenth of Prague’s population; and it was constructed specifically for the preaching of sermons. The foundation charter of the chapel emphasized that it was God’s commandment that his word not be bound, but freely proclaimed, and it paraphrased the words written in Isaiah 1:9, “and if the Lord has not left us the seed of the word of God and of Holy preaching, we would be like Sodom and Gomorrah.”3 According to the same charter, the new chapel was to remedy the unsatisfactory state of affairs in which “preachers, especially Czech preachers, are often forced to attend to their flock in people’s homes and meager dwellings.” John may be referring to the meetings that were held in secret by the surviving sympathizers of the charismatic preacher, Milíč of Kroměříž, who in the late 1360s and 1370s gathered a host of supporters. For the common life of pious priests and laymen, as well as for former prostitutes, he founded a house called Jerusalem, which also acted as a school of preaching.4 After Milíč’s death in 1374, the facility was converted into a Cistercian college; however, the nonconformist preachers of Milíč’s school continued to exert influence and were closely watched by the archbishop’s authorities. In the spring of 1388, Vojtěch Raňkův of Ježov, a scholastic of St. Vitus Cathedral and the executor of Milíč’s will, commissioned a group of people, which happened to include the former preacher’s supporters, with the restoration of Jerusalem. Among the names we find the theologian Matthias of Janov and the merchant Kříž.5 As the Mühlheim charter suggests, it may be concluded that even seventeen years following its creator’s death, Milíč’s movement lived on in some circles. In the Bethlehem Chapel, not far from the original location where Jerusalem had once stood, this movement was to reach a wider audience. We have reason to believe that Jan Hus remained in contact with the abovementioned group. From one witness statement we know that in 1401 Jan Hus and Jerome of Prague met with Kříž in the house of a pitch-maker named Wenceslas.6 Milíč’s influence on Hus’s concept of reform may be recognized in the early years of the Bethlehem Chapel’s existence. This is not to overemphasize the direct connections between the Czech reformers: over time, Hus’s reform efforts certainly moved in a direction that Milíč never intended. Yet one distinctive similarity between Milíč and Hus is evident: their emphasis on preaching. In the more difficult years of his activity at the Bethlehem Chapel, Hus was confronted with the legacy of the founding generation. In 1410, he filed an appeal against the papal bull that banned preaching in the chapel. In the text of the appeal, stylized by John of Jesenice, the Bethlehem founding



4. The Appointment as Rector of the Bethlehem Chapel, 140229

charter is cited.7 Later, in 1413, in his Czech Expositions Hus mentions his enemies’ attempt in the year prior to close down and demolish the Bethlehem chapel. He states, “and the secular people, and especially the Germans and some Czechs, desired to tear down the Bethlehem Chapel, where the bread [of the word of God] is given.” In the charter of 1391 John of Mühlheim states,“I have found it appropriate to call this chapel Bethlehem, which means ‘house of bread,’ so that the common people and the faithful of Christ can refresh themselves with the bread of the holy sermon.”8 Hus is thus clearly referencing Bethlehem’s founding charter. Mühlheim and Kříž intended to each set up a benefice at the Bethlehem Chapel. While Mühlheimer’s candidate, John Protiva of Nová Ves, was approved by the archbishopric in the summer of 1391, Kříž’s chosen candidate, John Štěkna, apparently encountered some difficulties with the Church authority. In any case, he was never officially named preacher of the Bethlehem Chapel, and instead Kříž established the altar benefice. It is interesting that both candidates for the position of preacher of the Bethlehem Chapel later turned against the Wycliffite reform group. After Protiva, the university master Stephen of Kolín was named the rector of the Bethlehem Chapel. But in 1402, he resigned from the position in order to facilitate the appointment of Hus. At that time, Matthias of Tučapy held the altar benefice, which was replaced in the first half of 1412 by someone named Jacob. The second preaching position that was originally planned thus remained unoccupied. Only in April of 1411 does Nicholas of Miličín, Hus’s student, appear in records as the second Bethlehem preacher.9 Hus likely embraced his new role as preacher with enthusiasm. However, as the rector of a chapel that did not have parochial rights and that functioned within the precinct of the Church of St. Philip and James, it was important that he saw eye to eye with its parson. The relationship between the Bethlehem Chapel and the no longer extant church, which once stood on the site of Bethlehem Square, was negotiated even before the Bethlehem Chapel was established. At that time, the parson Ulrich, in return for a yearly salary of 90 groschen, agreed to the formation of the chapel and its corresponding benefice. Later on 1 April 1403, Hus concluded a new agreement with Nicholas Zeiselmeister, the new parson of the Church of St. Philip and James. In order to renew a mutually beneficial relationship, Hus and Zeiselmeister convened at the house of John Eliae and mutually agreed that the compensation paid to the parish priest would increase onefold compared to the original, and it was agreed that mass sung at the Bethlehem Chapel would be limited so as not to overly compete with its neighboring parish church. However, the future attractiveness of the chapel rested primarily on preaching, which was in line with the wishes of both the founders and Hus.

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We may estimate that during his rectorship of the Bethlehem Chapel, Hus carried out around three thousand sermons from its pulpit. This is a respectable number. But was this amount and its effect exceptional for the period? Judging by the intensity of late medieval preaching, it was not. Esteemed preachers of the period were accustomed to attracting a significant number of listeners during their sermons. Itinerant preachers, such as the Catalan Dominican Vincent Ferrer, traveled through a large part of Latin Europe. The effect of their words was not diminished even if they relied on interpreters to deliver their message. Penitential and peace movements instigated by preachers had a long tradition, especially in Italian cities. Another of Hus’s contemporaries, the Franciscan Bernardine of Siena, who was about ten years his junior, was able to galvanize his audience not only in his hometown, but also in other north Italian communities. Often, the number of interested and curious listeners was so great that they were not able to fit inside churches and the sermon had to be conducted in the city square. Such was the case at the Piazza del Campo in Siena, where Bernardine delivered a sermon to some twenty thousand people.10 The most successful preachers managed to captivate their listeners, mastering rhetorical techniques of working with an audience. For example, theatrical performances with exaggerated gestures, dialogic inserts, and visual aids were typical among mendicant orders. The reliance on certain dramatic expressiveness was likely common amongst all preachers. The use of illustrative stories, living examples, instructive allegories, and exemplary insights from everyday life were quite popular. However, they were not a necessary condition for success. The Florentine Dominican Giovanni Dominici opposed the use of such exaggerated short stories and rhetoric adornments drawn from secular literature, thus challenging the preaching style of Bernardine of Siena. When in 1400 Dominici returned to his hometown from Venice, a visitor described his sermon as follows: “I say to you, I have never heard such a sermon, nor has such a sermon ever been spoken. And indeed, the friends of God began to rise, to halt the lazy life of the clergy and laity. [. . .] We all either wept or stood in astonishment at the pure truth which he showed to the listeners.” This is indeed a telling testimony of the effect a moral sermon could achieve!11 During the time of Hus, the people of Prague were quite familiar with such a charismatic preaching style. From the 1360s they could regularly attend spectacular preaching campaigns. It was not only the well-known reformist preachers who offered education and uplifting religious rhetoric; sermons also were used to propagate the selling of indulgences, which were an important element of religious life. Campaigns seeking a spiritual revival were not connected to the existing network of parish and monastic churches. For instance, Conrad Waldhauser and Milíč of Kroměříž both got into conflict with the



4. The Appointment as Rector of the Bethlehem Chapel, 140231

official representatives of spiritual care because Prague parish priests and canons, as well as the members of the mendicant orders, belonged to the most unforgiving opponents of the reform movement. In Central Europe it was no longer the mendicants who dominated the preaching scene, as they had done during the thirteenth century. By the fourteenth century they positioned themselves as opponents of preachers of reform, who were mostly secular clergy.12 A religious education mediated through the preaching of sermons to all believers belonged to important goals of pastoral reform—propagated by Prague archbishops from the time of the latter’s inception, and attained through the extension of spiritual services provided by the parish network. If a parson could not meet the existing demand for sermons, a special benefice was set up. The fact that Bohemia, especially Prague, occupied a significant role within this context is made evident if we compare the city to that of Nuremberg, where next to the church of the mendicant brothers there were only two preachers’ benefices (a third was later established in 1426). In Prague at the beginning of the fifteenth century we find specialized preaching posts in at least fourteen parish churches.13 Numerous extant manuscripts of sermons also indirectly evidence the high interest in preaching. In Bohemia, in the first half of the fourteenth century, collections of sermons rarely are preserved. However, from 1350 to 1450 we know of about 140 collections and postils of Czech origin—a truly respectable number not only for Central Europe—most of which were written by preachers who were connected to a university or to city churches.14 Such a lively operation of sermons is simultaneously an indicator of a religious and cultural efflorescence experienced by Czech society in the second half of the fourteenth century. Hus had to first find his own place within the preaching territory of Prague. Immediately after his consecration as priest he began delivering sermons. Later, when he was in Constance, he reminisced how in his first year of preaching he wrote a book of sermons. “It was, I think, in the year of our Lord 1401,” he wrote.15 His recollection seems to be correct, because he was ordained in the summer of 1400. Initially, parson Bernard from the Church of St. Michael in Old Town allowed Hus to preach from his pulpit.16 In one letter Hus remarked that he was able to preach more than twelve years before having to leave Prague in the fall of 1412.17 His first full year of preaching began with Advent in 1400 and included most the following calendar year. He must already have gained some notoriety; otherwise, it is unlikely that Kříž would have noticed him when the latter was searching for a preacher for the Bethlehem Chapel. Indeed, John Protiva later remarked on one of Hus’s sermons that it was much talked about. This was because he criticized the fact that the Czech people had not adequately defended their country against the Meissen troops, who had invaded the country after King Wenceslas IV was

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Jan Hus: The Life and Death of a Preacher

deposed. For the first time in one hundred years foreign troops had invaded Czech territory, which greatly angered the population. From the pulpit Hus thus stated that the Czech people were more pathetic than dogs and snakes, who do protect their nests.18 A comparison to dogs and snakes as well as a reference to the Meissen invasion, an immediate subject of concern in the early fifteenth century, demonstrates that Hus was already a masterful preacher early in his career.19 Demonstrative comparisons and instructive stories also can be found in Hus’s oldest collection of sermons, called Puncta, which reflect the beginnings of his preaching activity. The sermons and postils preserved in manuscripts should not be understood as literal recordings of orally preached sermons. And they can hardly convey to us the finesse of his rhetoric. Written sermons may either be the preacher’s own notes that served as a template, or they may be the result of notes written down after the sermon had been delivered. In the latter case, the entry could either be something that was edited by the preacher himself, or it may be a record written down by a listener who may have reworked the sermons after the fact. Written versions of sermons delivered in Latin at universities and synods may be the closest in form to their oral counterparts. It is highly probable that they were delivered in the form in which they appear in codices, with all the rhetorical ornament of the learned apparatus.20 Two of Hus’s synodal sermons and six university sermons have been preserved. Of the latter, two ceremonial speeches were given in connection with a requiem mass for Charles IV, the founder of the University of Prague. Of course, Hus did not deliver these addresses at the Bethlehem Chapel; sermons given to a university congregation were held at the churches of St. Gallus, St. Clement, or St. James.21 Most of Hus’s preserved sermons come from his activity as a popular preacher. Although he lectured in Czech, many of his sermons were disseminated in written form in Latin. We can imagine the development of the Hus’s Latin collections of sermons as follows: at the end of a given Church year, Hus reworked his sermons into book format, which he then made available to interested readers—most likely students and preachers. Attacks at the current religious-political events were not of great use in such a text. Therefore, any spontaneous and specific statements directed at the Church and related political affairs that would be of particular interest to us, and which may have been heard by a listener of the sermon, thus remain obscure––unless they were recorded by a listener out of admiration, or for the purpose of denunciation. To this category belong other collections besides the abovementioned Puncta. In the collection of sermons called Collecta, from 1404/05, most polemical remarks pertaining to current affairs were omitted. However, Postilla adumbrata, the collection from 1411/12, edited by Hus at the end of the year,



4. The Appointment as Rector of the Bethlehem Chapel, 140233

contains some insights into the events of 1412, a particularly turbulent year. Another group of Hus’ homiletic works were referred to as the “Biblical course.” They belong roughly to the period when he lectured at the Faculty of Theology, after obtaining his bachelor’s degree, and may have been created to act as guide for Hus’s students and younger followers. Postila de tempore (for Sundays and moveable holidays), called Leccionarium bipartitum (a two-volume lectionary, divided into winter and summer portions), a sermon collection on saints (Sermones de sanctis), a sermon collection for Lent (Quadragesimale), and an interpretation of the Passion of Christ contain sermons on relevant biblical readings, bringing excerpts from the corresponding homilies written by the Church fathers. They also covered sermons for the entire Church year, making them ideal for the use of other preachers, and may be dated roughly to the second half of the first decade of the fifteenth century.22 A special case among Hus’s collections of sermons are the so-called Bethlehem Sermons (Sermones in Bethlehem) dating to 1410/1411. They were not produced and published by Hus, which makes them rather unique. It seems that they were written by two of his pupils to whom the master had entrusted his materials for the purpose of making them public. Since both editors also relied on their own notes, which they would have noted down as listeners, the two manuscript versions of the Bethlehem Sermons give us an idea of what Hus’s actual sermons may have been like.23 The collections of sermons in the last phase of Hus’s activity at the Bethlehem Chapel reveal that their author was increasingly burdened by various lawsuits, which were brought against him, along with various associated controversies. Such events were sometimes reflected in the text of his sermons. Moreover, it may be observed that Hus did not have the time to prepare the collections for publication with the same care he had devoted to his earlier works. Hus’s earlier sermons had also seen a much wider dissemination. The first postils, in book form, survive in nearly ten copies each. In addition, there are between three and fourteen manuscript copies of Hus’s university sermons. Of above-average success in terms of dissemination were Hus’s sermons given at Church synods and works associated with the “Biblical course” that are preserved in twenty to thirty manuscripts. The overall effect of Hus’s written sermons can be appreciated when we consider how they were used by other preachers. Several sermon collections were brought together during Hus’s lifetime and after his death by authors who used texts of the famous master as a template. For instance, the Augustinian canon, Wenceslas Pašek of Volyně, or the South Bohemian Hussite rector, Nicholas Mníšek, both drew profoundly on Hus’s collections in compiling their own collection of sermons.24 In addition, certain anonymous postils also contain extensive quotations from his sermons. For instance, the author of the Dicta de tempore (Speeches for the Liturgical

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Year)—if it was not Hus himself—used sections of Hus’s works, which he mixed with the postil of Conrad Waldhauser. In this way, Hus’s sermons had an afterlife in the lively preaching milieu of the Late Middle Ages.25 As has been stated, the sermons preserved in manuscript form do not capture the exact wording of their spoken counterpart. They were copied to serve as a storehouse and model for other preachers. Although we will never know exactly what Jan Hus preached from his pulpit at the Bethlehem Chapel, his postils demonstrate which themes, theses, and criticisms he considered appropriate for his listeners. To a significant extent, the manuscript sermons are characterized by repetitive maxims and clichés, but we still find space in them for creativity and variation—a necessary prerequisite, since the course of each liturgical year would have confronted the preacher with the same texts and themes. Let us consider the development of Hus’s preaching, taking as an example the sermons written for the fifteenth Sunday after the Feast of the Holy Trinity. The key sentence of the evangelical text for this day, taken from Matthew 6:24– 34, reads as follows: Nemo potest duobus dominis servire (“No one can serve two masters”). The sermon for this passage may be found in Hus’s first postil—the Puncta, in the Collecta, and in the summer part of the Leccionarium. Twice the above verse is mentioned in the Sermones in Bethlehem, again in the Adumbrata, and also in the Czech Postil. Hus always adapted the main theme of his sermons to correspond with specific circumstances and to meet the specific needs and outlook of his audience. For instance, in the Puncta, he was attempting to convey an easily graspable interpretation. In the Bible it states, “You can not serve God and Mammon.” Hus clarified the meaning using the words of St. Augustine: “Just as the physical eye can not simultaneously look upwards to the heavens and downwards to earth, the mental eye can not simultaneously deny both heavenly and earthly things.” Hus emphasizes the path to heaven or hell in the example of the merchants, who prior to selling goods in different kingdoms must first find out what each kingdom is lacking. In a similar manner the poor are sent to heaven, where suffering, poverty, and hunger do not exist. Conversely, the rich and the gluttons are sent to hell, where there is no such thing as luck, wealth, or revelry. A medieval preacher could find short illustrative stories with allegorical undertones, called exempla, in manuals made specifically for this purpose. While working on the Puncta, Hus made good use of such texts. From the popular Lives of the Philosophers he used the well-known tale of Alexander and Diogen to illustrate how not to be controlled by worries and concerns about one’s own property. Hus also draws numerous examples from the animal kingdom. When it comes to the subject of an ostentatious but dishonest love of God, Hus reminds the reader of a mother ape who according to belief cradles her offspring close to her chest but does not love her young. In the Puncta, the



4. The Appointment as Rector of the Bethlehem Chapel, 140235

exampla are usually given in a succinct form. For instance, when it comes to the exemplum on the theme of “serving only one master,” the full text in the Puncta is as follows: “Example: Pliny says, the lion is kind to all who serve him. This may be observed in the story of the shepherd, who became powerful but was then thrown to the lions by the emperor. However, one lion helped him, for [the shepherd] had previously pulled out a thorn [from the lion’s paw].” With such a miserably told story, a preacher would have likely been heckled off his pulpit. From this manuscript note, a speaker would have had to create a story that would capture his audience. Nevertheless, the narrative materials of the Puncta presents us with valuable insights into the rhetorical repertoire that Hus would have used in his early years to capture the attention of his listeners.26 Two collections of sermons by Hus contain meager traces of the master’s own text. The sermon on the gospel Nemo potest in the Collecta (1405) consists mainly of statements declared by the Church fathers, with only about a quarter coming from Hus himself. Most of the text is composed of excerpts from the homilies of Chrysostom, Augustine, and Jerome. The author apparently intended to compile a collection of acclaimed, authoritative statements by the “holy doctors.” Nevertheless, Hus was still able to incorporate what was on his mind, addressing greedy clerics with sharp words. For instance, paralleling the passage from the Gospel of Luke, where it states that “the Pharisees, who loved money, heard all this and sneered at Jesus” (Luke 16:14), Hus proclaimed, “today it is the clerics who laugh at Jesus for they can not quench their greed. Out of avarice they desire benefices and accept them in great numbers. Others sell the sacraments, others rob people through hypocrisy, lies, and deception. [. . .] Oh, if only they could hear the voice of the Lord: No one can, at the same time, devotedly serve two masters.”27 The Leccionarium bipartitum (1407) may be described as a guide to homiletics and exegesis. The first paragraph of the sermon on the subject of “No one can serve two masters” offers a proper schematic outline, commonly used for the internal division of medieval sermons. What follows, however, is a collection of glosses and quotes from the Bible and the Church fathers explaining individual parts of the Sunday gospel. The connection between the Leccionarium and teaching gives it a special place among Hus’s postils, something that is already suggested through its graphic layout. For instance, the pericope is written in larger letters and single words are accompanied by brief glosses written in delicate letters that facilitate a direct understanding. A corresponding text composed of letters of a medium size then serves to offer an interpretation for each line, consisting mostly of biblical and patristic quotations. Hus already had employed some of these citations in the Collecta, while others uniquely situate the Leccionarium within the university context. In the Collecta the etymology of the word “mamon,” deriving from Syrian,

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meaning “wealth,” or a luring demon that tempts his victims with promises of wealth, Hus had adapted from Chrysostom. However, within the same context, in the Leccionarium, Hus quotes Peter Lombard, the author of the most important theological textbook of the period. In a sermon delivered to the common people in the vernacular tongue, such extensive interpretations with difficult Latin vocabulary were hardly appropriate. The collection was thus intended for students and priests, who could use the material as an aid for their own sermons.28 Hus never completely abandoned the scholastic-theological approach, believing that it was the only way to reveal divine truth. In the so-called Bethlehem Sermons, at the beginning of his sermon on the fifteenth Sunday after the Trinity, he included a rather complex passage on the essence of reign, in which he even resorted to using terminology taken from university disputes. In another sermon, however, Hus used the form of a dialogue in which he anticipated and answered possible questions and objections of a fictitious interlocutor. From his pulpit, Hus thus attempted to convey to the people a rather demanding content and to make it as clear as possible. The opening passage, however, had another goal: It introduced the beginning of a polemical attack aimed at “sinful lords.” The theme of “serving two masters” had evolved from a moral appeal against luxury and extravagance to a political commentary. Hus says, “everyone who finds himself in mortal sin deprives himself of the true reign that the Lord God had given him under the condition that he will not abuse this reign. For when he is in mortal sin, he is not worthy of his property, for he is the adversary and enemy of the high Lord and a traitor of Jesus Christ.”29 The text of the sermon Nemo potest, in the collection Postilla adumbrata, demonstrates considerable consistency with corresponding passages in the Bethlehem Sermons. But the relationship between the two collections is complicated. The Sermones in Bethlehem, dating back to the Church year 1410/1411, are listed according to the liturgical year 1412, while the Adumbrata of 1412 correspond to the sequential order of feast days in 1411. It thus seems likely that during the most tumultuous years of Hus’s dispute with the Church authority, Hus was too busy and too exhausted to write new material and relied on older content for his sermons. Reworked, the sermons then found their way into circulation in various forms. In the collection Postilla adumbrata, the closing paragraph of the short sermon for Nemo potest clearly touches upon current events: “This year there is a controversy over the following article: If one is in mortal sin—no one is a lord, no one is a prelate or a bishop.”30 Hus here reminds his listeners and readers of one of Wyclif’s writings, which he had defended during a disputation shortly before delivering this sermon.31



4. The Appointment as Rector of the Bethlehem Chapel, 140237

In the Czech Sunday postil (1413), Hus profited from his work and experience in the previous years. He only borrowed one quotation (from the Venerable Bede) for the sermon for the fifteenth Sunday. While in other places of the postil Hus included polemical and personal passages, in the Nemo potest he focused entirely on the gospel’s exegesis. He did not miss the opportunity to make a critical remark about the “Pharisees” who ridiculed Christ, but as a primary goal he followed the vernacular interpretation of the Bible intended for a lay audience. Therefore, in reference to Matthew 6:28 that reads, “Look at the field lilies as they grow,” Hus noted that there is no Czech equivalent for the “lily,” but that it is “a very white flower.” And when he addressed the dilemma of serving two masters and of God’s love, he compared it to the dilemma of a young man who has two loves.32 This short promenade through six sermons addressing the same theme demonstrates that Hus was capable of adapting the interpretation of a given text from Scripture to the immediate situation. In the sample that we examined above, Hus used forty quotations, mostly from the sermons of Augustine of Hippo and that of John Chrysostom. While building up a stock of exegetical authorities, the works from the first half of his career can, to an extent, also be described as exploratory. In the years of polemical struggles, Hus reached for a somewhat different repertoire of quotes. In the Czech Postil, he combined the two, creating a sort of synthesis from the two periods of his preaching career. Although the postil is written as a text to be read, it represents Jan Hus’s legacy as a preacher. In a letter to Havlík, a young priest and likely his deputy at the Bethlehem Chapel, Hus gives advice on how to live a good life as a preacher. He instructs, First of all, live a devout and holy life, and then teach faithfully and truly. Be an example to others in good works, lest you be reproved in speech. Correct sins and commend virtues. Threaten with eternal punishment those who live wickedly, but to those who are faithful and live piously hold out eternal joy. Preach assiduously, but briefly, and with utility, with a prudent understanding of the Holy Scriptures. Never posit uncertain and dubious tenets, lest you be reproved by adversaries who take joy in disparaging their neighbours and slandering the servants of God. [. . .] Preach assiduously against debauchery, as much as you can, for that is the most ferocious beast which devours men.33

It is therefore not surprising that Hus tried his utmost to achieve this ideal in his own work as a preacher. In the Expositions written in Czech, Hus acknowledged that at the beginning of his career he was afraid to openly criticize evil. He states that the Savior had given him the courage to utter the truth face to face to anyone.34

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Jan Hus: The Life and Death of a Preacher

Even though we may find criticism of the clerical lifestyle in his sermons from the very beginning of his preaching activity, a certain radicalization may indeed be observed in his later writings. The character of Hus’s sermon delivery also changes. His oldest postil was still in the traditional preaching style. However, Hus soon gives up the telling of prodigious stories and short-lived fables. In the sermon for the Feast of the Holy Innocents, he emphasizes that the preacher should teach through word and through deed, never “entertaining his listeners with fictions and fables.”35 Undeniably then, as a preacher Hus went through a development that reflected both the events of the times and his own theological demands.36 The same could be true for his listeners. Hus’s success and importance as a preacher is connected to his goaloriented instruction he gave his listeners and supporters. As we have seen, the sermons that he delivered at the Bethlehem Chapel were not out of the ordinary, the size of his congregation was not unusually large, and the effect on his audience was not particularly strong. Only in connection with his long-term teaching and pastoral activities does the Bethlehem Chapel (even though it was not a parish church) become a unique center of reform. And Prague provided fertile ground for a preacher propagating reform. Hus used this potential skilfully and deliberately, gaining in popularity and notoriety as can be seen in the increasingly stronger response to his speeches. Roughly speaking, in the Late Middle Ages a popular preacher could have easily been labeled a heretic or a saint. The ministers mentioned above, Bernardine of Siena and Vincent Ferrer, were both canonized after their death, but in 1426 Bernardine had to travel to Rome to defend himself before the pope against charges of heresy. A few years later, another successful preacher, the Carmelite Thomas Connecte, was burned at the stake. Such a verdict was not always based on the preacher’s teachings, but often had to do with current politics and power imbalances. Indeed, in a letter written in 1413 Hus himself judged that he was being persecuted only because of his criticisms of the clergy’s misdeeds.37 In the accusations made against Hus, his sermons played a decisive role. However, it was not the ecclesiastical or reformist content of his sermons that were the crux of the problem. The main issue was that Hus continued his preaching in spite of the ecclesiastical prohibition, and in these sermons to the people he expressed criticism against the internal functions of the Church, thus involving the laity in his own personal struggle. This is why Hus’s sermons will continue to be taken up in the following chapters.

Chapter 5 Prague Wycliffism and the “Learned Heresy”: The First Condemnation of Wyclif’s Articles, 1403

At one o’clock in the afternoon on 28 May 1403, all the masters of the University of Prague gathered at Charles College, summoned by Rector Walter Harraser. John Hübner, a Dominican of Silesian origin, presented to the metropolitan chapter of Prague two articles containing accusations against heretical teachings. The list included twenty-four theses selected from John Wyclif’s books, which had already been condemned in 1382 at the synod held at the Dominican convent in London. To these, Hübner added another twenty-one. From this point onward, the resulting inventory of the forty-five theses was to dictate the course of history—particularly in Constance, but also in later years the inventory was to be used as a concise summary of Wyclif’s heresies. However, nothing would change the conviction of many Wicliffites that the theses taken from his writings were wrongly extracted and distorted. A commentary on the matter in the so-called Chronicle of the University of Prague states the following: “In the year of Our Lord 1403 a terrible discord took place among the clergy of the Kingdom of Bohemia, among masters, priests and prelates, due to some articles drawn from the books of John Wyclif, the English doctor.”1 Archbishop’s official John Kbel handed over a list of alleged sins to the university; a theological assessment ensued. The stormy meeting lasted until late afternoon. The rector first allowed the public notary to read the suspicious theses. On one parchment sheet stood the London articles, and the second parchment presented the theses that were selected by Hübner. It was the latter that initiated a tense debate. The masters of the Czech university nation proceeded to vigorously defend Wyclif. Stanislav of Znojmo’s word held the most weight as he defended the articles against the accusation of heresy. His arguments agitated several older doctors to the extent that they left the meeting “because they did not want to suffer,” as we learn from sources.2 Stephen of

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Jan Hus: The Life and Death of a Preacher

Páleč, Stanislav’s pupil and friend, fully agreed with the evidence presented by his teacher. He even brought one of Wyclif’s books with him, which he threw at the negotiating table as he challenged his opponents to a duel. This is at least how ten years later Jan Hus related the story in one of his polemical writings. However, Páleč challenged this version of the story because by 1413 he had already renounced his Wycliffite sympathies. Hus also referred to this particular circumstance in his writings when he said, “Today, during a university meeting, you would no longer throw the book of Master John Wyclif in the midst of the masters, and you would not say: ‘Let anyone who wishes to rise up and attack a single word—I want to defend it.’ Back then you did that and said exactly so.”3 How did Hus behave during the debate? It does not seem that he uttered an extensive apology for Wyclif. This task still belonged to the older master, Stanislav. Hus, however, was convinced that Wyclif’s views, reproduced in the articles, were wrongly asserted. “Such counterfeiters of books should be burned,” was the voice of the apparently offended master. In any case, according to Hus the counterfeiters of books committed more serious crimes than did the delinquents Berlin and Vlaška, who at the time ended up being burned at the stake for the trafficking of saffron. The Master Nicholas of Litomyšl also felt that the articles were presented incorrectly, and he directly accused Hübner of lying, stating “you have selected the articles from the books unfairly and falsely; they do not stand there in this manner.”4 Despite these loud protests—we are not informed about the arguments of the opposed—the vote fell against the views of Wyclif’s sympathizers. The majority spoke out in favor of prohibiting further spread and private discussion of Wyclif’s views.5 Wyclif’s philosophical views were already known in Prague by the end of the 1370s. In 1385 Archbishop John of Jenštejn rejected Wyclif’s notions of dominion. However, at that time, the Englishman’s writings were not yet completely available in Bohemia. The oldest manuscript of his philosophical works, including the tracts of the basic concepts of medieval philosophy, the so-called ideas and universals, dates back to 1397. In the following year, Hus transcribed them himself. The writings had reached Bohemia at the hands of traveling university students. Czech scholars could therefore use the scholarship established by Vojtěch Raňkův to study at Oxford University or in Paris. Some sources claim that Wyclif’s books arrived in Bohemia thanks to Master Mařík Rvačka. If this is correct, his journey to Oxford must have taken place some time in the mid‑1380s. For the future inquisitor, and one of Wyclif’s and Hus’s most resolute opponents, this would have been a fundamental turning point, something that should not be ruled out. However, the intentions of another visitor to Oxford, Jerome of Prague, are clear. During his stay in England, from 1399 to 1401, this prominent Czech Wycliffite provided copies



5. The First Condemnation of Wyclif’s Articles, 140341

of the Englishman’s theological works, such as the Dialogue and Trialogues. Oxford continued to attract Czech scholars in later years as well. In 1406, George of Kněhnice and his friend Nicholas Faulfiš brought back to Prague not only the manuscripts, but also a stone that they had taken from Wyclif’s grave. Faulfiš visited England a total of three times and died en route during a tragic boat accident in 1411.6 The response in Bohemia to Wyclif’s writings was exceptionally strong. From the extant Hussite catalogs, it appears that over 90 percent of about 150 works of the Oxford scholar were known there. The number of preserved Bohemian manuscripts exceeds even Wyclif’s extant work in England.7 Hus soon realized the controversial potential of these writings. He expressed it in the following Czech verses: “Oh Wyclif, Wyclif,/ You will twist more than one head. / And he already twists many / And especially those of greedy priests.”8 In his own copy of Wyclif’s writings, dating to 1398, Hus glossed the margins with sarcastic comments directed at Aristotelian philosophy, such as “here they teach Aristotle a lesson” or even more harshly, “Averroes has soiled his underpants.” He further provoked potential adversaries with the words, “Haha, Germans, haha, come and get him [i.e., Wyclif]!”9 The fourfold mention of the Germans in the glosses in the margins of the book, always accompanied with a derisive “haha,” may be better understood with an explanation of the current situation at the University of Prague. While Wyclif’s philosophy followed the so-called old way (via antiqua), which assumed the general concepts of a real existence outside of human consciousness, the majority of the members of the three “German” university nations upheld socalled nominalism (via moderna), which, generally speaking, acknowledged the construction of human reason only. Therefore, at the core of the dispute was the concern with the notion of “universals,” as the general concepts were called. In other words, is what we perceive as common among all representatives of one species simply the creation of the human intellect, or does this “universal” possess an independent existence? This question provoked much controversy in medieval philosophy. However, the issue was even more complicated. While the extreme views assumed the existence of general concepts before things or after things, both Wyclif and Hus defended the concept of universals in things. Medieval philosophers also dealt with the question of the difference between what is universal and that which is singular to a thing. To follow these debates closely would take us beyond the scope of the present work. For our interpretation, it suffices to point out that Hus followed the English thinker in decisive realism. Extremely abstract questions regarding the doctrine of universals had far-reaching practical implications. Prague Wycliffites emphasized the notion of an archetypal or “ideal” world even more than did Wyclif himself.

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According to this view, this world consists of the most sophisticated universals, which are nothing less than ideas of ​​divine reason, according to which God created a sensually perceptible world. Comparing the earthly everyday material world with the perfect world of ideas inevitably led to the effort of wanting to recreate this ideal world with the help of reforms. For Wyclif, the false understanding of the doctrine of universals, along with its lack of full consideration, was at the root of all evil in the Church and within society. He literally wrote that “the error in understanding and in affect (affectus) towards universals is the cause of all sins that rule in this world.”10 When Wycliffites and Hussites criticized the crimes of the world as “human inventions,” which contradict God’s law and should be removed, they were arguing on the basis of their philosophical conviction. However, the results of philosophical considerations also coincided with the existing corrective tendencies. Older Czech reform thinkers, such as Matthias of Janov, developed similar concepts of reform without relying upon the doctrine of universals.11 This raises the question of the reception and adaptation of Wyclif’s ideas in Bohemia. To a certain extent, the approach of Prague Wycliffites to the doctrine of the Oxford doctor was selective. As early as 1402, Stanislav of Znojmo declared that in Wyclif’s books one may find “among thorns, some of the most beautiful roses, although it must be admitted that here and there he was in fact claiming much heresy.”12 However, such ambivalent expressions could have been made due to concerns about his own safety and in order to prevent accusations of heresy. John Štěkna, who had returned from Kraków in 1405, called Stanislav’s two-year-old tract on the Eucharist “the new seedbed of errors.” According to Hus’s later testimony, Stanislav said that “monk Štěkna will have to kneel before me and beg for forgiveness.”13 In the end it was Stanislav who had to adopt an air of humility, because in 1406 he was summoned before the archbishop. In regard to the sacraments, he renounced his errors, defending himself by explaining that his views were expressed during academic debate and that he was willing to refute them completely in his second treatise, which he later did. The discussion continued with the participation of Masters Andrew of Brod, Jakoubek of Stříbro, and Jan Hus. From 1406 to 1408 the subject of Wycliffite doctrine regarding the Eucharist also was addressed during synods. In 1408, Master Ludolf Meistermann brought an accusation of heresy against Stanislav at the Roman curia. That same year, Master Matthias of Knín was even imprisoned for proclaiming a Eucharistic heresy, and although he was not shown to be a heretic, he was forced to make a recantation.14 These actions were in full compliance with the practice of medieval universities. Since the thirteenth century, when theology was established as a professional university discipline, censorship was not uncommon and



5. The First Condemnation of Wyclif’s Articles, 140343

lay in the purview of academics themselves, that is, with the university selfgovernment. As a result, many cases of the suspicion of heresy could be solved within the university. Although university officials preferred disciplinary proceedings before a court hearing, they were not always able to avoid court. If the false doctrine in question exceeded the boundaries of the university, the ecclesiastical office intervened—such as a local bishop or the papal curia. However, even in these cases, professional assessment of the given teaching was carried out by university experts, that is, by members of the academic community. While most of the proceedings involving “heretical” views of scholars resulted in a conviction, the sentence rarely included execution, since it was the idea that was being condemned, not the person. The accused could, in most cases, continue with their academic careers. The common late medieval practice of extracting fallacious theses from suspicious books and creating a catalog of heretical articles, which would later serve as a guide, affected academic theological debate. It was convenient for the Church authorities to have a clear overview in manuscript form on hand. These articles were used as a reference but without any regard to their original context. If they were found to be heretical, they were presented to the defendant as a whole for abjuration. Commenting on this matter the university Chancellor Jean Gerson said the following at Constance: “The famous University of Paris [. . .] forces their scholastics to speak according to certain rules of belief. If only such a discipline were to be followed in other universities! It is a false freedom, being allowed to speak wrongly and misleadingly.”15 Therefore, the question of truth turned into a question of obedience before the ecclesiastical court. Most scholars of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries were in agreement with such procedures. Because an actual conviction of heresy required the accused to stand by and persist in his heretical views, it was thus not necessary to punish the accused by death, provided he recounted and redacted his heretical teachings.16 The type of academic disciplinary action described above was only effective for as long as all of its participants were made subject to one and the same authority. It was ineffective against Wycliffism and Hussitism for several reasons. First, Hus did not recognize the authority of a Church court, since such an authority would allow the Church to exalt itself above the authority of God and His law. Against such censorship he established a qualified interpretation of God’s commandments. If over the course of the fifteenth century, the decisions of the ecclesiastical courts were replaced by university responsa, it was the result of this approach. Secondly, the dispute over Wyclif and Hus took place in a different atmosphere than that which prevailed at the beginning of the fourteenth century. Since the time of the Great Schism, the Western Church was increasingly faced with a dissident movement that no longer belonged only to the

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category of “learned heresies” or “the people’s heretical movement”; it combined both. The Church, but also the academics themselves, responded with increasingly repressive measures. For instance, through his bans, Archbishop Thomas Arundel of Canterbury pushed Wycliffite literature into illegality. In Bohemia, Zbyněk of Házmburk had not been able to achieve anything remotely similar. Therefore, even though an execution of a scholar had not been seen for two centuries, the Council of Constance did not hesitate to send Hus to the stake.17 The scholars at the University of Prague were initially exposed only to academic discipline. For instance, several days after the recantation of Matthias of Knín, the assembly of the Czech university nation in the House of the Black Rose, on the street Na Příkopech, in New Town, resolved that no one should hold and distribute Wyclif’s theses with heretical intentions. This decision barely corresponded to the conviction of all the present masters, including that of Hus. Rather, it reflected tactical maneuvers toward the king and the archbishop, and was perhaps also an attempt to improve Stanislav Znojmo’s prospects during his upcoming trial before the papal court. In the years that followed, Hus gradually assumed Stanislav’s role as a spokesman for the circle of reform in the Czech university nation. Later, after the departure of Stanislav and Páleč to Italy at the end of 1408, we find Hus at the helm of the Wycliffite group, a position in which he was forced to openly defend Wyclif’s teaching. This is because in his fight against Wycliffism, Archbishop Zbyněk focused on the destruction of all heretical writings. In June 1409, Zbyněk’s synod instructed that anyone with a copy of Wyclif’s books must surrender them to the archbishop’s office. Further support was given by the bull issued by Alexander V in December of 1409, which also banned preaching in the Bethlehem Chapel. Zbyněk published the papal bull at the synod held on 16 June 1410; a month later he ordered that Wyclif’s book be burned.18 For Hus, Wyclif thus attained a symbolic connotation. At the university, between 27 July and 6 August 1410, he organized a dispute regarding the destroyed writings. Because anti-Wycliffite scholars refused to participate, the dispute transformed into a series of demonstrations headed by Hus and five other like-minded masters who wanted to prove that Wyclif’s books were in agreement with the gospel. Henceforth, Hus took every opportunity to defend Wyclif. In September of 1411, John Stokes, the English jurist and diplomat, who was then passing through Prague, remarked that anyone who reads and studies the books of Wyclif will inevitably, and in time, involve himself in heresy. Hus immediately wrote a polemical answer that Wyclif was not a heretic, but that in his writings “with all his strength, he had tried to lead the people to the law of Christ, particularly the clerics, calling them to abandon worldly power and to live as Christ’s apostles.”19 With this response to Stokes, Hus wanted to protect the reputation of the Wycliffite group at the University



5. The First Condemnation of Wyclif’s Articles, 140345

of Prague. The more the dispute about Wyclif heightened, the more open and unambiguous Hus was in taking his side. For instance, from the pulpit he proclaimed that he desired his soul to rest in the same place as that of Wyclif. At another time, in the presence of some visitors at the Bethlehem Chapel, he stated that even for a chapel full of gold he would never renounce the truth that he had found in Wyclif’s books. During the interrogation, he explained his position as follows: “I accept everything that Wyclif said, not because it is Wyclif’s truth but because it is the truth of Christ.”20 This clearly expresses the symbolic meaning that Wyclif’s teachings held for Hus. If he renounced them, it would be akin to renouncing Christ; to keep silent in the face of the persecution of Christian truth would be a crime against God. It seems that after 1407, one year following the synod during which Wyclif’s teachings were condemned, Hus openly refers to the master’s teachings in extant preaching texts. While he had already used Wyclif’s work along with other contemporary authors in his written work without explicit mention of their original authors, in the summer portion of his Leccionarium he began to fully label quotes using Wyclif’s full name, although this was not always systematic. In this way he placed Wyclif at a nearly equivalent level of authority as the Church fathers. It is not surprising then, that even more frequent mentions of Wyclif appear in his postil of 1412, which marks the peak of the controversy over Wycliffite teachings.21 The openly acknowledged and even more the silent quotes from Wyclif’s writings in Hus’s works gave rise to criticism and doubt about the latter’s originality. In quantitative terms, Hus’s references to Wyclif are very frequent. In his main work, Tractatus de ecclesia [On the Church], literal quotations from Wyclif form a quarter of the total length of the text. Due to the interest in Wyclif’s work, it is therefore unsurprising that Hus and his colleagues took great care to translate some of the Englishman’s ideas not only into Latin, but also into Czech. Of these, Jakoubek’s translation of the Dialogus has survived, while the Czech version of Trialogus is sadly lost. As has been shown, however, the reliance on citations taken from Wyclif’s work does not necessarily mean that Hus appropriated all of Wyclif’s ideas, or that he followed the master in all his teachings. Citing without explicit mention of the source was common among authors of the period; Wyclif himself appropriated lengthy passages from previous authors. Each author would also reword citations in order to make the passage better suit his own purpose. By carefully choosing and inserting excerpts from other authors into his own work, the author was able to better express and draw attention to his own views. This is exactly the case with Hus’s selective usage of Wyclif’s ideas; Hus adapted Wyclif’s statements into Czech conditions. However, that does not mean that he would distance himself from Wyclif’s views—after all, Wyclif was taking the words right out of his mouth.22

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Hus agreed with Wyclif’s fundamental starting points, his philosophical realism, and its ecclesiology. In the fine details, however, the two reformists did not always see eye to eye. Recent research suggests that Hus’s reliance upon Wyclif’s ideas and texts is more a case of “creative acceptance” of Wyclif’s theses. Hus processed the impulses of the Oxford teacher against the backdrop of the domestic Czech reform tradition, and consciously ignored some of the master’s views.23 Assessing this issue thoroughly, however, is difficult because Hus had not left behind a clear, systematic work. In his writings he is often vague and even ambiguous when considering many of Wyclif’s points. In some cases he ignores them entirely, perhaps because they seem irrelevant. What is essential is that Hus never aspired to create a comprehensive philosophical-theological system; his aim was to reform Christianity and Christians according to the commandments of Christ. In this way the theoretical basis on which he leaned manifested itself quite rarely— only when the occasion called for it, such as in his university writings and associated polemics, or when he was under the pressure of a trial. Primary sources indicate that in certain cases, Hus was not willing to go as far as Wyclif and that he tried to avoid making extreme conclusions. This, however, proved to be difficult since the theoretical premises of Wyclif’s teaching led to radical consequences. In addition, Wyclif himself often abstained from stating clear conclusions. If in his work Hus tried to soften some of Wyclif’s views, it does not necessarily follow that he was distancing himself from the master, especially if we consider that Wyclif altered some of his own views over time. Within his work one may find ambivalent, even contradictory statements on one and the same theme. This can easily be illustrated in Wyclif’s two famous articles that deny rule to secular lords and sacramental powers to priests, if they are in a state of mortal sin. In his responses during the interrogation at Constance, Hus interpreted both articles in the sense that even if a sinful ruler or a priest performs his office undeservedly, his actions still remain valid. This issue will be addressed again in chapter 13 on the Church and Obedience. For now, let us simply consider Wyclif’s position, in order to clarify the mutual relationship between the two masters. In regard to secular lords, Wyclif’s and Hus’s views were very close. “Evil” lords managed their dominion in an unjust manner, but unless they directly trespassed against God’s law, their orders must still be obeyed. Following the Peasant Rebellion of 1381, Wyclif was far from questioning secular order. However, it was more problematic to question sacramental power of sinful priests. Toward the end of his life, Wyclif moved on the edge of a Donatist heresy (at times even crossing that threshold), which denied the validity of sacraments administered by sinful priests. In his slightly older writings on the Church, however, he explicitly emphasized that even a



5. The First Condemnation of Wyclif’s Articles, 140347

priest who is in the state of mortal sin can administer the sacraments, which are essential for the believers. Therefore, in his defense at Constance Hus was relying on Wyclif’s proposition.24 In other cases, we can assume that Hus purposefully formulated his version of Wyclif’s controversial theses in a deliberately vague manner, leaving some things unresolved. He made use of the intricacy of the problem and the complexity of scholastic debate. We can see how Hus does not mention potentially dangerous theses that were not the focus of his immediate interest, as demonstrated, for instance, in his consideration of the Wycliffite teaching about the sacrament of the altar. Here the philosophical premise is associated with far-reaching theological consequences; it is also why it suited the enemies of philosophical realism, particularly in regard to Eucharistic theology, in which they enthusiastically identified heretical ideas. Wyclif’s views on the Eucharist were already an issue at the time of his London condemnation in 1382. The official Eucharistic doctrine of transubstantiation, the idea that through consecration the substance of the bread and wine converts to the body and blood of Christ, was promoted at the Fourth Lateran Council of 1215. The opposite conception, which was considered heretical, was labeled a remanence. According to this view, after consecration, the substance of the bread remains the same. The realistic concept of universals leads almost naturally to the concept of remanence, since the substance of bread—that which is to all bread common, that is, its “breadiness”—exists in God’s reason. It is therefore eternal, and cannot easily be lost or destroyed.25 Strictly speaking, two variants of the theory of remanence may be distinguished. Either both substances of the consecrated host—the bread and the body of Christ—coexist, or only the essence of bread remains and the host is only symbolically called Christ’s body. It is obvious that the second, more radical option denies the true presence of Christ within the Eucharist, a view to which Wyclif ascribed in his later writings. However, the realists of Prague, such as Stanislav of Znojmo and later also Jakoubek of Stříbro, came up with a moderate version, known as consubstantiation. Where was Hus in this spectrum? In his Constance answer to the forty-five theses outlining Wyclif’s heresies, he denied having ever taught any thesis in regard to the Eucharist. The first two articles of the condemned forty-five theses formulated the theory of remanence, and the third denied any real presence. To the thesis regarding the remanence, Hus added that “I do not, and have never upheld this view because I follow the understanding of the Saints and the Church.” The third article he marked as outright wrong.26 Hus’s scattered statements do not offer a very clear picture of his beliefs about the Eucharist. Statements that had not been produced under the pressure of interrogation, however, point to a moderate doctrine of remanence. In the

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sermons, he explained transubstantiation as follows: “We firmly believe that through transubstantiation His power is made tangible within the bread, so that where before there was only bread, we now have His true body.” However, this does not exclude the possibility of consubstantiation. In any case, in regard to the bread of the Eucharist, Hus held that “after consecration it is not only bread, but the true body of our Lord Jesus Christ.”27 But this means that if the Host is not “only” bread, it implies that it is also bread. Besides, Hus did not deny the testimony according to which he should say, “I would like to know what is broken within the host, if there is no remnant of bread.”28 A possible answer would be that the accidents of bread (that is, the properties of one particular, individual piece of bread) continue to exist within the host without the substance of the bread. For a realist and sympathizer of Wycliffite leaning, the idea that the original substance of the bread was destroyed was hardly acceptable. Remanentist doctrines were forbidden during the synod of 1406 by Archbishop Zbyněk, and again two years later. According to the resolution of the synod, the sacrament of the Eucharist, in which “nothing of the bread remains,” should continue to be preached.29 Hus and his lawyer, Jesenic, appealed against this synodal statute because, in their opinion, it did not correspond to the truth, for “after the consecration,” judged Hus and Jesenic, “it is not only the body of Christ that is present in the Blessed Sacrament.”30 During the trial at Constance, Hus’s close friend Jerome of Prague asserted that he does not wish to follow Hus and his understanding of the Eucharist, which he considered to be heretical.31 How then could Hus defend himself, with such vehemence, against the accusation that he defended the doctrine of remanence? How is it that the English doctors who were present during his trial at Constance found his testimonies without fault? Numerous witnesses accused Hus of upholding the doctrine of remanance already in Prague. Hus denied that he had preached this doctrine to the people: to express such nuances in Czech would have been difficult, due to the lack of appropriate Czech terminology. As may be gathered from his replies, he considered the Eucharistic scholarly debate acceptable. Hus further insisted that he did not believe that the substance of the material bread remains in the consecrated bread (but in some of his testimonies, he also spoke about the substance of the bread more generally). The statements may be reconciled with the theory of moderate consubstantiation, as formulated by Stanislav of Znojmo. According to this theory, the bread whose substance remains in the host participates in the divine substance of the body of Christ, which is also present in the host. Thanks to this participation in the most holy body, the bread thus no longer has material substance, but is supersubstantial (supersubstantialis). Perhaps this also corresponds to Hus’s belief, since he never denied the true presence of the body of Christ in the consecrated host. According to John Peklo, a witness at



5. The First Condemnation of Wyclif’s Articles, 140349

the trial, Hus regarded one of Wyclif’s forty-five articles as erroneous.32 This was probably the article that questioned the real presence of Christ within the host. His devotion to Christ was based upon authoritative points that he found in sacred Scripture. In the treatise De corpore Christi, he used the word supersubstantialis and relied on the vulgate version of the Lord’s Prayer as stated in Matthew 6:11 (panem nostrum supersubstantialem da nobis hodie, or “give us this day our supersubstantial bread”). He also based the theory of communion on the First Letter to the Corinthians 10:16: “The bread which we break, is it not the communion of the body of Christ?” Although from today’s point of view, this may seem like a word game, on account of this interpretation, Hus could legitimately deny that he defended the persistence of the material substance of bread within the Eucharist.33 The Prague version of Wyclif’s doctrine of the Eucharist also was influenced by the intense respect for the sacrament of the Eucharist that was widespread in Bohemia during the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. It was a spirituality that promoted frequent communion of laypeople, and would find its climax in the lay communion in both kinds. Because Wyclif presented various views on the Eucharist in his theological work, Hus could thus choose what suited his purposes best. His selective adherence to Wyclif’s doctrine already was influenced by the Czech reformist tradition. Hus focused on questions such as the reform of the clergy or the rectification of Christian life by constant preaching—the traditional themes associated with previous reform movements in Bohemia. But it does not seem right to state that Hus had intentionally altered Wyclif’s theses in order to avoid the accusation of heresy. Where he felt it was appropriate, he followed a more moderate version of Wyclif’s teachings, defending them as a whole. That is why he appeared as a more convinced Wycliffite than did Stanislav of Znojmo, who distinguished the Catholic truth from heresy in Wyclif’s writings. No matter how strongly Hus was devoted to Czech reformist thinking, it should not be overlooked that Wycliffism brought about a major turning point within the Czech reform tradition. Wyclif’s ideas radicalized the long-term dissatisfaction caused by the disorder in the Church. It was primarily his teaching about the Church and its authority, which furthered the Czech reform movement—or more precisely one part of it—from ecclesiastical orthodoxy. Milíč of Kroměříž and Matthias of Janov also were accused of heresy. But both were willing to defend themselves within the institutional Church and, if necessary, to subordinate themselves to its authority. Hus also wanted to defend himself within the forum of the Church, but he refused to subordinate himself to the formal authority of the Church, which in his view was itself not ultimately derived from the gospel. The break with the past that Wycliffism brought also was recognized by Hus’s contemporaries. This caused some of

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the initial supporters to distance themselves from the reform movement. John Štěkna, the designated preacher at the Bethlehem Chapel, was one of the first to fight against Wycliffism. His colleague John Protiva also joined Hus’s opponents. Therefore, after 1402, the movement associated with the Bethlehem Chapel was not the same as it had been before. Thanks to Hus and Wyclif, it had become unambiguously radicalized. At Constance, Hus was tried and convicted as a follower of Wyclif. The formulation of the decree that condemned him “not as a disciple of Christ, but rather as a disciple of the heretical John Wyclif”34 must have wounded him deeply, since he was only interested in Wyclif’s writings because in them he found the truth of Jesus Christ. Hus agreed, or mostly agreed, with only ten out of the forty-five articles.35 This does not mean that he was not a Wycliffite, but only that Hübner’s inventory did not correctly represent Wyclif’s thought. It was finally justified that the council discussed the case of Wyclif and the case of Hus together. The council’s committee, appointed for the affairs of the faith during April 1415, had been assigned with a dual task: to examine the lists of Wyclif’s articles and to “devote themselves to the issue of Jan Hus, who is held captive here for the fallacies proclaimed by John Wyclif.”36 From a doctrinal point of view, two levels of the discussed doctrine were deemed as being most dangerous: the doctrine of remanence and Donatism. Although Hus denied both doctrines, he could never shake off the shadow of heresy. In both cases the judges found sufficient support to initiate a conviction of heresy. But to what extent did this heresy flow from Wyclif’s philosophy, in other words, to what extent was this a learned heresy? During the interrogation held on 7 June 1415, Hus again proclaimed that in his teachings he had never claimed the existence of material bread in the consecrated host. Cardinal Pierre d’Ailly asked Hus if he accepted the realistic position, to which Hus admitted that he did. The cardinal then said, “it follows that after the consecration there remains the substance of the material bread.” According to d’Ailly, the Eucharistic heresy inevitably resulted from the realistic concept of universals. Hus courageously defended himself against the accusations made by d’Ailly and the Oxford theologian William Corff. He again attempted to reconcile his philosophical realism with the orthodox teaching of the sacrament of the Eucharist. He thus emphasized the real presence of Christ and stated that once transformed into the body of Christ, the individual bread ceases to be singular. To be sure, he did not refer to the persistence of the “superasubstantial” bread within the host, although it is likely that he considered this teaching to be absolutely orthodox.37 In the end, Hus was not concerned with the doctrine of remanence, not even with Eucharistic doctrine. Unlike Wyclif and Jakoubek, it seems that he was not overly troubled by the fact that transubstantiation was a relatively late



5. The First Condemnation of Wyclif’s Articles, 140351

invention of a Church tradition. It was, however, important for him to defend philosophical realism. Hus defended Wyclif’s ideas because no one had ever convinced him that they were heretical. Rather than accepting an authoritative decision on the part of the council, he asked for a discussion on the content of the thesis and its interpretation. Unfortunately, the accusation of Eucharistic heresy was extremely well suited to justify the judgment that was passed. For the council, Wyclif truly embodied heresy, and once he was convicted, no one could appeal to him or even defend him. Hus was thus burned as a conscious and deliberate proponent of the condemned Wycliffite heresy. It can be said that for the fathers at Constance, the stance on Wyclif was no less a matter of principal than it was for Hus.

Chapter 6 Jan Hus and Church Reform: The Synodal Sermons, 1405 and 1407 The synod that took place in autumn of 1407 met at the usual time, on 18 October, the feast day of St. Luke. The clergy assembled at the residence of the archbishop in the Lesser Town of Prague, not far from the Charles’s stone bridge. They discussed the usual affairs of the diocese, with witchcraft as the only new topic of discussion. From the preserved synodal statute, we learn that in some parishes in the diocese of Prague, practicing seers, fortune-tellers, witches, and enchanters were being tolerated without any intervention by local rectors. During the synod, this negligence was irrefutably halted; the rectors were ordered to expel the evildoers, to send them to the Church dignitaries where their behavior could be remedied and where they could repent. If the rectors did not act as ordered, they were considered complicit participants of these misdeeds. The synod that took place brings forth an interesting synodal sermon. The speaker spoke on the topic of State succincti lumbos (“Stand firm, with the belt of truth,” Eph. 6:14). Among other topics, he also addressed the issue of priests keeping concubines, an act that was condemned as heresy. This preacher was none other than Jan Hus. At the close of his sermon, we learn that the archbishop’s vicar general, Dr. Adam of Nežetice, suddenly arose and gave a short, spontaneous speech praising the preacher. Archbishop Zbyněk Zajíc of Házmburk even demanded a written copy of the sermon. The fact that Hus’s speech is mentioned in the synodal statute further confirms its success, something that was not altogether common. The section where wanton priests are rebuked states: “in the synodal sermon, it was proved that every cleric who fornicated is a heretic.”1 It was not the first time that Hus was named a synodal preacher. Since the establishment of the Archbishopric of Prague in 1344, the synods of the diocese were held twice a year, always on 15 June, the feast day of St. Vitus, and on 18 October, the feast day of St. Luke. The synodal sermon was to deal with

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the improvements within Church policies, in particular with the rehabilitation of the life of clerics, which included an increase in their qualifications—topics that were the focus of each synod. Being entrusted with giving such a sermon was a gesture of great recognition, and Hus was offered this opportunity on two occasions. However, gaining such trust more than once was not entirely extraordinary. For instance, we know of preachers who were entrusted with giving the synodal sermon up to three times. Hus first appeared as a synodal preacher on 19 October 1405 at the archbishop’s court in Prague. In the heading of his sermon he chose to emphasize the verse Diliges Dominum Deum tuum (“Love the Lord your God,” Mt. 22:37). How this sermon was received is unfortunately unknown. However, one manuscript with Hus’s text reveals that the archbishop had listened to the sermon “along with some important clerics and a great number of clergy who had not been seen for many years.”2 What exactly did Hus preach at the synods? The Diliges Dominum Deum addresses the inappropriate behavior of clerics.3 At the beginning of the text, however, Hus also takes up ecclesiological issues. Right at the beginning of the introduction Hus notes that he is not referring to the Church as a church building, nor in the sense of the dioceses, but of the Church as the bride of Christ and of his mystical body. Hus says that the “spiritual house” of the Church is to be built by all believers, especially by the clerics. The construction of this spiritual structure, however, does not consist of the accumulation of material goods. The main task of the earthly Church, as Hus outlines, is to follow Christ. Hus’s criticism of the Church is heavily influenced by his understanding of the history of salvation. Hus states, “the best priests were Christ and his apostles of the New Testament.” He adds, “but since the priests turned away from the origin, from Christ, and turned instead to the world, in the time of the antichrist they are among the worst sinners.” In the early Church, God’s love was still strong; “later, however, when the Church was literally overwhelmed by wealth, and the clergy’s love for God began to cool, their vileness burst. [. . .] In our times, the love for God and for one’s brothers and sisters is so extinguished, that there is little concern for spiritual matters.”4 The reference to the gospel of Matthew 24:12, where Jesus foretells the signs of the end of time and mentions the Antichrist, demonstrates that for Hus, greed and mortal sins had eschatological significance. They were pointing to the end of the present age. In this context, those who commit evil deeds become mercenaries of the devil in the final battle between good and evil. What type of evils angered Hus the most? In his extensive criticism, laziness and greed of the priests (as well as the unjustified demand of taxes, especially on the part of the Church estates) figure most prominently. In his view it is the poor people who are impacted the most by this, and it is they who are further made to give money to the brotherhoods as well as to contribute to



6. The Synodal Sermons, 1405 and 140755

magnificent Church celebrations, with all their miracles and theatrical performances. Monks and friars, who the people call the “rich or fat masters,” fare no better. Impressively, and with rather dark colors, Hus paints the image of the decayed morals of the clergy. The priests wear beautiful robes, organize hunts, and they would rather give the bread to the hounds than to those who need it. They also succumb to gambling “and being led by their father, the Devil, they join the public festivities and frivolous dances.” Under the pretext that they are going to Prague or elsewhere to study, they leave the churches in search of concubines.5 For Hus, heresy committed by the clergy is even worse than the undignified actions described above. Hus first condemns simony, or the selling and buying of church offices, ecclesiastical benefices, or sacraments. He points out that even the archbishops and correctors, appointed specifically to punish the clergy’s misdeeds, are being bribed with gifts. The rectors even force the believers to pay by refusing to bury their dead relatives. In short, relying on their authority, the clergy cultivate an advantageous business. Hus also states that some priests openly run taverns. It seems that Hus was not only bothered by the fact that they were encouraging drunkenness, but also because they were competing with the village pubs. At the end of his speech, the preacher turns to the fallacies of scholars. He not only names the representatives of the three higher faculties, but also those of the liberal arts. Such a focused critique of the clergy was quite common during Latin synodal preaching and sermons given at university masses. Similarly in Hus’s Abiciamus opera tenebrarum (“Postpone the Deeds of Darkness,” Romans 13:12), which he wrote in 1404, one may note a similarly tailor-made reprisal of the representatives of these disciplines. However, for the synod of the diocese, it was probably more significant that Hus also specified his criticisms of the candidates for the priesthood. According to him, many of them were uneducated young wanderers, afflicted with loose morals.6 Hus’s synodal sermon, State succincti (1407), referred to at the beginning of this chapter, paints a dark picture of the current state of the Church. In it, and while relying on a lengthy allegorical interpretation of the original Bible verse, Hus took advantage of the metaphor about spiritual armor in order to introduce the topic. He declared that the clergy should represent the vanguard of the Christian army in the struggle against the Antichrist. If the clergy fails, it prevents the whole army from fighting effectively. The catalog of clerical transgressions was not overly expanded in his State succinti in comparison to his Diliges. But here also Hus takes up issue with the abuses of the brotherhoods, the use of extraordinary indulgences, of fake relics, and of colorful images as a source of income. Hus particularly emphasizes seven sins of the priesthood as follows: entering into office for profit and glory,

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behaving improperly, slandering others, being inadequate teachers, oppressing their subjects, enjoying material splendor, and showing a complete lack of repentance. So far, this is a familiar critique of morals. At this point, however, the preacher gets to some specific, rather thorny themes. He criticizes the execution of the law of escheat, according to which if a subject dies without an heir, the property of the deceased falls to the landlord. At the turn of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries in Bohemia, the issue of extorted payments from indirect heirs (even from the daughters of the deceased) was among the most disputed social issues. In his sermon, Hus reminded the authorities of their duties to eradicate the sins of the people so that at the end of time they would not be held responsible for them.7 Indictments against Hus demonstrate that his sharp criticism of the clergy, something that was quite common among preachers of the time, was not always accepted. In 1408, the preachers of Prague attacked Hus and complained about his stance in which he criticized accepting or demanding money for the sacraments, either before or after they are given. This same point was taken up one year later by John Protiva, at which time he expressly recalled Hus’s synodal sermon. Contrary to Hus, Protiva was of the view that receiving a gift after the sacrament was an old custom that should be preserved. In both cases they appealed to canon law, according to which charging for the sacraments is wrong, but that at the same time it is necessary to observe old customs. Indeed, in his sermon, Hus denounced taking money for the administration of sacraments (both before or after), and labeled such an act a simony, and thus a heresy. In his response to the accusations, he used the same arguments as in his State succinci. In addition, he appealed to the approval of the archbishop and his senior officials on this issue.8 It would then seem that Hus and the Archbishop Zbyněk enjoyed a certain level of trust and cooperation. The fact that Hus’s sermon of 1407, in which he states that the clergy are fornicators, gluttons, and heretics, entered the synodal statute was not merely the result of the extraordinary effect of his speech. Rather, its inclusion in the statute was carefully calculated by both sides. In his synodal sermon, Hus had explicitly referred to the corresponding point of the provincial statute of Archbishop Ernest, given in 1349, and Zbyněk himself had restored this point in his own statute. It may be assumed that Hus knew about the forthcoming recovery of the statute, and therefore he mentioned it in his speech.9 The young archbishop was trying to put his diocese in order, and the synods and canonical visitations were thought to be the best way of doing so. After the vacancy of the episcopal see (Zbyněk’s predecessor died before the episcopal consecration), such a reform initiative was necessary, since during the seven years between the resignation of Archbishop Jenštejn and the accession of Zbyněk Zajíc of Házmburk in the fall of 1402, we know



6. The Synodal Sermons, 1405 and 140757

of only five synodal statutes. Zbyněk began to summon the synods more regularly. However, this descendant of a noble heritage did not see himself as sufficiently versed in pastoral matters. Therefore, he preferred to take expert advice, and at first he found the help he needed from the university reform group, and especially from Hus. Later, when the two men were deeply antagonistic, Hus reminded the archbishop that he had commissioned him, upon his arrival at Prague, to announce in person, or in writing, all the misconduct in the diocese. Stephen Páleč testified that Hus and Zbyněk discussed ecclesiastical misdeeds in private.10 When Zbyněk, as a representative of the king, captured the robberknight John Zúl, Hus accompanied the convict to the gallows. According to the Old Czech Chronicles, he was able to lead the criminal to repentance, so before he was hung along with fifty other convicts, he turned to the crowd with the following words: “Holy commune, please pray for me.”11 It seems that the task of offering the last rights to the convict was entrusted to Hus by none other than Zbyněk. Close cooperation between the two men may be noted in the case of the Holy Blood of Wilsnack. Already at two previous synods, Zbyněk warned about suspicious and “miraculous” pilgrimage sites in Bohemia, such as the magical pine tree near Mnichovo Hradiště, or the myths that to this day continue to be associated with Mount Blaník. The summer synod of 1405 banned pilgrimages to Wilsnack, where a bleeding host was venerated. Hus was a member of the three-member commission entrusted with uncovering dubious miraculous healings and laid the foundation for future banning of pilgrimages. Masters Hus and Stanislav of Znojmo also organized a special university dispute about the Wilsnack miracle. Hus later extended his lecture on this action to the treatise of De sanguine Christi (Of Christ’s Blood).12 The fact that Hus was commissioned on two separate occasions to deliver the synodal sermons suggests that there was fruitful partnership between the archbishop and the Wycliffite reform group. At the synods, Hus appeared as an exponent of clerical reform, which had already been pursued in Bohemia for two generations. From the time of Archbishop Ernest of Pardubice (1343–64), the metropolitans were in charge of improving Church administration and hence Christian ministry in the country. The reform was to be enhanced through an increase in the archbishop’s control, specifically through clerical visitations and the newly established office of the corrector of clergy, as well as through regular synods. The importance of morally uncompromising synodal speeches and other sermons in regard to the clergy did not relate only to creating a rhetorical framework for official reform measures. What was also at stake was that the issues raised by the preachers could stand on their own, and the discussion of the need for reforms could continue. It is here that we

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first find ideas that would later become typical motives of the Hussite concept of clerical reform. Reformist preachers were strict with the laity, but even more so with clerics. They slowly formed their radical demands for morality and poverty of the clergy. The step that had the most far-reaching consequences, however, was made by Hus and his companions when they first brought the internal criticism of the clergy from within the synodal aula of the bishop’s court, and from the lecture halls of the university, to the public lay audience. It seems that even in the case of the synodal sermon, State succincti, some concepts already escaped into the public eye. The abovementioned accusation by Protiva gives the impression that Hus denounced the unfaithful priests as heretics elsewhere, not just at the synod. The lawsuit of the Prague preachers even stated the time and place where it should have happened, namely the Bethlehem Chapel on 17 July, three months before the synod of 1407. The criticism against the Church and the clergy, as expressed in Hus’s synodal sermons, shows very few unique or even “Hussite” features, if any. Moralization was an essential aspect of the medieval sermon. In the age of the schism and of reform councils, such criticism comprised the most frequent content of sermons that still exist in written form. From the Council of Constance only, we know of about three hundred sermons, most of which deal with issues of reform. As an example, let us consider the performances of Czech participants at the council, whom Hus would have known personally from Prague and who positioned themselves as his opponents.13 The rhetoric and the content of the sermons at Constance correspond with the views and formulations used in sermons by Jan Hus himself, as well as his reform-oriented colleagues. For instance, the aforementioned Mařík Rvačka, a preacher at the Council of Constance, became one of the most prominent supporters of Church reform. He even considered Church reform to be more important than the elimination of the schism. The worst malady plaguing the Church, according to Rvačka, was simony. He considered it to be even more serious than heresy, and something against which the pope himself was not immune. Master Matthew of Zbraslav, who had studied theology with Hus, spoke in Constance saying that ecclesiastical benefices acquired unjustifiably through simony should be returned. He referred to the following words of Christ: “he who enters not by the door into the sheepfold, but climbs in some other way is a thief and a robber” (cf. John 10: 1–10). In his treatise On the Church, Hus also used this popular biblical quotation in connection with the critique of simony. He deduced that the cardinals are not the true followers of the apostles unless they live according to Christ’s commandments.14 As a former Wycliffite, Stephen of Páleč was well aware of the fact that some declarations made in connection with Church reform might lead into the dangerous vicinity of Wycliffite heresy. His criticism pertained to the clergy who would do



6. The Synodal Sermons, 1405 and 140759

anything to get ecclesiastical benefices, including serving in the kitchen or stables of their patron. At the time, Hus wrote a separate polemical treatise against a specific cleric who served at the court as a head cook.15 However, in his sermon Páleč explicitly distanced himself from Wyclif’s reform concept, and called on the father of the council to eliminate simony as soon as possible and to thus remove any heretical momentum that was already in place. At the Church assembly in Constance, various renewal efforts of the reformist age collided. The elimination of the split in the Church was to be the first step, though a very important and a necessary one, for improving religious relations. The churchmen and leading theologians presented their conciliarist projects for the reform of the Church, and particularly of the Roman curia. However, it was not just institutional reform that lay on the hearts of intellectual elites. The same personalities often cared for the rectification of religious life at the local and at the individual level with much interest. This also applies to Hus’s judges, Pierre d’Ailly and Jean Gerson, probably the most respected theologians in Constance. Gerson in particular was interested in different contemplative and pious movements. When the Brothers and Sisters of the Common Life, supporters of the successful devotio moderna, which originated in the Low Countries and the North Rhineland, were accused of heresy, he offered them his support.16 Hus never lost sight of the broad religious-political context of religious reform. In his sermon Diliges Dominum Deum, he described the schism as a consequence of the corruption of the clergy: “the tear within the Church is caused by the clerics and their greed. Who caused the Saracen schism, if not the cleric? Who the Greek schism, if not a cleric? Who the Latin schism, if not a cleric? And who now divides the Roman Empire, if not the cleric?”17 Regarding the cleric-caused “Saracen schism,” he was clearly relying on the medieval legend, according to which Muhammad was a rebellious Christian, or even a former cardinal. As for the division of the Empire, he could have been referring to the role of the archbishop electors who contributed to the dethroning of Wenceslas IV, or to the pope’s approval of the deposition, which had occurred only two years before the Diliges sermon had taken place. Reformist theologians of that time, regardless of their political affiliation or intellectual orientation, fully acknowledged the crisis plaguing the schismatic Church. However, the path to reckoning the identified abuses and to overcoming the schism had raised far-reaching questions, and it was hardly possible to resolve the issues without major conflicts. A wide range of reform concepts existed even in Bohemia. Besides the archbishop’s measures to rehabilitate the clergy, the Czech reform movement included the intensification of catechesis directed at the laity. As we have already mentioned, in Prague the preacher Milíč of Kroměříž had founded

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the house called Jerusalem, designed for the communal life of priests and former prostitutes, which recalls the organizational forms of devotio moderna from the Low Countries. Jerusalem did not survive the death of its founder. Although Hus had taken over Milíč’s tradition of reform preaching, he was not particularly inclined to the concept of communal pious living. While he supported the Beguines who lived in the neighborhood of the Bethlehem Chapel, his idea of ​​restored religious life related to all social strata and conditions, not just a small, somewhat elitist group of enthusiasts. The Eucharistic movement was of much greater consequence in its impact on later Hussitism than the “modern devotion.” The demand for frequent, even daily communion of laymen had already appeared in the work of Matthias of Janov and the Dominican Henry of Bitterfeld. Matthias’s monumental work, The Rules of the New and Old Testaments, with its emphasis on the superiority of of Sacred Scripture over human laws, anticipated Hussite biblicism. Bitterfeld was one of the Germanspeaking scholars at the University of Prague, who from the close of the fourteenth century initiated a remarkable reform and literary activity. Henry Totting of Oyta and Conrad Soltau discussed the validity of the acts of the sinful priest, which resulted in Totting being charged with heresy. Bitterfeld himself stood up against the indiscriminate selling of indulgences. Together with Matthew of Kraków, the sharp critic of the disarray within the Church, they promoted frequent communion. At the synod of 1391, with the approval of Archbishop Jenštejn, this practice was issued as permissible.18 Bitterfeld’s collaboration with John of Jenštejn undoubtedly represents a parallel to the abovementioned relationship between Hus and Zbyněk of Házmburk. However, working with the archbishop to implement Church reform was just one episode in Hus’s career. His notions about reform soon led to conflict between the two men, at which time Hus presented a different approach than previous reform theologians and preachers: Milíč defended himself at the Avignon Curia; Matthias of Janov renounced his errors before the archbishop’s consistory court; nominalist masters left Prague to become professors or bishops elsewhere. Hus remained a chaplain, and remained strong in his views, despite the risk of widening the gap between himself and the archbishop, which eventually led to the trial with tragic consequences. Was Hus’s concept of Church renewal incompatible with the concept of reform-minded prelates? In order to show similarities and differences, let us consider the example of Cardinal Pierre d’Ailly. Pierre was a typical supporter of the diocesan and of conciliar reform. Already before the Council of Constance, where his journey had fatefully collided with that of Hus, as the bishop of Cambrai, he was given the opportunity to experiment with certain steps toward reform. Similar to Hus, he perceived the decline of the Church



6. The Synodal Sermons, 1405 and 140761

in apocalyptic terms and as a sign of the Antichrist culminating in the Great Schism. “Great is the evil, as you know well, which arose from this detestable schism,” wrote d’Ailly to Pope John XXIII, shortly before the council took place.19 He hoped for a return to the gospel and to an evangelical way of life. According to d’Ailly, the reform was to be ensured by experts, by theologians, and, above all, by bishops. Reconciliation of his own life with the apostolic ideal was a prerequisite that involved the resignation of wealth as well as diligently carrying out pastoral duties.20 In his reformist thinking, like his disciple Jean Gerson, Pierre d’Ailly was relying on the supremacy of evangelical law; the Holy Scripture, and the rules directly derived from it, took precedence over the law of the Church.21 Hus would certainly agree with such principles. However, a closer look at the practical aspects and procedures of ecclesial reform reveals differences. Particularly instructive in this respect is Designavit Dominus, one of d’Ailly’s synodal sermons. It is not surprising that it is devoted to criticizing the life of the clerics. In the same manner as Hus and Matthew of Zbraslav, the bishop of Cambrai used the tenth chapter of the Gospel of John, where the author alludes to the door of the sheepfold to object to the practice of simony. In an excursion in his sermon, d’Ailly also addressed the concubinage: “We have much denounced this terrible and abominable offence in sermons and synodal statutes,” he complained, “but we have not been able to evict this disgrace from our diocese.”22 At the same time, however, the bishop felt the need to intervene against some recent widespread offenses. Certain preachers (d’Ailly was referring to Geert Grote without actually naming him) were spreading the idea that people should avoid masses celebrated by priests who openly live in concubinage. We know that in his synodal sermon, Hus marked out these priests as heretics. In his Books on Simony, written in Czech, he expressed the view that believers should boycott services given by impious parish priests. It is interesting that in support of this idea, he cited the same texts of canon law that Grote had already used and which d’Ailly considered necessary to refute.23 Although d’Ailly could not have known that, in his diocese he faced an agitation that was similar to that which had developed in Bohemia under Hus. When it came to overly radical preachers, the bishop was afraid that they would “provoke the people to revolt against the priests.” 24 In spite of his reform fervor, in these and other similar situations, d’Ailly advised moderation. Together with Gerson, with whom he consulted regarding the issue of spreading concubinage, he stood on the side of pastoral realism, avoiding extreme measures in order to not send the laity and the Church into chaos. D’Ailly followed this principle, for example, in his De reformacione ecclesie that he completed in 1416, the majority of which was composed in 1403. The account of clerical fallacies was kept within the limits of the usual criticism.

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He names “gluttony and self-interest, ostentation, wastefulness, laziness and other vices.”25 The writing stands out rather by its broad point of view, beginning with the ecclesiastical government in general, then continues with reforms of the Roman curia, through to the prelates, then the friars and the lower clergy, and all the way to the laity. The reform measures proposed by d’Ailly can be described as institutionally administrative. They recommend regular meetings of general and provincial councils. A lower tax burden is to be achieved by limiting spending, particularly for the purposes of the Roman curia. At no point may money be demanded for the giving of grace, for sacraments, and for other spiritual acts. Fewer feast days are to be established, fewer churches should be built, and not so many paintings should be ordered. The assignment of benefices and positions within the Church should be done transparently, taking due account of the age, education, and character of the candidates. However, at several points in d’Ailly’s treatise, he admits that the new laws cannot always be literally enforced and in full, and concedes to a certain degree of moderation. And it is here that d’Ailly’s experience as a high-ranking church official shows through. According to d’Ailly, the institutional reform is to be carried out by the ecclesiastical authorities themselves. The procedure is as follows: “It is necessary to ensure that [wicked prelates] are visited and investigated so that their way of life and their reputation are announced at the provincial councils, and if necessary to the Holy Father at the general council, so that they may be removed and punished accordingly.”26 It is the belief in the potential for inner reform of the ecclesiastical institutions where the main point of difference lies between Hus and d’Ailly. For the sake of comparison, let us consider Hus’s Books on Simony.27 At the time of their writing, Hus was no longer the synodal preacher supported by the archbishop criticizing the wicked clerics. In the Books he presented a project for Church reform that was strongly inspired by John Wyclif. Formally, the work is composed in a manner that is very similar to d’Ailly’s writings. After the introductory passage on the nature and origin of simony, Hus devoted a chapter each to the subject of popes, bishops, friars, parish priests, and laymen, followed by two chapters on the subject of how one succumbs to simony and how it can be avoided. Hus based his writings on the usual definition of simony, according to which it is a contemptuous exchange of something that is spiritual for something that is not. His understanding was rather broad; for instance, he described wicked life in general as a simoniacal business conducted with the devil. The many misdemeanors to which he refers come from his own observations. For example, he stated that candidates for Holy Orders should pay the barber themselves (presumably for the shaving of a tonsure). Some of the criticized transgressions are already found in Hus’s synodal sermons,



6. The Synodal Sermons, 1405 and 140763

where he reproaches friars for only being interested in wealthy parishes, and for confirming membership in fraternities in return for payment. He again opposed the excuse that after the sacramental act had taken place, payment may be accepted.28 Hus felt that theoretically Church positions can be obtained and performed without simony. In his day, however, he did not think that this would be possible. “It is more likely that the bridge of Prague will collapse,” he stated, “before anyone will take charge of the Prague bishopric without simony.”29 So what is Hus’s interventions into these circumstances? Hus’s suggestions were largely taken from Wyclif’s Tractatus de simonia. The possibility that God would endow the people with an enlightened pope, who would himself eradicate the practice of simony, seemed extremely unlikely to both authors. That is why two possibilities remained. The first involved the secularization of Church property by secular lords. Using their founding rights, they would get rid of unnecessary material goods that were part of the benefice and would thus make it unattractive for simoniacal sale.30 If the secular lords would not be interested in this proposal, then the congregation could deny the paying of taxes and tithes to its simoniacal minister. The same was true for the fornicators. We have already seen that in such case Hus called for not attending mass. The second possibility involved the suspension of salaries. In extreme cases, the community would exclude the sinner and expel him. What did the ideal Church of Hus look like?31 Although he did not give a systematic picture of a cleansed ecclesial community, from his Books on Simony we can reconstruct his vision. The pope may spiritually administer the Church according to the Sacred Scriptures, provided he is morally qualified to do so. If an appropriate candidate proves to be of higher morality than the current pope, he would have the right to the office. Under no circumstances may the pope possess secular goods, for according to Hus every clergyman should only keep as much of his income as he needs for subsistence. The remaining Church property is to be divided among the poor.32 Furthermore, parish rectors and other priests are not to be appointed by the pope. Instead, Hus suggests the parish priests and bishops be appointed by way of an electoral process. In his view this was the rule before donors began to claim patronage rights. The priests should therefore be elected directly by parish communities, preferably with the help of divine revelation. Also, according to Hus, the election of bishops would entail a return to universal suffrage because the election by the chapter already represented a departure from the principles of the primitive Church.33 The ideals forming the basis of Hus’s reform concept were nothing new. As early as the twelfth century, the reform of the Church, and of Christianity as a whole, was based on the imitation of Christ, particularly the vow of poverty. However, the abovementioned ideas about the election of bishops

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demonstrate how much the social context of reform efforts had changed. The canonical vote of the cathedral chapter was one of the central requirements of Gregorian reform during the second half of the eleventh century, and was perceived as an effective means of combating simony. Three centuries later, Hus perceived the vote of the chapter as an obstacle to this struggle. The papacy was no longer the leader, but had become a target of reform. Reformers who congregated at late medieval councils understood the reorganization of the Roman curia as a natural step toward the correction of ecclesial conditions. On the other hand, Wyclif, Hus, and their followers lost all confidence in the reformability of the hierarchy. That is why they skirted around it, not only in their reform proposals, but also in their concept of the Church. Should we then understand Hus’s burning at the stake at the reform council as a conflict between the reformers of the Church? Was it an unavoidable event that resulted from the competition of numerous reform projects during the Great Schism? The “erroneous” articles condemned at Constance hardly thematized the issue of Church reform. Hus was condemned as a Wycliffite heretic, not as a reform thinker.34 Nevertheless, we may still assume the existence of a conflict in regard to reform concepts. It did not escape the fathers who were present at the Council of Constance that a heretical definition of the Church was hidden behind Wycliffite-Hussite reform demands. What Hus proposed was not just another path to the same goal, but a completely new theoretical foundation of the Church. In this new Church, the priesthood was preserved (on the condition of the moral purgation), but the hierarchy was deprived of its control over the Church Militant. Already in Hus’s synodal sermon, Diliges Dominum Deum, the Wycliffite conception of the true Church was proclaimed as a community of predestined members. The corrupt priests were said to not be part of the mystical body of Christ, but members of the church of the Antichrist. Hus then stated quite openly: “The Church Militant is composed of predestined believers who are on the path [of this life].”35 In 1405, he was not yet persecuted for this view, since the authorities had probably not yet realized the implications of his claim. But the clash was inevitable. Lawyers and theologians in Constance could not miss the serious implications of Hus’s teachings about the Church. They clearly realized that the moment when this teaching would develop into a comprehensive reform concept, what was initially an academic question would in time attract a dynamism that could lead people into a rebellion. They wanted to prevent this at all costs. In the end, the connection between ecclesiology and reform was reflected in the final judgment over Hus. Among the articles condemned on 6 July 1415, we may find statements about the validity of papal or prelate authority. One of the condemned theses reads as follows: Even if a sinful dignitary takes his position legally, he is still a “thief and robber” who “does not enter the sheepfold through the door.”36

Chapter 7 The University Career of Master Hus: The Rector’s Speech of 1409, “Strengthen Your Hearts”

The beginning of Advent gave all pious Christians the opportunity to stop and reflect. However, at the University of Prague, there was incentive for a celebration. At the end of November it was customary to commemorate the death of Charles IV, the founder of the university who died on 29 November 1378. In 1409 the mass for the dead was held on 3 December at the Church of St. Clement in Old Town. Master Jan Hus was responsible for the sermon; the theme he chose came from the daily liturgy, Confirmate corda vestra, “Strengthen your hearts, for the coming of the Lord is nigh” (James 5:8). He skilfully combined his interpretation of Advent with the memory of the deceased emperor. Like every medieval preacher who preached during the first week of Advent, he recalled the first coming of Christ, then turned to the Second Coming and to the Last Judgment. The spiritual lesson of this sermon consisted of the reminder of the Last Judgment and the recommendation to keep in mind the transience that unites all people regardless of their earthly condition, a theme on which Hus expanded extensively. He emphasized the example of Alexander the Great, whose reign over an empire could not protect him from death. Hus recounted how famous philosophers from antiquity gave speeches at the grave of the great ruler, proclaiming that the greatest glory and majesty in life makes death even more miserable. Comparing Alexander to Charles IV, Hus inquired, “What would the eminent monarch say, the Emperor and the Bohemian King Charles, the patron of the Church, the peacekeeper, the supporter of the clergy, the light among the princes, the provider of the poor, the temple builder and founder of our life-giving university, whose memory we now celebrate? Certainly, if the dead were able to speak, he would say, ‘Oh vanity of vanities, everything is vanity.’”1

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Immediately after the short excerpt that exalted the emperor, Hus stylized his sermons in a manner that was unusual even for university sermons. In his fictitious dialogue he involved a number of famous and deceased professors of theology from Prague. Hus asked, what would Nicholas Biceps, Vojtěch Raňkův, Jenek Václavův, Nicholas of Rakovník, Nicholas of Litomyšl, Stephen of Kolín, John Štěkna, and Peter of Stupno say if they could speak from the grave? Hus suggested: “Vanity of vanities, everything is vanity, the depth of knowledge means nothing, no one will be saved by birth or eminence, nor through the abundance of gold, as ice would melt if it fell onto the sun, so material things have ceased their stability.”2 From a rhetorical point of view, Hus delivered the Confirmate speech very well. For instance, he incorporated, to an unusual degree, a rhythm to the end of his clauses (cursus). In addition, he brought in authorities from antiquity, particularly Virgil, and quoted a number of other poets. Clearly his aim was to deliver a speech worthy of a rector, and he succeeded in achieving this goal.3 The rectorate was the highest office in the university. The rector, who was elected for one semester at a time, was tasked with respecting the university statute, was given jurisdiction over the university members, and was also responsible for matriculation.4 For Hus, the position was more administrative and did not necessarily correspond to professional status; at the same time, however, the rectorate represented the formal highlight of his university career. How did he achieve such an office? As has already been discussed, in 1396 Hus attained the status of master of liberal arts at the Faculty of Arts (today called the Faculty of Philosophy). Theoretically, he could thus look for a benefice anywhere in his native region. However, Hus wanted to remain not only in Prague, but also at the university, where he pursued a teaching focus. In 1398 he was first documented as a member of the bachelor’s examination board, and had a student graduate with a bachelor’s degree under his tutelage within the same or the following year.5 There was no honorarium for such an activity, and in order to support himself he rented out rooms from his home to students, in accordance with university statutes. Hus devoted himself intensively to teaching. Of his students who obtained a bachelor’s or master’s degree, twenty-six are known by name, but it is likely that there would have been many more who would have studied under him.6 When in 1402 Hus accepted the office of preacher in the Bethlehem Chapel, he secured permanent financial stability. This did not motivate him to cut off contact with the university, for the interconnection between the chapel and high learning was multifaceted. According to the foundation charter, three Czech masters of Karolinum and the mayor of Old Town Prague were to propose candidates for the position of preacher at the Bethlehem Chapel. Nazareth, a student college, also was connected with the chapel, founded in



7.  The Rector’s Speech of 1409, “Strengthen Your Hearts”67

1406 or before by the merchant Kříž. From 1411, the Bethlehem pastor also was responsible for the supervision of students of the Lithuanian College of Queen Hedwig.7 Hus perceived these responsibilities as part of his pedagogical duty, which he likely was happy to take on, while continuing to pursue his own studies at the same time. As we learn, in 1398 he began to study at the Faculty of Theology—a program that was time-consuming, with an average completion rate of twelve years. The first half of his studies entailed attendance at lectures and debates. Then, after obtaining his bachelor’s degree, he would have been required to deliver lectures. In order to pass from baccalaureus biblicus to the rank of sententiarius, for two years he would be required to deliver lectures on books of the Bible that would have been assigned to him. For another two years, he would have then lectured on the Four Books of Sentences, the most widely used medieval theological text written by Peter Lombard. While completing his theological studies, he continued to attend lectures and exercises performed by theology professors. To become a full member of the faculty, the candidate had to first obtain a theology license, which after two other ceremonial disputations would then lead to the title of a master of theology, which was the equivalent of a doctorate degree.8 In the fall of 1404, Jan Hus obtained his first baccalaureate degree in theology. With this rank he was able to preach during university mass on 1 December 1404, on the occasion of the commemoration of Charles IV.9 Shortly before, he must have begun with his lectures on the Bible. As teaching material, the dean of the Faculty of Theology assigned the seven Catholic (i.e., non-Pauline) Epistles from the New Testament. As was customary in such cases, he began his course with a rhetorical introduction in the form of praise of the Sacred Scripture, for which he chose a quote from the Epistle of Jude. Hus concluded the New Testament lectures before the end of 1405 and immediately began commenting on the texts of the Old Testament, namely Psalms 109–18. Quite exceptionally for late medieval theologians of Prague, both of these texts are preserved.10 Due to his duties at the Bethlehem Chapel, it is not surprising that the interpretation of the Psalms took Hus two years, one year longer than the required minimum for the biblical course. Hus decided to continue studying theology as a sentenciary. His commentary on the Four Book of Sentences was written in the years 1407–09. The theological curriculum also involved formal discussions with colleagues who would concurrently read the Sentences. It was during this time that Hus came across some of the well-known personalities that will be discussed in the following chapter. After the first year of lectures, that is, in 1408, Hus could use the title baccalaureus formatus, the highest academic achievement that he would achieve, since he never obtained a Doctorate of Theology.11 The extensive literary fruits of his pedagogical activity as a theology student

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give testimony to Hus’s dedication to academia. Besides the preserved theological texts, we also know of titles relating to his philosophical lectures at the Faculty of Arts. Hus provided gloss in the margins and between the lines as commentaries on Aristotle’s texts such as Metaphysics, On the Soul, and On Generation and Corruption, just like he did for his commentary on the so-called Old Logic. His interpretation of Aristotelian Physics may have been more extensive.12 In order to complete the picture of Hus’s activities at the university, we should add that from 1398 he also was engaged as an examiner and member of various other commissions, and from 1401 to 1402 he held the office of dean of the Faculty of Arts. The care that Hus took with his sermon, Confirmate, in the winter semester of 1409 is not only a result of his role as rector, but is also related to the extraordinary conditions prevailing at the university at that time. In the aftermath of the Decree of Kutná Hora of May 1409 given by King Wenceslas, most of the members of the three university nations who were not Czech left the university. As one of the initiators of the coup, Hus tried to show that the scholarly activity and teaching did not suffer in any way. In the Confirmate, he included a selection of important professors from Prague; what is remarkable is that they were exclusively Czech scholars. It is interesting that Hus included not only the followers of the reformist stream, to which he himself belonged, but also two personalities who openly defied Wycliffism: Nicholas Biceps and John Štěkna. This may be understood as an attempt to reduce the importance of the controversy surrounding Wyclif and to frame the exodus of the German masters as a result of a common conflict between university corporations. The two speeches given by Hus as rector—the inaugural address on the topic of Multi are vocati (“Many are called, but few are chosen,” Matthew 22:14), and the solemn speech on the occasion of the reading of the statutes—have the same tendency. In his inaugural speech, the quote from Ezra 7:26 presented the opportunity to allude to the current political situation. The Book of Ezra states, “Everyone who does not conscientiously observe the law of your God, and the royal law, will be sentenced to death or exile, and will be made subject to fines, or to imprisonment.” According to Hus, these biblical words underestimated those who did not want to obey King Wenceslas’s mandate.13 What events precipitated the Decree of Kutná Hora? Due to the growing number of students in the 1360s and 1370s, four university nations emerged at the University of Prague. They were corporative communities that became part of the university self-government. Like in many other medieval universities, the nations did not represent ethnic communities, but rather an approximate geographic origin of their members. Besides the Czech domestic nation, the other three corporative communities included the Bavarian, Saxon, and Polish university nations. Each usually included a larger area than the



7.  The Rector’s Speech of 1409, “Strengthen Your Hearts”69

straightforward political-cultural unit designated by its name. For instance, it should be noted that the Polish nation included a significant group of Germanspeaking Silesians, while the German-speaking students from Bohemia were usually registered in the Czech nation. In many matters of the university self-government, decisions were based on the parity of these nations. For instance, commissions of examiners or the electors who voted for the rector or the dean were selected according to these nations. The spread of Wycliffism at the university amongst the Czech nation had aggravated relations between the corporations; this is because the three other university nations remained largely unaffected by philosophical realism, creating an opposition between the Czech Wycliffites and the three “German” nations. As the vote of 1403 regarding Wyclif’s articles demonstrates, the growth of any non-Czech nations threatened the interests of the Hussite group. An opportunity for change presented itself as a result of certain political developments in the years 1408 and 1409. The cardinals of Rome and Avignon withdrew their obedience to the pope, and in the spring of 1409 they summoned a council at Pisa that was to elect a new universally acknowledged pope who would end the schism. The French court had agreed to this proposition and sought to secure diplomatic support. In June 1408, Jacques de Nouvion, a Parisian master, arrived at King Wenceslas’s court in Prague, along with French envoys, and in November a French-Brabant delegation followed.14 Since the electors had deposed Wenceslas of the Roman throne in 1400, and in his place elected Rupert of the Palatinate, the former Roman king was hoping to have his title reinstated with the help of the Council of Pisa. Rupert stood firmly behind the Roman pope, Gregory XII, as did Zbyněk, the archbishop of Prague. In addition, many members of the Bavarian and Saxon university nations at Prague were subjects of Rupert as Count Palatine. The question of the Wycliffite heresy was thus further complicated by these matters. The university in Rupert’s capital, Heidelberg, supported anti-Wycliffite efforts of Prague’s nominalist masters, such as in the case of Ludolf Meistermann’s lawsuit against Stanislav of Znojmo. Therefore, the German-speaking majority at the University of Prague followed Rupert in siding with the Roman pope and refused to acknowledge the Pisan Council. In January of 1409 the events moved quickly toward a major turn at the University of Prague. Certain nominalist masters boycotted the annual ceremony of the de quolibet, led by Master Matthias of Knín, who in the previous year had been subjected to repression because of his Wycliffite sympathies. In an exalted speech at the end of the quodlibet disputation, Jerome of Prague invited the members of the university to continue to seek the truth in Wyclif’s texts. The union of university affairs with politics was emphasized by the presence of the Brabant ambassadors and the aldermen of the Old Town Council.

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The town council consisted of eighteen members, all appointed by the king, and alternating in the position of the burgomaster with four-week turns. In 1408, the Czechs had obtained a majority in the council, making the political situation in the Old Town more favorable to the reformist efforts of the Czech university masters. Shortly after the quodlibet, when King Wenceslas asked the university for an opinion on the Pisan Council, the Czech nation spoke in favor, while the other three nations were opposed. Instead of issuing a final position, the rector Henning Baltenhagen decided to send envoys to the king in Kutná Hora. The Wycliffite group did not intend to let the matter go to chance. From their point of view, it was not just a question of the schism and the related question of the council; in the wake of the conflict, Wycliffites saw the opportunity to get the university under their control. Therefore, Jerome of Prague and John of Jesenice successfully influenced some members of the Royal Council. On January 18, 1409, while in Kutná Hora, King Wenceslas IV put forth the decree, which changed the voting conditions at the university. The Czech nation would now have three voices, while the other three nations would only have one. At that time Hus fell ill and could not be present at Kutná Hora.15 There is no doubt, however, that he played a leading role in the university coup. When it came to defending the new voting ratio, we find him firmly on Jerome’s side. In turn, the German masters attempted to overturn the Decree of Kutná Hora, but encountered great resistance from the Wycliffite masters. Jesenic wrote a brilliant legal treatise in defense of the decree.16 However, King Wenceslas was appalled by the consequences of his decision and promised the German masters to withdraw it. In response, Hus and Jerome went to seek an audience with the king at the Castle Žebrák and suggested a way out of the complicated situation.17 The solution hinged on the oath that had been declared by the masters of the three nations that they would leave Prague if the decree remained in place.18 By insisting on the masters keeping their oath, Wenceslas could get rid of them without revoking his decree. The declaration made by the opponents of the decree in order to exert pressure on the king now turned against them. On 9 May, on the king’s order—so without a proper vote—the aldermen of the Old Town Council sent an armed intervention to interrupt a university meeting and put forth a new rector and a new dean of the Faculty of Arts. It was clear to the “Germans” that they had no choice but to leave Prague. Seven hundred to eight hundred teachers and students, which corresponded to about two-thirds of the Faculty of Arts, left the university. Some of them went to the newly established university in Leipzig.19 In an open letter, Hus had to address the allegation, which stipulated that it was he who had caused the expulsion of the Germans. In his defense, Hus pointed out that the scholars of the three nations had left Prague due to the



7.  The Rector’s Speech of 1409, “Strengthen Your Hearts”71

oath they had proclaimed. However, he did openly admit that the mandate from the king, which introduced the newly adjusted ratio of votes, was won by him.20 Although the new situation and power dynamics at the university served Wenceslas’s current political intentions well, we must assume that it was the Czech masters who had first proposed a restructuring of voting rules to the king. It may also be assumed that such a voting structure may have been considered by the Czech nation some time before. What were the new voting conditions? The decree gave the Czech nation three votes “in all commissions, trials, examinations, elections and all other acts and proceedings of the said university.”21 For all committees compiled on the principle of the nations, non-Czech nations lost their influence and thus the opportunity to contribute on issues, such as the election of the rector, or on matters related to examinations. In matters decided by the assembly of all the masters (magistri regentes)—such as the vote on Wyclif’s forty-five theses—the members of the three nations would still retain the majority, even after the Decree of Kutná Hora. In regard to the question at the Council in Pisa, during the preliminary negotiations, the nations expressed their views individually; however, the decree as such could not definitively secure the decision the king longed for, namely the acknowledgement of the council. Rather, it functioned as a means of coercion against the three non-Czech nations, because it had deprived them of all influence on the internal affairs of the university. The text of the decree included the three non-Czech nations under the generic term nacio Theutonica, the “German nation.” Nationally exaggerated formulations appeared before its release and formed part of the polemical engagement until the departure of the three nations. Andrew of Brod, who first rejoiced at the Decree of Kutná Hora, later accused Hus that he acted “against the concord of the nations.”22 The agreement known as concordia nationum, which in the mid-1380s settled the dispute among the nations in regard to occupying spots within the colleges, was not intended to eliminate national tensions, but rather to solve communal conflicts within the university. This was done in order to avoid external interventions by people such as the archbishop, who was in the position of the university chancellor. It was only the Wycliffite masters who had resorted to nationalist rhetoric. Jerome and Jesenic came up with remarkable arguments in favor of “pure Czechs” (that is, those whose father and mother spoke Czech) and their natural rights in the Kingdom of Bohemia. With the departure of German masters, however, this rhetoric had largely lost its purpose.23 After the exodus of his colleagues, Hus was ready to take responsibility for the university. During his career to date he had preached at the university mass only on two separate occasions; however, in the course of a year after his election to the position of rector on 17 October 1409, he gave a total

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of four university sermons.24 He worked tirelessly. In the summer of 1410, he accepted the task of preparing a quodlibet disputation for the following January. The preserved handbook from this festive discussion clearly shows Hus’s emphasis on maintaining the quality of university teaching and academic engagement. Hus now acted as a true leader of the Wycliffite group. In the foreword, he explains the reasons that led him to accept the chairing of the quodlibet. He states, “I, however, who is less suitable, am glad to accept the effort of the disputation, because in my heart I am constantly worried that foolish enemies would find a motive to gossip that our life-giving university had become barren due to the lack of academic training.” For the participants of the disputation, Hus had prepared questions which to address, including an outline of the argument. In addition, for each of the masters he wrote an introduction comparing them to an ancient philosopher. His quodlibet was the most ambitious of all known disputations that took place at the medieval University of Prague.25 The Decree of Kutná Hora could not put an end to the conflicts at the university, since their roots did not hinge primarily on issues of national rivalry, but on the doctrinal questions. The Czech university nation now dominated the life of the studium generale, but in 1412 it split into two implacable groups: the Czech- and Wycliffite-oriented masters of the Faculty of Arts, and the Czech, pro-Roman doctors of the Faculty of Theology. Key to our inquiry, however, is the questions of how Hus’s university activity influenced his conviction at the Council of Constance? His activity in the academic sphere was, in addition to his preaching mission, the second axis of his life. The effort to combine preaching office and theological conflicts resulted in Hus’s views being heard outside the limited forum of the lecture hall. The expulsion of German masters from Prague also emerged in the charges against him. But there was nothing heretical about this because the indictment was not directly concerned with the faith. Regardless, Hus’s participation in the controversy did not help during the proceedings. In the fifteenth century, the academic world was small, and in Constance, Hus again encountered his former opponents from Prague, who wanted to settle the case once and for all.

Chapter 8 The Generation of the Decree of Kutná Hora: The University of Prague as a Central European Crossroads

Before the Decree of Kutná Hora, the University of Prague was one of the most important Central European educational institutions, with enrollment peaking in the 1380s. In the following decade, this number decreased as a result of the competition from universities in Vienna and Kraków, and also due to the newly established universities in Erfurt, Heidelberg, and Cologne. However, at the beginning of the fifteenth century the University of Prague had again become very popular. The increase may be attributed to the rise in student matriculation from Saxon and Polish nations. In the 1390s, the Polish nation became the most powerful and surpassed the presence of the Bavarian nation. Even though Czechs had matriculated in steady number since the 1380s, in comparison to other nations at the university in the decade before the Decree of Kutná Hora, their presence had fallen. They likely felt threatened by an increase in the influence of the so-called “German” nations, which motivated their emancipatory efforts. Moreover, it was from the Saxon and Polish nations that the greatest opponents of Wycliffism were recruited, such as Ludolf Meistermann and John Hoffmann.1 The specific sociocultural environment of the university gave its city a special character. The ambiance in Prague—a royal capital city—was greatly influenced by the presence of the university. In some areas of the city, university districts began to develop, especially in the area of the Fruit Market and around the Bethlehem Chapel with its adjacent colleges. For Jan Hus, the university was a familiar setting. He would have found no intellectual equals during his work at the Bethlehem Chapel. In order to meet with colleagues, who were part of his intellectual milieu, he had to go to the university. A biographical account presents the danger of overly emphasizing the protagonist and placing the people around him in a secondary light; however, without his

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friends and enemies, coreligionists and critics, the life story of Hus would be incomplete and incomprehensible. Because the controversies and complications in his life were largely at the level of theological debates, most of his supporters and opponents were linked to the University of Prague, which forms a significant backdrop to Hus’s story. The careers of all these men were influenced by the Decree of Kutná Hora. Some left Prague, while others assumed a leading position at the university. Surprisingly, many of them eventually met again at the Council of Constance. The generation of people associated with the Decree of Kutná Hora would likely never forget their common years in Prague. This chapter will therefore consider the degree of influence these men had on Hus’s life, their mutual ties, and their common interests. Let us first consider Hus’s origins in Prague. When the young Hus, who came from Husinec near Prachatice, settled in the capital, an important role was played by Hus’s compatriots from the foothills of Šumava. In the role of Hus’s mentor we find Christian of Prachatice. Later, Hus selected Martin of Volyně as his ward, to whom he entrusted his will before traveling to Constance. Other students from the Faculty of Arts became his closest friends, such as Jakoubek of Stříbro, who received his bachelor’s degree in 1393 (the same year as Hus) and his master’s degree in 1397, one year after Hus. Jerome of Prague, another close friend, received his bachelor’s degree in 1398. Other students at the Faculty of Theology were to cross paths with Hus, although not always on friendly terms. Hus had delivered lectures on Peter Lombard’s Sentences in parallel with Stephen of Páleč and Matthew of Zbraslav. Several remarks in Hus’s commentary of the Sentences demonstrate the respect and rivalry that existed between them. Matthew of Zbraslav later attended the Council of Constance and also was present at Hus’s execution.2 Hus’s students also played an important role in his life. We know that there were two dormitories at the Bethlehem Chapel: the Nazarethe College and the Lithuanian College of Queen Hedwig, to which many of Hus’s students likely belonged. The Lithuanian College near Bethlehem Chapel was founded by Hedwig in 1397, but it was not open until several years later (possibly 1403–06, or 1411 at the latest).3 Originally, it was located in the house from which Milíč operated his Jerusalem; two years later it moved to the Fruit Market. We know the names of the first members of this college, supervised by Hus. The function of the provost of the college was performed by Nicholas of Stojčín, who in 1410 was appointed by Hus as deputy in a trial at the Roman curia. Stojčín later appeared in Constance among those who testified against Hus. Hus’s other students remained his faithful supporters until the end (Nicholas of Pavlíkov was the only other exception). From the first members of Hedwig’s College, Peter of Mladoňovice and Nicholas of Pelhřimov are most noteworthy. Acting as the scribe of John of Chlum, Peter became



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famous for documenting the story of Hus’s death. Nicholas participated in the foundation of the revolutionary community of Tábor in 1420. He was elected bishop of Tábor, and in 1433 he represented the Hussites in a dispute at the Council of Basel. Due to his unwavering defense of Tábor, he died in the 1450s at the prison of the Hussite king, George of Poděbrady. His radicalism makes him stand out among Hus’s pupils. Peter of Mladoňovice belonged to more moderate, even conservative Hussites, just like his former classmate John of Příbram, who in the 1420s ended up renouncing Wycliffism altogether.4 Příbram and Mladoňovice obtained bachelor’s degrees in 1409 under the supervision of Hus. However, if we are to accept Hus’s authorship of the promotional speech given at the graduation of John Niger of Řečice in 1398, it is likely that Niger would have been his first student. A year later, Matthias of Knín obtained the same status under Hus’s direction (this was the same Matthias who was accused of heresy in 1408 and renounced Wycliffism). Shortly before the passing of the Decree of Kutná Hora, Matthias was responsible for the quodlibet. Several of Hus’s festive speeches given during bachelor’s degree celebrations survive. In particular, his early speeches testify to the humor and the positive atmosphere that was maintained during such ceremonies.5 Hus’s relationship with his students, who were not necessarily much younger than he, was characterized by friendly cordiality. For instance, on the occasion of Martin Kunšův’s determination in 1400, Hus based his speech on Ovid’s verse “let the cuckoo, a bright bird, come,” in which Hus jokes about the sleepiness of his former student. He stated, “The cuckoo likes to sleep and is lazy [. . .]. Don’t you know the tardiness of the lazybones, the cuckoo Martin?”6 In 1411, and in the same manner, Hus joked while introducing Martin for the quodlibet disputation: “Master Martin of Prague does not cease to study, even when sleeping, and who when called to study often wondered and hesitated if he should leave his bed.” After the Hussite Wars, when the University of Prague resumed giving titles, Martin Kunšův promoted students with expressions and phrases originally used by Hus in his quodlibets.7 Students also joined in the dispute against the Church authorities. In 1409, five students appealed the order of Archbishop Zbyněk, which had ordered censorship and confiscation of Wyclif’s books. Two of these students, Přibík of Houžná and Hroch of Podveky, withdrew their complaint when the archbishop threatened them with excommunication. Two years later Hroch became a member of the Lithuanian College. Michael of Drnovice, Peter of Valencia, and John of Landštejn, however, remained loyal to Hus and signed a second appeal against the bull of Alexander V, which Hus had filed in 1410. Apparently, a kernel of activists had formed at the University of Prague. The Aragon student Peter of Valencia, who served as a famulus to Jerome of Prague, delivered to

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the council the protest letter sealed by aristocrats who were opposed to Hus’s execution. The highest social status among the signatories of the second appeal was held by Zdislav of Zvířetice, a member of an important aristocratic family. Zdislav obtained his baccalaureate in 1405 under the supervision of Hus. When Sir John Oldcastle, an English aristocrat, sent a letter to Bohemia in support of Wyclif’s followers, he listed Zdislav as one of its addressees. Another opportunity to rise up presented itself to the Wycliffite group in Prague during the public defense of Wyclif’s books in 1410 and 1412. The first of these, in the summer of 1410, was attended by five masters. Hus took up the defense of De Trinitate [Of the Trinity] and Jakoubek of Stříbro chose the theological work of De mandatis divinis [On God’s Commandments]. Two other disputants took up metaphysics, namely Prokop of Plzeň, who dealt with De ideis [On ideas], and Zdislav of Zvířetice, who focused on De universalibus [On universals]. Finally, Simon of Tišnov disputed Wyclif’s De probacionibus proposicionum [On proving propositions], a work in the field of logic.8 Two years later, shortly after the tragic events associated with the indulgences, the Wycliffites found themselves in a different situation. The Wycliffite camp lost two of its most prominent sympathizers as Stanislav of Znojmo and Stephen of Páleč became harsh opponents of Hus. However, there were two scholars who supported Hus—his good friend Jakoubek of Stříbro and Master Frederick Eppinge. Jakoubek defended Wyclif’s articles that took up the issue of the clergy’s possessions. Frederick, who dealt with Wyclif’s articles on excommunication, belonged to a group of reformist German masters who lived in the house at the Black Rose in Prague’s New Town. Historians call this group the Dresden School, after the origins of two of its members, Peter and Nicholas of Dresden.9 Jakoubek belonged to a narrow circle of Hus’s colleagues and friends. The foursome, composed of Jan Hus, Jerome of Prague, Jakoubek of Stříbro, and John of Jesenice covered the entire spectrum of the reform agenda. As scholar and preacher, Hus was the leader. Jerome was probably the most familiar with Wyclif’s teachings on universals, and due to his contacts at the royal court of Wenceslas IV, for Wycliffites he was a key figure. He attracted attention with his provocative speeches at disputations at European universities and in the streets of various Bohemian cities. The last steps of the well-traveled master led to Constance in 1415, where he adamantly supported Hus. In his last letter, written on the eve of his execution, Hus begged his friends to pray for Jerome, for he knew that the philosopher would not escape death. His intuition was correct, for on 30 May 1416, Jerome also was burned at the stake at Constance.10 Contrary to Jerome, Jakoubek of Stříbro was not a fan of spectacular demonstrations or speeches. He lived the restrained life of a scholar who liked to retreat to his study, occasionally engaging in polemical encounters.



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His main subject was the critique of the so-called “human inventions”—all the traditional elements of theology, liturgy, and religious life that arose throughout history of the Church and that, according to Jakoubek, did not derive from the gospel. He thus came up with the idea of ​​reintroducing the taking of wine from the chalice by all worshippers, even the laity. This practice, which came to be called Utraquism (from communion sub utraque specie, or “in both kinds”), was defended by Jakoubek and Nicholas of Dresden against the decrees of the Council of Constance; both masters understood Utraquism as an ordinance of Christ and as an original practice of the early Church. After 1415, Jakoubek of Stříbro became Hus’s successor, taking his place at the Bethlehem Chapel, and began to shape his own Hussite theology. Until his death in 1429, he held an authoritative position between the rivalling Hussite streams, struggling with the Taborites in particular.11 Jesenic, one of the most talented Bohemian lawyers of his time, was hostile to Taborite tenets as well. During Hus’s life, as his lawyer he supported the Bethlehem preacher, traveling as far as Italy in this position. At the University of Bologna he obtained a doctorate degree, but he also was arrested for the suspicion of heresy and spent time in prison. He died in 1420 as a victim of Ulrich of Rosenberg’s withdrawal from Utraquism.12 The creation of interest groups on the Hussite side naturally triggered a similar process even in the hostile camp. The first, relatively loose antiHussite group was made up of priests and canons from Prague. They were also the first to put forth complaints against the propagation of Wycliffism and against Hus’s preaching. The Hussite chronicle from the University of Prague records the names of the clerics who first stood against Wyclif’s doctrines (phrasing it nearly like a denunciation). Here we find the mention of a very widespread presumption held by the Hussites that the canons obtained papal bulls through bribes. Besides several canons and priests, the lawyer George of Bor and the theologian Andrew of Brod are mentioned. George is labeled as “the beginning, middle, and the end” of the whole process against the Hussite group.13 As a prominent lawyer of the anti-Hussites, he became an opponent of John of Jesenice. Andrew of Brod developed extensive polemical activity and spoke against the Hussite doctrine of the Lord’s Supper—both against remanence and against Utraquism.14 He was among the witnesses who in 1410 testified against Hus before the archbishop, accusing him of remanentist teaching. Witness testimonies at this stage of the process (Depositiones testium) bring forth other names of supporters of the early anti-Hussite opposition, who are once again canons and priests from Prague. Among the most active members of this free group was John Protiva, a former preacher at the Bethlehem Chapel, who had made his own list of allegations a year earlier.15

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Since 1412, the so-called “Roman” side had begun to define itself more clearly. Through extensive sermons directed against Wyclif’s articles, Stanislav and Páleč responded to the demonstrative defense of Wyclif organized by Hus and his friends.16 A memorandum of the Faculty of Theology, created in connection with the negotiations with the Hussite party, brought another opportunity to claim allegiance to the anti-Hussite camp. It was signed by eight doctors, namely Stephen of Páleč, Stanislav of Znojmo, Peter of Znojmo, John Eliae, John Hildessen, Andrew of Brod, Hermann of Mindelheim, and Matthew of Zbraslav.17 Four of them, Stephen, Stanislav, Andrew, and John Eliae were punished for their involvement by being expelled from Prague in 1413. Exile became the fate of most anti-Hussite scholars. Many of them first went to Constance. After Hus’s execution, however, they could not return to Prague, not least because of their role in Hus’s process; after the outbreak of the Hussite Wars, a return to Prague was even less possible. Bohemian preachers at the Council of Constance already have been mentioned. Nearly everyone had had previous experience of clashes with Hus. Páleč and Rvačka left Constance for Poland, where both continued to write literary works against Hussitism. Matthew of Zbraslav, a Cistercian monk, entered the Saxon abbey of Altzelle. Stanislav, who traveled to Constance along with Páleč, died on the way. Andrew of Brod was not present in Constance, but later he moved to the University of Leipzig.18 The Bohemian scholars who participated in the council belonged to Hus’s most ardent prosecutors. Judicial trials against Hus and Jerome were driven forward by Stephen of Páleč and Michael of Německý Brod, called de Causis. As a response to the complaint as to why Hus’s trial was not halted, Pope John XXIII had apparently stated, “What can I do? After all, it is your own countrymen who are doing it!”19 At Constance, Michael ensured that there was plenty of testimony against Hus.20 Among the first witnesses were also former members of the University of Prague who had left the Czech capital after the Decree of Kutná Hora in 1409. Masters John of Minsterberg and Peter Storch of Zwickau now belonged to the University of Leipzig. A member of the first commission of inquiry at Hus’s trial, the Bishop John of Lubusz, was also a former student and canon at Prague. He hardly knew Hus, perhaps he met him when the latter was a young student in Prague, yet he went to Prague a day earlier, along the same path that would be traveled by Hus, warning people of the sorcerer who would read their thoughts. Nicholas Zeiselmeister also testified against Hus. The two knew each other from the time that Zeiselmeister was appointed rector of the parish of St. Philip and James, situated beside the Bethlehem Chapel. John Náz, the papal auditor and former official of the Prague diocese, was well informed on Bohemian issues and used them to his advantage during the allegations made against Hus and Jerome, as



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well as during negotiations on the question of the Chalice. Master Albrecht Warentrappe, another member of the University of Leipzig, participated in Hus’s interrogation on 7 June 1415. Since he had been the dean of the Faculty of Arts at Prague in 1409, he wanted to comment on the Decree of Kutná Hora, but no one paid any attention to him.21 The University of Prague was thus an important intellectual crossroads in Central Europe. Hus had taken advantage of this to build his own movement. His sermons had initiated a large circle of followers, who required teaching and leadership. Hus’s university colleagues and closest friends became involved in formulating the reform agenda, and a wider group of students and graduates spread the program. It was probably the predominantly anonymous Hussite priests and former students who had the task of popularizing reform ideas among as many sympathizers as possible, thus ensuring the continual growth of the movement. And it was they who after Hus’s death initiated the revolution. The names we find in declarations, appeals, and disputes refer to the formation of interest groups in both the Hussite and the anti-Hussite camps. These names are often repeated since they often crossed paths with Hus at different times during the master’s life. This generation of people associated with the Decree of Kutná Hora did not lose sight of each other even after 1409. The connections established within the academic environment of Prague affected Hus’s trial both positively and negatively. Thanks to the mobility of people and ideas during the Late Middle Ages, many participants at the Council of Constance possessed a familiarity with Hussitism, and it is also where old friendships and hostility materialized. However, not all former Prague students and masters were unfavorably inclined to Hussitism. For instance, Paul Włodkowic, the Polish doctor of law and rector of the Kraków University, and a former student and lecturer at the University of Prague, displayed a friendly attitude toward the Bethlehem preacher. The majority were, however, strongly anti-Hus. Of those living in exile, many were keen to make a statement against Hussitism in theological polemics up until the 1430s, even longer. However, it is necessary to state that the authors who had been active in Prague never represented a majority among anti-Hussite polemicists. Thanks to the Council of Constance, Hussitism quickly became a matter of international importance, and Hus and the Utraquists became notorious as intractable heretics. While in Bohemia the Hussite masters won the struggle for supporters, their opponents dominated international public opinion.22

Chapter 9 The Hussites’ Media Campaign: Appealing the Papal Prohibition of Preaching, 1410 On 25 June 1410, the Bethlehem Chapel was witness to a spectacular rhetorical performance. That day, Jan Hus was particularly invested in winning over his audience. He planned to read the text of an appeal that he had lodged, along with seven associates, against the bull issued by Alexander V on 20 December of the previous year. The papal edict had banned Wyclif’s books, forbidden the dissemination of their misleading ideas, and also prohibited preaching in the Prague diocese outside the bounds of the chapter, parish, and monastery churches. Wyclif’s books were to be handed over to the archbishop, and preaching was forbidden even in those chapels that had been sanctioned by the pope. Neither the Bethlehem Chapel nor Hus was actually named; nevertheless, the target of the bull was clear. Hus opposed the bull as soon as it was made public by Archbishop Zbyněk at a synod on 16 June 1410. He rightly felt threatened by its content. Defending Wyclif’s “truths” and preaching constituted two key aspects of his activities. This is why he pursued all possible avenues in order to have the ruling dismissed. In the end, however, he was unsuccessful. Both points remained central to his dispute with Church authorities up until the Council of Constance.1 Hus prepared himself well for his performance in the Bethlehem Chapel. We know that he spoke about the proscription against preaching already on June 22. In this speech, he announced his petition: “I lodge an appeal against this unjust command, first with God, the primary authority in granting permission to preach, and then also with the Apostolic See.” Making a reference to the biblical quote on which his appeal was based—“We must obey God rather than men” (Acts 5:29)—he declared his disobedience regarding the archiepiscopal mandate.2 Three days later, Hus again reminded his listeners of the pope’s decree. Alexander apparently wrote to the archbishop of Prague that one can find many people in Bohemia and Moravia who defend Wyclif’s teachings and whose hearts are filled with heresy. “And I say, and thanks be

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to God, that I have never seen a heretical Czech,” declared Hus. The report about Hus’s speech, which Archbishop Zbyněk sent to the Curia, was certainly based on the testimony of a secret informant who was actually present during the sermon. There are, moreover, several witness statements recorded in the acts of the Council of Constance that confirm its wording. When Hus repeated the pope’s words, “all the people shouted: He lies, he lies!” Hus then reminded his audience of the prophecy of Jacob of Teramo, according to which a man would rise up in the year 1409 who would persecute the faith and the gospel of Christ.3 This prophecy had evidently been fulfilled, namely in the person of Pope Alexander, who had been raised to the Holy See by the Council of Pisa precisely in 1409. “I do not know whether he is in Heaven or in Hell,” was Hus’s telling comment about the recently deceased pope. Afterward, Hus announced to the assembly that he, along with some others, had appealed the bull, and asked those present whether they wished to continue to stand by him. “We do wish to and will stand by you!” the people reportedly cried. The preacher then assured them, “Know, therefore, that I have declared and do declare that it is my intention either to preach, to be exiled from the land, or to die in prison, for popes can and do lie, but God does not lie. Wherefore consider whether you want to follow me, and do not fear excommunication because you, along with me, have appealed according to the order and customs of the Church.”4 Officially, Hus and his collaborators did lodge their appeal against the bull in the interest of all believers. However, the import of this memorable sermon does not reside in the accurate rendering of the status of canonical law. Hus here used his consummate oratorical skills to draw Prague’s populace into the dispute between the university’s group of reformers and the archbishop—and, subsequently, the pope. In the mounting conflict, strong lay support was essential if the Wycliffites did not want to be shunted to the side as a band of heretics. At the end of his address, Hus expressly urged the public to be prepared to defend God’s law. Preaching, particularly in the spacious Bethlehem Chapel, was ideal for mobilizing masses of the faithful. It was not, however, the only means by which to obtain support. Hus and his colleagues employed all available media in order to communicate their opinions to the people. In this way, their efforts resembled a mass multimedia campaign.5 Although the Middle Ages were not yet impacted by the technological possibilities brought about by letterpress printing, other practices designed to influence wide swaths of the citizenry were widely available in this period. Itinerant preachers who had developed a reputation for exceptional oration were able to attract huge numbers. Careful preparation of the external framework of a preacher’s performance, along with good staging, could captivate an audience even more than the content of the sermon itself. Some preachers



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acted out dialogical scenes with the help of gestures, body language, and altered voices. Bernardine of Siena, in a sermon he gave in 1424 railing against sodomy, succeeded in compelling everyone present to spit at the same time in order to extinguish the fire of Sodom.6 Standard and regular preaching on Sundays and holy days in a local church could be no less effective than the spectacular performances of famous visiting preachers. The frequent repetition of extracts from religious literature could have an effect similar to today’s mass media.7 At the same time, the content presented orally by preachers often only propagated what already was being broadly disseminated in written form by means of collections of model sermons. Mendicant orders and the universities had developed an effective method for copying texts for this purpose. In thirteenth-century Paris, the pecia system was used: a work was divided into a number of unbound sections that could then be rented individually from booksellers’ stalls for the purpose of being copied. As a result, it was possible for several copyists to transcribe text from the same source simultaneously. A different method—one that was organizationally somewhat more demanding—was known as pronuntiatio; it consisted of dictating a given work to a number of copyists. However, even these techniques could only facilitate access to texts that were more or less confined to university circles.8 Only a few prominent authors managed to break out beyond this exclusive sphere to reach more readers. Late medieval works that enjoyed particular popularity are preserved today in hundreds of manuscripts. A remarkable example is the work of Hus’s adversary, the Parisian Chancellor Jean Gerson. This author diligently targeted a range of reading groups and came to enjoy best-seller status already in his lifetime. Many of his works evidently were copied simply because they had been authored by Gerson.9 The Hussites did not make use of all of the abovementioned methods to reproduce texts. There are no traces of the pecia system in late medieval Bohemia. Most copies of their texts were made privately, with only a small number executed by professional scribes. The dissemination of texts was most likely taken up by groups of readers with the same interests. The student college near the Bethlehem Chapel can be counted among the sites where texts were produced. Its members were often the first readers and writers of Hus’s works, and were therefore also responsible for the works’ diffusion. The students were accustomed to writing from dictation, which was utilized in the process of transcribing Hus’s texts. Stephen of Páleč mentions that Hus’s tract, On the Church, was read out in the Bethlehem Chapel to a group of “almost eighty persons.”10 Although the report does not state whether everyone present was also writing, use of the term “pronunciatus” suggests that this was the case. The content of extant manuscripts does not indicate

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that they were all based on a single source that had been used for dictation. This may also mean, however, that the original transmission of the tract far exceeded those eighty scribes, and that only a fraction of the manuscripts have survived. It is difficult to discern if an earlier report, according to which Milíč’s texts were transcribed by two to three hundred copyists at once, is an exaggeration.11 None of the surviving manuscripts attest to the creation of a “complete edition” of Hus’s work, which has been documented for John Wyclif and which the Carthusians had done with the writings of Jean Gerson. For authors condemned as heretics, we must count on a considerable loss of handwritten material, particularly during the time of the Counter-Reformation. Even so, some of Hus’s writings have been preserved in relatively large numbers of manuscripts; for instance, the Latin text, De sex erroribus (On the Six Errors), exists in twenty-five exemplars. The circle of Hus’s readers remained limited to one interest group—literate sympathizers of reform. However, Hus himself strived—successfully—to expand this group as much as possible. He wrote both Latin tracts for members of the university and Czech books for the schooling of rural priests who were tasked with spreading the doctrines of Hussite reform. Some works were even aimed at cultivating the educated laity.12 Although the objectives of reform were circulated by means of a wide range of written sources, the most notable achievement of early Hussitism lay in the movement’s direct engagement with the public. We already have mentioned the potential of oral agitation through preaching. However, the Hussite campaign also was taken outside the churches and into the streets and markets, where its effectiveness was based on the personal experience of what was heard and seen. Hus also used the interior of the Bethlehem Chapel for the “audiovisual” presentation of his thoughts on reform. He had the text of his tractate, De sex erroribus, written on the north and south walls of the chapel (most likely in the year 1412). The inscriptions were arranged into columns that were 2.7 meters wide. The Latin letters, which were partly situated high above eye level, were illegible and incomprehensible not only to the uneducated laity, but also to the majority of literate visitors. This did not seem to matter to Hus. He could refer and gesture to the lessons of his text at any time. For visitors to the Bethlehem Chapel, the inscriptions were primarily symbolic. They appeared on the wall as visible proof of the truth that had been uncovered and confirmed by the faithful scholars of the university reform group. For humble believers, the words did not even have to be intelligible.13 All six theses of the treatise, De sex erroribus, emphasize the divine power of God as opposed to the earthly power of priests.14 The errors criticized by Hus pertain to the following themes:



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Creation: Priests should not claim that they create the body of Christ during Mass. Faith: Priests must not endorse veneration of the Virgin Mary, the saints, or the pope, because faith can and should be reserved for God alone. Forgiveness: Priests are not permitted to proclaim that they can forgive anyone’s sins ad libitum. Obedience: It is not right to preach that subjects must obey all commands—even those that are unjust—given by authorities. Excommunication: Unjust censure is not valid. Simony: Commerce with ecclesiastical offices and sacraments is impermissible.

According to Hus, in all of these cases priests unjustifiably assume power that belongs only to God. De sex erroribus consists almost exclusively of quotations from the Bible and the Church fathers; Hus’s own commentary is kept to a minimum. In the Czech version produced in the summer of 1413, Hus provided each chapter with an introduction and a conclusion. However, the wall of the Bethlehem Chapel only featured citations listed one after the other. By being cast on the walls of the sanctuary, they assumed an air of absolute validity. Hus even referred to them in his writings when he wished to reduce the repetition of an argument.15 The potential of the inscription to incite agitation also was perceived by Hus’s opponents: the wall text was criticized by Andrew of Brod, Stephen of Dolany, and Stephen of Páleč. 16 That Hus was successful in his plan to sway a broader segment of the public is evidenced by a song in Old Czech, the lyrics of which address Hus’s German enemies: If people wish the Scripture to know, to Bethlehem they must go, on the walls there to learn, the written words he had preached, Master Jan of Husinec.17

In a letter dated 3 March 1415, an imprisoned Hus asked his Constance guide, John of Chlum, to interpret a dream that he had had the previous night. Prelates had allowed for the destruction of paintings of Christ in the Bethlehem Chapel, but the following day artists repainted the images and made them more

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beautiful than before. In the dream, people apparently responded by saying, “Let bishops and the priests come and destroy these pictures of ours!”18 Peter of Mladoňovice interpreted the dream allegorically, as a renewed dedication to follow Christ through the work of faithful preachers. But were there actually paintings in the Bethlehem Chapel? Certain documents suggest this. The painted motifs ostensibly included a depiction of the pope on a horse and a poor Jesus. These pictures most probably represented a papal procession and Christ’s entry into Jerusalem on a donkey. Incidentally, the same effective contrast was also used by Hus in his Czech postil.19 Painted renderings of a similar theme have survived in two illustrated manuscripts—the Jena and Göttingen codices. Their illuminations clearly denote the true and false Church: the first is governed by the commandments of Christ and the practice of the Apostles; the second is administered by contemporary clerics—obese prelates, simoniacal priests, and lecherous monks.20 The same antithesis was chosen by Nicholas of Dresden—a member of the university residence known as the Black Rose located in Prague’s Příkopy—as the theme for his tractate, Tabule veteris et novi coloris (Tables of the Old Color and the New), from circa 1412. Presumably, even the earliest copies of this text were illustrated; moreover, the Czech version is also found in the Jena Codex.21 Nicholas himself referred to his work as Cortina de Antichristo. This term refers to a woven carpet, but also to a scholastic compilation of quotes. Nicholas could have meant both. He assembled his text from citations of authorities, but the content of this text also may have been featured on cloth banners used in Hussite street demonstrations. A polemical treatise that came out against the Tabule in 1417 testifies to the existence of several images that compared the life of Christ with the conduct of the pope. The chronicle of the New Town scribe, Prokop, from the 1470s records some street chants and notes that the masters of the Black Rose walked around the city carrying boards with inscriptions and images showing a poor Jesus and the pope on horseback.22 It is possible that the walls inside the building of the Black Rose were decorated with such pictures. In the Bethlehem Chapel, there was probably no room for wall paintings due to the extensive inscriptions taking up much of the surface. One theory suggests, however, that the chapel may have housed the banners used for demonstrations, and these may have been the images referenced in Hus’s dream.23 Public productions and processions—a sort of political carnival—enjoyed great popularity. In the year 1412, Prague students organized a parodic performance criticizing the papal bull on indulgences. They loaded a cart drawn by two horses with replicas of the papal bull. One student, who sat atop the cart dressed and made up like a prostitute, offered indulges to passersby with lurid gestures. It is possible that the organizers even engaged the



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services of a real prostitute, since some reports remark that she had a bull hanging around her neck and perhaps also on her breasts. In accordance with the charges pronounced at Constance, we can attribute the responsibility for the whole event to Jerome of Prague. His friend and the king’s courtier, Voksa of Valdštejn, brought several men armed with batons and swords to the procession, presumably to protect the performers. The masquerade set off from Lesser Town and passed through Old Town, at which point the students burned the papal bull near the New Town pillory (according to a different report from the King’s Court in Old Town). This public performance apparently made a bigger impression on the citizens of Prague than any theological argument. Reactions to the theatrical enactment were heard far beyond the city’s ramparts. The event is mentioned in the charges brought against Jerome of Prague and Wenceslas IV at Constance.24 Even Abbot Ludolf of the Silesian Żagań knew about it, and the Utraquist Suffragan Bishop Martin Lupáč reminisced about watching the demonstration as a student half a century after it had taken place.25 It seems that such demonstrations occurred frequently in Prague. A member of the Council of Basel, Juan Palomar, was aware that in 1410 Hus had had the papal bull on the prohibition of preaching tied to the tail of a mare and dragged through the city. The Hussite leader, Prokop Holý, placed the event into a different context, however; he claimed that the situation had centered on a letter written by a certain prosecutor who had tried to poison the king. No matter who was involved and what the reason, this report demonstrates that disparaging public performances were relatively common.26 Despite the appeal lodged by Hus and his allies against the bull of Alexander V, Archbishop Zbyněk did in fact confiscate Wyclif’s books, and on 16 July 1410 he had them burned. Reformers expressed their objections many times; among other methods, they used one of the most important means of Hussite agitation to express their dissent: songs. The advantage of a song in the vernacular lay in the medium’s ease of comprehension and memorization, particularly if it made use of a well-known melody.27 Hus himself wrote one prayer and adapted one older song; he may even be the author of several other songs. These were purely religious in content.28 Singing offered the laity an opportunity to partake actively in services, which increased the sense of belonging. Hussite song propaganda set itself higher goals, however. Singing was to find application even outside the space of a church. A widely disseminated anti-Hussite tractate, written in the form of an open letter to an “eloquent man” (Eloquenti viro—a reference to Hus), complains that “in churches, markets, and pubs, songs are being sung that are not approved by the Church.”29 Old Czech chronicles recount how the clash that followed the burning of Wyclif’s books was inserted even into songs: “since some sided with the canons, and others stood by Master Hus, they thus composed derogatory songs about one

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another.” They then “sang [these], walking through Prague.”30 It was not by chance that the synod of 1408 forbade all “new songs,” excepting four that were old and had been approved.31 Reformers used singing for a variety of purposes. Some of their songs condemn the practices surrounding indulgences: one composition employs 171 verses to describe human life from birth and baptism through marriage to sickness, death, and burial, calculating all the charges and duties paid to the clergy in that time.32 Shorter songs were more effective in influencing public opinion more quickly, since they could respond to events immediately. The burning of Wyclif’s books moved rhymesters to deride the archbishop as an illiterate: Zbyněk Bishop Alphabet, burned the books, but did not get, what was written in them.

Another strophe made a mockery of the Canon Zdeněk of Chrást: The books were burned by Zbyněk, they were ignited by Zdeněk, he brought disgrace to the Czechs, woe betide all unfaithful priests.

The 1412 indulgence campaign also brought about a striking reaction in verse: For Master Hus it is aberrant, for the Holy Scriptures abhorrent, that a man likens himself to God.33

These songs are preserved in fragments, often as individual, nonsequential stanzas sharing the same form. This implies that existing songs were supplemented with additional, up-to-date verses as the need arose. Their authors were likely found among academically educated clerics. This was undoubtedly the case for longer compositions with theological content. The charges laid against Jerome of Prague at the Council of Constance claimed, among other things, that he had composed several songs for the laity in which he presented the text of Scripture in such a way as to give the impression that his faction, and not the Roman Church, understood the Bible correctly. These songs allegedly were sung day and night in the streets. Jerome denied this accusation.34 Because we do not have a reliable source on the topic, it cannot be proven that he had indeed composed songs.35 We



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can consider as certain, however, that the thoughts, arguments, and turns of phrase generated by reform-oriented masters permeated poems and songs written in the vernacular. The song “Hear, Knights of God” called for opposition against Archbishop Zbyněk.36 Designating the supporters of reform as “God’s knights” was relatively widespread among Wycliffite preachers. With reference to the venerable Christian idea of spiritual struggle, both Hus and Jakoubek made use of this rhetoric. Jerome, in his speech during the quodlibetal dispute of 1409, also addressed the students as knights. In Constance, Jerome confessed that he had written a complaint against Archbishop Zbyněk. According to the documents of the prosecution, he had written several libelous texts and tacked them up in public places, including the pillory. During one of Hus’s sermons in the Bethlehem Chapel, he apparently stuck his head out the small window of the preacher’s quarters and incited people to oppose the archbishop.37 It is interesting that “Hear, Knights of God” includes both a critique aimed at Zbyněk and a defense of Czech orthodoxy: It is an old saying, and a good one: the Czech race is virtuous and cannot be erroneous. All the countries sing this.38

Not only did Hus reference this saying in the speech that was described at the beginning of this chapter, but it also can be found in the quodlibetal address of Master Jerome.39 “All the countries” did not, of course, sing about the orthodoxy of the Czechs. For chronicler Andrew of Regensburg, who belonged to the anti-Hussite camp, Czech heresy was a notorious subject. He rejected the adage about Czech orthodoxy and added that the Hussites had even dared to brand others as Mohammedans.40 We have ample documentation on the use of this invective. Stephen of Páleč complained about it already in the year 1413; one year later, Andrew of Brod remarked that devising defamatory names for opposing parties would only aggravate the religious rifts dividing the country. He was right, for spreading images of the enemy among the people could indeed strengthen the identity of Hussite supporters.41 Although the derisive names took on the simplest, and even vulgar forms, we must look for their origins in the university environment. This also applies to Hus’s helpers in the propagation of his teachings. His students and colleagues took on positions as priests and ministers in Prague and beyond, and they used their offices to disseminate the program of reform. Without the (often anonymous) members of the reform-minded clergy, successful agitation

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in favor of Hussite views would hardly have been conceivable during Hus’s lifetime and especially afterward. The rapid spread of early Hussitism was not an accident, but rather the result of a targeted campaign. Evidence of this can be found in a source that reveals that the control and direction of propaganda was, to an extent, an organized affair. It comes from the time of the 1412 indulgence disputes. The third part of Hus’s leaflet series, Contra cruciatam (Against the Crusade), was expanded in the 1558 edition with a text that begins with the words, “Sermons should advise the people . . . .” One extant manuscript confirms that this instruction already was associated with the text of the Contra cruciatam in the fifteenth century. Judging by its content, it probably originated in the year 1412 and may even have been composed by Hus himself. The text consists of a few paragraphs, which, for the most part, comprise quotations from Scripture, the Church fathers, and ecclesiastical law. Its themes include indulgences, relics, confession, the forgiveness of sins, repentance, and monastic life. What is notable is that each theme is introduced with the aforementioned words (“Sermons should advise the people . . .”). The entire phrasing of this source indicates that it was a guide for preaching. In terms of content, it corresponds with the opinions of the Wycliffite reform circle. We read, for example: “Item, sermons should advise the people not to allow themselves to be robbed during confession by simoniacs with the help of a prescribed tax, or by demands to make a contribution to or to fund the Mass.” This simple program was clearly created by someone at the center of reform in Prague—perhaps Hus himself or one of his closest associates—in order to outline the main topics of their ongoing preaching campaign and to facilitate their communication to active fellow combatants.42 Hus’s preaching was the center of attention for his supporters as well as his adversaries. Old Czech annals comment on it thus: “And people always argued about the preaching of Master Hus; some said that he preaches the truth of the priesthood and others that he does not.”43 We can assume that Hus’s success in the public space stemmed from the fact that he wielded forms of mass communication masterfully. Thanks to his commission as preacher of the Bethlehem Chapel, he was able to influence his audience over a long period. He surpassed other preachers operating in Prague at that time due to the way he conveyed his message. His preaching became an event. His speeches on the shortcomings of the Church excited listeners no less than Milíč’s ascetic-prophetic stylizations or the bombastic performances of itinerant preachers from the monastic orders. Pictures and songs helped the public to embrace and identify with the content of the sermons. Additionally, in the Bethlehem Chapel, people also could hear important or interesting documents, which Hus occasionally would read aloud from the pulpit (as he



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did, for instance, with the testimony of Wyclif’s orthodoxy that was allegedly issued by Oxford University). Later, Hus’s own letters from Constance were read here as well.44 Hus’s adversaries undoubtedly recognized the strength of a campaign managed in this way. They even used some of the same methods, as evidenced by anti-Hussite songs composed in the vernacular. At the same time, however, they also deemed it necessary to act against heretical propaganda with force. In the chapter on Jan Hus’s preaching activities, I discussed how the way in which he executed the office of preacher was not, in and of itself, the reason for his conviction. The content of his speeches and the fact that he did not obey the prohibition on preaching did, however, provide impetus for his prosecution. Hus’s internal conviction as well as his external persuasiveness, which he turned toward the laity, must have alarmed Church authorities. After the hearing that took place at Constance on 8 June 1415, King Sigismund spoke semi-privately with those council fathers who were present. Hus’s Czech guides were still within earshot, however, and so Peter of Mladoňovice was able to record Sigismund’s words: “And be sure, that whatever he would promise, whether he intends to recant or whether he actually recants here, you do not believe him; nor would I believe him. Because, returning to the kingdom, he will go to his supporters and will disseminate those and many other errors, and ‘the latest error will be worse than the previous’ [Matthew 27:64]. Restrain him, therefore, from any kind of preaching, so that he would no longer preach, and also that he would not again return to his supporters, lest he disseminate more of those errors.”45

Chapter 10 Public Engagement and Political Support: Royal Expropriation of Church Property, 1411 Jan Hus’s appeal to the pope against the prohibition of preaching and the burning of books constituted the beginning of his suit with the Roman curia. The case was entrusted to Cardinal Oddo Colonna, who later became Pope Martin V. He summoned Hus and, when this person of interest failed to appear in court, he excommunicated him in February 1411. On 15 March 1411, Archbishop Zbyněk publicized this decision in Prague. A response came from the highest levels: King Wenceslas had been displeased by the book burning, and he instructed the archbishop to compensate the owners of the destroyed volumes. When this did not happen, the king took advantage of the situation by launching an unexpected counterattack. On Friday, 24 April, New Town in Prague was the site of the annual festival of relics, during which time the imperial jewels were put on display at the Cattle Market (today’s Charles Square). The ceremony, which had been established by Wenceslas’s father, Charles IV, regularly brought crowds of pilgrims into the city. On this occasion, the gathered masses were addressed by the royal crier, who announced the following from the tower near the Chapel of the Body of God: The king confiscates the incomes and possessions of castle canons and other clergy “because they disobey him and shame his kingdom.”1 Wenceslas entrusted the process of confiscation to his courtiers, Racek Kobyla and Voksa of Valdštejn, who were to receive support from the Prague city councils. The town halls of both Old and New Town began to be filled with church treasures. Sources indicate that, outwardly, the act of expropriation was cast as a punitive measure against the depravity of the clergy. A royal mandate even sent Kobyla to the Olomouc diocese in order to intervene in case the local bishop, Conrad of Vechta (who was, however, Wenceslas’s ally), was unable to contend with the unruly clergy within one month. In the so-called Versified Chronicles, both of the designated executors were labeled—probably ironically—as “correctors.” This term was used to identify an official of the

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archbishopric whose task was to monitor the morality of clerics. One poem literally says: “Voksa, Racek Kobyla / acted as correctors. / They blackmailed priests / and of what they had, they took all.”2 Archbishop Zbyněk excommunicated the executors on 2 May, which only aggravated the situation. Wenceslas’s reaction came four days later. According to the chronicles, “the king came to the castle, entered the cathedral, and had all the relics and other jewels gathered together in the sacristy and loaded onto a cart that he had brought with him. The next day, that is, on the Friday before the feast of St. Stanislav, he ordered the treasures to be taken to Karlštejn, for he was afraid that the dispute would cause the archbishop and the canons to move them elsewhere.”3 In certain areas, the assault against the clergy began to take on dangerous proportions. A later report avers that priests “were robbed, some were harassed in various ways and imprisoned, held in city pillories, led naked with [their] women, covered in mud, thrown into water, and then shamefully driven out of the city.”4 In effect, what we have here is an example of Wycliffite reform theory in action. Sources—albeit ones with predominantly anti-Hussite leanings— unequivocally associate the abovementioned events with the preaching of Hus. The Versified Chronicles blame the proliferation of animosity toward the clergy on the antipapal and anticlerical sermons of Hus. He apparently referred to priests as “misers, simoniacs, keepers of concubines.” The chronicler expressly states, “this all happened due to the preaching of Master Jan Hus.”5 However, the connection between the king’s acts of expropriation and Hus’s reform-minded sermons is not definite. The king acted in his own interest, not in accordance with the directives of preachers. That said, there are two circumstances that cannot be ignored. First, the secularization of church property was, for many secular lords, the most compelling aspect of Wycliffite social doctrine. Second, many titled courtiers had close ties to the Wycliffite circle in Prague. This was particularly true of one of the main figures embroiled in the confiscation drama, Voksa of Valdštejn. Voksa was on friendly terms with Jerome of Prague, as evidenced by the public demonstration against indulgences described earlier and as confessed by Jerome himself during his trial at Constance. He also was corresponding with one of the prominent English Lollard (i.e., Wycliffite) Knights, John Oldcastle, Lord of Cobham in Kent. A surviving letter from Oldcastle to Voksa is dated 8 September 1410; consequently, he may have arrived in Prague several months before the seizure of relics. Hus, who was himself in epistolary contact with the Wycliffite priest Richard Wyche, also wrote to Oldcastle—possibly in the summer of 1411. Oldcastle then wrote a letter to King Wenceslas on 7 September. The recipient is praised in the missive for his actions against the “false brothers and prelates”; the enemies of God’s law are described as having



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been “frightened as if by a lion’s roar.”6 This allusion to the Czech armorial animal brings to mind a song about the knights of God, whose lyrics include the following: “God, advise the lion to rise, / and priestly ire rive.”7 If this letter had indeed been written in the year 1411, then Wenceslas’s “brave knightly service to the gospel of Christ”—of which Oldcastle was apparently informed by Hus—concerned the secularization of church property.8 In any case, Wenceslas’s actions were welcomed by the Wycliffite reformers in Prague. Master Jakoubek of Stříbro gave a lecture at the university in May of 1411 in which he endorsed the expropriation. In his address he drew on Wyclif’s texts, and it is clear that he found the views of the English theologian to be persuasive. According to Jakoubek, clerics who went against the Law of God and harmed the kingdom by accumulating ecclesiastical estates should be punished by the king by having their property confiscated.9 Hus also adopted Wyclif’s interpretation of royal office for his own sermon on Ait dominus servo (“The Lord said unto the servant,” Luke 14:23). The extant text is a reworked version of a Bethlehem sermon from 21 June 1411. In it Hus defended Wenceslas’s right to secure the assets of clerics in order to compel them to carry out their duties properly. Hus regarded Archbishop Zbyněk’s response to the persecution of his clergy in the form of an interdict against Prague and its environs as disproportionate, and he called for the resumption of preaching and church services.10 Although we have no documentation to prove a direct correlation between the opinions of Hus and his colleagues and the king’s decision, it is clear that the interests of the court and those of the Wycliffites aligned on this point. The events of 1411 can be considered the apogee of royal support for Hus’s reform group in its dispute with the archbishop. It is necessary to realize, however, that this alliance was purely pragmatic. Wenceslas was in no way a Wycliffite. What was more important to him than the theological underpinnings of reformist views was the potential of these views to aid him in his political struggle with the archbishop. The leaders of the Wycliffite reform group at the university quickly recognized the benefits of his political support. For them, an alliance with the royal court was, in effect, a determining factor in their battle with the archbishop and the pope. At it turned out, however, securing access to the Prague court was not an entirely straightforward undertaking for the university scholars. Wenceslas occasionally took advantage of the services of the professors (as when he tasked them with diplomatic missions), but he did not establish close ties with “his” university, as was the case with other rulers at that time. In the Late Middle Ages, the influence of universities on royal courts was effectively amplified. We see larger numbers of university graduates (most often with a bachelor of liberal arts degree) in the administration of individual

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principalities in the last quarter of the fifteenth century, with a subsequent increase in the early modern period. That said, theologians and especially jurists already were presented with opportunities for court service, office work, or a place on the royal council in the Late Middle Ages. A good example is Wenceslas’s rival, the King of the Romans Rupert of the Palatinate. Documents from his court record a total of thirty-one spiritual advisors, of which ten were engaged as professors at the university in Heidelberg. It is notable that seven of these ten scholars came to Heidelberg from the University of Prague, as was the case with two of Rupert’s chief learned councillors, the theologian Matthew of Kraków and the lawyer Nicholas Burgmann, as well as Conrad Soltau and Nicholas Magni of Jawor. The role of intellectuals at Rupert’s court was further underscored by the close ties between the university and the royal office. Even though the Polish royal court did not make use of scholarly councils, King Wladyslaw Jagiello did employ the services of scholars fairly intensively. Kraków professors, who often studied in Prague or were called to Poland directly from the Czech metropolis, were primarily deployed by the king for diplomatic tasks and as experts in the conflict with the Teutonic Order.11 In light of the considerable influence wielded by former Prague graduates and teachers in Heidelberg, Kraków, and elsewhere, it is surprising that Wenceslas IV did not exploit the capabilities of his scholars as systematically as Rupert or Jagiello. The Prague court maintained high cultural standards, as evidenced by the impressive manuscripts in Wenceslas’s library and by some literary works. During his time at the Wenceslas court, Lawrence of Březová—a university master who later became a chronicler of Hussitism— wrote a universal chronicle and translated The Travels of Sir John Mandeville and a dream book into Czech. In political practice, however, scholars were almost never present. Some jurists served at the royal office in Prague, including, for instance, Jacob of Beroun, who attained a bachelor of liberal arts degree in 1393 together with Hus and then took on secretarial work. Otherwise, the royal council relied only minimally on support from academics.12 The king was certainly a well-educated man himself and he did occasionally permit theological debates to take place at his court. In the mid-1380s, a learned discussion took place during a feast at the royal castle of Křivoklát between the scholastic of the cathedral, Vojtěch Raňkův, and Archbishop Jenštejn. In the year 1412, Wenceslas invited the parties involved in a dispute over the selling of indulgences to Castle Žebrák in order to use his authority to reach an amicable resolution of the conflict. Wenceslas primarily was concerned with maintaining tranquility and peace in his lands. His policy in relation to Hus’s cause was aimed at eliminating unnecessary tensions and, above all, cleansing the kingdom of harmful and insidious accusations of heresy. As early as 1408,



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the king exerted pressure on Archbishop Zbyněk to summon an extraordinary synod at which he was to announce that he had not discovered any heretical fallacies regarding the Sacrament of the Altar within his diocese.13 Wenceslas’s position became particularly apparent in the years 1412 to 1413. The king first supported the allowance of indulgences and turned against the protests, which he saw as a disruption of the public order. On the other hand, the following year he expelled four theology professors with anti-Hussite leanings because he believed they stood in the way of reconciliation.14 The reformers could therefore count on the king’s support only when their aims were compatible with his politics and their actions did not come across as seditious. In this Wenceslas took after his father, Charles IV. The emperor initially had supported the reform-minded preachers Conrad Waldhauser and Milíč of Kroměříž, but as soon their activities raised the suspicion of heresy he withdrew his backing.15 Wenceslas also occasionally supported centers of reform, but he did not want to be associated with any theological or political excesses. Whether or not he privately sympathized with any of the reformers’ ideas is only a matter of conjecture. Outwardly, the king and the people in his following presented themselves as representatives of traditional forms of piety, as, for example, in 1393 when they supported the papal jubilee indulgences, which were granted specifically for Bohemia. Supporters of ecclesiastical reform undoubtedly could be found among the king’s courtiers. Many nobles associated with the court entered the brotherhood at the New Town’s Corpus Christi Chapel. When the brotherhood decided to hand the chapel over to the Bohemian university community in 1403, it was taken over by Hus on behalf of the institution.16 In the year 1406, Wenceslas IV gave permission for Czechs to donate their income to the chapel to a maximum of 100 schocks of Prague groschen. One year later, he himself donated funds to pay students living near the Bethlehem Chapel a yearly salary of 12.5 schocks.17 This reflects the favor that a certain segment of the royal court extended to ecclesiastical reform. At the same time, it indicates the path by which the king could strengthen his ties with the university (or with one faction of the university). The services of the university could then benefit the sovereign in managing complicated diplomatic and ecclesiastical affairs related to schisms and councils, as evidenced by the events surrounding the Council of Pisa and the Decree of Kutná Hora. With the onset of the Great Schism, expertise in theological and canonical knowledge gained value as a desirable commodity in the political debate. Kings and cardinals still continued to create their own high politics; however, they turned to university scholars more and more since only these learned individuals could contribute the arguments and expert opinions that legitimized political decisions. After all, it was the academics who proposed conciliarism

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as a mechanism for ending the schism.18 Their weight in political debates increased significantly. We find numerous graduates serving in a diplomatic capacity in association with the councils and attempts to resolve the schism. At the Prague quodlibet in 1409, Old Town councillors as well as a delegation from Brabant provided a notable backdrop for the well-known speech of Jerome of Prague.19 On another occasion, the rector invited Parisian Master Jacques de Nouvion to a celebratory feast; Nouvion had visited Prague in the summer of 1408 to discuss denying obedience to both popes with Wenceslas IV. The French scholar’s encounter with colleagues from the University of Prague developed into a dispute over Wyclif’s theses. The English diplomat John Stokes was similarly invited to a meal and a discussion in the year 1411. He did not attend out of fear of heresy, which earned him a polemical response from the pen of Hus.20 These examples demonstrate that, at this time, it was increasingly assumed and even expected that university masters would be willing to comment on topics of public interest. Beginning in the late fourteenth century, public engagement became an important undertaking for intellectuals. University scholars voiced their opinions on a wide range of topics concerning both public life and spiritual matters: simony, superstition, heresy (especially Wycliffism and Hussitism), usury, hereditary law, church reform, conciliarism, or the appearance of Joan of Arc. It became progressively more common for these opinions to be expressed in the form of short, thematically focused treatises. Jean Gerson, the Parisian theologian, was a master of the concise, clever, and widely read tract.21 Personages such as John Wyclif, Jerome of Prague, and Jan Hus did not lag far behind him, however, and with their texts also intervened in public debate. On a number of occasions, Hus involved himself in cases that he considered significant from the point of view of public interest. The letter he wrote to Archbishop Zbyněk in 1408 was already mentioned above. In this missive, Hus reported the public crimes of clerics to the head of the Bohemian clergy, referring to the fact that Archbishop Zbyněk had once commissioned him to do so. On 30 June, the archiepiscopal court heard the testimony of the cleric Nicholas of Velmovice (called Abraham), because he was preaching without official authorization. His conviction that he was given permission to preach directly from God fully corresponded with Hussite opinion. Because he was reluctant to swear an oath, Abraham aroused suspicion that he was an adherent of Waldensian heresy and so he was handed over to the Inquisition. Hus attended his hearing with the inquisitors and defended him.22 His intervention was evidently prompted by the belief that justice, general welfare, and his agenda of reform were at stake. Hus was always vigilant and ready to intervene in the contentious problems of Church politics. His actions during



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the indulgence affair of 1412 were entirely consistent with his standing as a self-confident leader who was assuming total responsibility for the reform movement. A remarkable mode of expressing political support for Hus came in the form of letters that were written by various individuals in an attempt to influence Hus’s cause with the Roman curia. They responded to the visit of Anthony of Montecatino, legate of the new pope, John XXIII, in September 1410, and also to Hus’s summons by Oddo Colonna, which became known in Prague in October of the same year. Seven of the twenty-three documents were signed in the name of King Wenceslas, and seven in the name of Queen Sophia. The rest were written on behalf of the Prague towns, some Czech nobles, and the rector of the university. A critical review of this collection of letters revealed that they were not composed in the offices of the individual senders. Their origins can be traced instead to the university—to Hus’s circle of supporters who wrote the texts and presented them to the senders for sealing. Some of the missives that are preserved only as copies may never have been sent, but we can presume that the majority probably were. The willingness of the royal couple and certain lords to participate in a petitionary process clearly indicates the favor Hus found among the powerful figures of his time.23 The influence of Czech Wycliffite masters on the royal court also is evidenced by the fact that in 1408, Hus and Jerome, together with some nobles, successfully convinced Wenceslas IV to replace German councillors on the Old Town Council with Czechs.24 The royal confiscation of Church property in the spring of 1411 was therefore a logical consequence of Wenceslas’s politics. The king wanted to induce the archbishop to end the conflict, and in that way to eliminate the increasingly serious accusations of heresy. He declared the interdict as invalid. Peace in his lands was as precious to Wenceslas as the reputation of his kingdom. On 5 June, the lords of the land court issued a resolution according to which no one could be brought before an ecclesiastical court for a matter that concerned the kingdom. According to the court, this measure was introduced at the king’s request.25 In the meantime, Wenceslas was working to settle the dispute with the archbishop. In early June, Zbyněk and the university both agreed to submit to the dictum issued by a committee appointed by the king. As could be expected, the decision represented a bitter defeat for the archbishop. Not only did he have to yield to the king, but he also had to write to the pope “that he does not know of any heresies in this land and only had a quarrel with the masters.” At the same time, he was also to abolish the ban, or, more specifically, to make a case for its abolition with the pope.26 The archbishop did retract the interdict, but afterward he left Prague in order to seek counsel and asylum from Bishop of Litomyšl John Železný and Hungarian King Sigismund of Luxembourg. However, he died en route on the feast day of St. Wenceslas, 28 September 1411.

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Házmburk’s unexpected death changed the situation with regard to the support given by the king to the Wycliffites. The archiepiscopal see of Prague briefly was held by Wenceslas’s personal physician, Albík of Uničov, and then by his courtier, Conrad of Vechta. If Hus had previously benefited from the tensions between the royal court and the archbishopric, he now had to contend with a silent coalition between the ruler and archbishops who were close to the king. He did not lose Wenceslas’s favor altogether, but he could no longer expect the same open support he had received in the years 1410–11. This already became apparent during the indulgence affair of 1412. At that time, however, Hus could count on the help of another influential group: the Czech nobility. The names of the lords who were included in the epistolary event of 1410 reveal that Hus and his friends were not satisfied with their existing contacts at the royal court, and that they also sought the support of the landed nobility. After Hus left Prague at the end of 1412, some nobles offered to shelter him at their castles: Ctibor of Kozí at his castle of the same name, and Henry Lefl of Lažany at Krakovec Castle. In the autumn of 1412 and again before leaving for Constance, Hus and his lawyer, John of Jesenice, turned to the lords at the land court with a plea for help. He asked them again in the autumn of 1414, hoping they could persuade the archbishop to issue a declaration confirming Hus’s orthodoxy. Conrad of Vechta did subsequently assert that he had not witnessed Hus be accused of any form of heresy. He also remarked that Hus was contending with a papal interdict and that he must consequently defend himself before the pope. The lords Čeněk of Vartenberk, Boček of Kunštát, and William of Zvířetice passed along this information to King Sigismund of Luxembourg, and they requested that he arrange for Hus to have a public hearing in Constance.27 Some nobles accompanied Hus directly to the council. Knight John of Chlum provided him with steadfast assistance up until his execution. When, during a hearing on 7 June 1415, Hus wanted to emphasize that he had come to the council voluntarily, he pointed to the support of the nobles: “There are so many and such great lords in the Kingdom of Bohemia who love me, that I could have hidden and concealed myself in their castles.” To this the lord of Chlum added that he himself could protect Hus at his castle all year.28 That said, Hus did not have any truly effective political support in Constance. King Wenceslas did nothing to save his subject. Furthermore, Wenceslas’s brother and heir, Sigismund, already was considered the most pivotal figure at the time. Even before the beginning of the council, the author of an anonymous letter urged him to pursue and eradicate Wycliffite heresy.29 As is well known, Sigismund had issued Hus with a promise of safe-conduct, but it seems that he never intended to protect the master. As Hus’s case progressed, he took the view that it would be best not to risk a more serious conflict with



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council officials because of a Czech preacher.30 Not only Wenceslas but also Sigismund was in danger of being charged with heresy. During the hearing of 7 June 1415, Sigismund said to Hus: “I told them that I am not willing to defend any heretic; indeed, if one should remain obstinate in his heresy, I myself would kindle the fire and burn him. But I would advise you to throw yourself wholly on the mercy of the Council.”31 In this type of situation, any king would naturally prioritize political considerations. In the end, then, Hus’s efforts to secure political backing came to naught. Although he was able to gain the favor of important segments of the Czech nobility and city councils, the Bethlehem preacher was nonetheless sacrificed by the political players who were most influential in the international arena. From this standpoint, his decision to go to Constance was a tactical error. However, had Hus been a skilled tactician who thought of his own safety and welfare and withdrew at the right moment, he would not have warranted such a prominent place in history. Instead, he defended his ideas and ideals quite openly—even when he could no longer hope for any support from those in positions of power. In this he saw his calling as a priest and scholar. He deemed the task of the intellectual to be to raise issues that were in the best interests of society as a whole, and not to exploit connections with political heads for personal gain. This was a point on which Hus and his adversaries in Constance agreed. Not only Gerson, but also Stephen of Páleč claimed that he had testified against Hus not out of hatred, but because he felt compelled to do so as a professor of theology.32 The divergence of opinions on the resolution of actual problems led to the collision of these intellectuals, at which time the (politically) weaker contender had to yield. Somewhat paradoxically, Hus’s talent as a politically engaged master contributed to his condemnation. That is, his position as a public figure who secured a considerable following that also included members of the highest circles made Hus seem even more dangerous.

Chapter 11 Leader of the Protest Movement: The Prague Indulgence Disputes, 1412 On Sunday, 10 July 1412, preachers at several churches in Prague were preparing once again to denounce King Ladislaus of Naples and to proclaim a papal crusade against him. This was a requirement of the bull of John XXIII from September 1411, which had been announced in Prague a few weeks prior. Preachers were to inform the faithful that financial contributions to the Italian campaign would be rewarded with a crusade indulgence, which would guarantee the forgiveness of all sins that were confessed. Containers for donations were set out in St. Vitus Cathedral, Týn Church, and Vyšehrad. These coffers—which were reinforced with iron and chained to the ground— were evidently accessible outside the times when the preaching of indulgences took place. On 20 June 1412, a leaflet was found in the strongbox of St. Vitus Cathedral, which employs numerous Latin citations to attack papal indulgences, wars, and, more generally, the deceptions carried out from Peter’s throne. The text ends with the following exhortation: “This I composed with respect for God and with an earnest love for the salvation of my fellow man. The truth-speaking Master (Hus) ought to be trusted more than a cheating band of prelates who keep concubines and are simoniacs.” The Old Czech Chronicles also relate that Jan Hus used nearly every sermon to dissuade people from giving money for indulgences.1 Hus’s opposition to the indulgence bull apparently was broadcast quickly among Prague’s citizenry. Leaflets tossed into coffers in place of silver groschen were just the beginning. Some supporters of reform voiced their resistance to the declaration of indulgences publicly by interrupting crusade preachers during their presentations. On the aforementioned Sunday in July of 1412, this occurred at the Old Town Church of St. Jacob, at the Church of Our Lady before Týn, and even at the cathedral at Prague Castle. Three young laymen loudly demanded that the truth be preached and they denounced indulgences as false. According to a slightly later report from the Carthusian

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Stephen of Dolany (who hardly could have heard it as a direct witness), they apparently said: “You speak false, lord priest! For our Master Hus teaches otherwise and truthfully; and he preaches that these indulgences are false and wrongful.”2 All three men—their names were Martin, John, and Stašek (Stanislav)—were arrested and imprisoned at the Old Town Hall. On Monday, 11 July, the news of their arrest spread through Prague. Hus, accompanied by a crowd of students and masters, went immediately to the town hall. He was admitted together with a number of other masters, while the rest of his escort—an assembly that, according to a chronicler, may have numbered two thousand people—waited in Old Town Square. Hus requested safety for the arrested young men and declared that, as the originator of the resistance against the indulgence campaign, he should be the only one to face consequences. Councilmen assured him that no harm would come to the detainees. Hus then returned to the Bethlehem Chapel with most of the crowd following, though some did remain at Old Town Square to see what would transpire. That same day, the councillors went back on their word and released the detainees to the executioner. Due to the large crowds, it was not possible to transport the three young men to the gallows outside the city walls. The executioner’s helpers thus made a circle around them in the square and hurriedly beheaded them in front of a building known as “At the Unicorn” at the corner of Železná Street. The people’s outrage at this turn of events was considerable. One pious woman covered the dead bodies with scarves, and Master John of Jičín had the bodies carried over to the Bethlehem Chapel, during which time he intoned the martyr’s hymn, “These are Holy.” They were then also buried in the Bethlehem Chapel. Hus was not present at the execution. When he learned of it, he was absolutely furious and shaken. According to the charges presented later at Constance, he served a mass for the slain youths the day following the execution, during which time he spoke of them as martyrs. On the other hand, the Old Czech Chronicles report that Hus responded to the situation only two weeks after the execution. On the first Sunday, he apparently did not even mention the terrible event, even though the particularly large audience was certainly expecting him to. It was only a week later, after being accused of being afraid of the lords and their attendants, that Hus praised the exemplary lives of Martin, John, and Stašek in his sermon.3 Hus’s initial horror was understandable, since at the time he was unequivocally the leader of the protesters. During his conversation with the councilmen, he had explicitly assumed the responsibility for the unrest. He left the town hall convinced that the lives of the detainees were in safe hands. The news of their death had to hit him hard, so he may have been silent out of grief rather than fear. In his sermon collection, Postilla adumbrata, from the same year, we find a reference to the preacher speaking of the first martyrs



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of Hussitism only under the entry for 24 July. The text of his eulogy has not, however, been preserved.4 Nevertheless, the chronicler does inform us that Hus spoke of his respect for the three young men and declared that their value to him was equal to the weight of their bodies in gold. He pressed his followers not to be intimidated by tribulations and be led away from God’s truth. The people who gathered together in front of the town hall after the execution allegedly cried out that they also wanted to die for the truth. Consequently, the councillors made announcements daily banning the gathering of crowds; this did not, however, dispel the riots or allay the unrest. While some of the protesters were arrested, they were soon released since the city council was worried about inciting larger riots. How is it possible that the war in far-off Italy disturbed the peace and order of Prague’s streets and markets so significantly? The politics of the papal curia always had been closely connected to the situation in Italy. When the Great Schism divided Christianity into two and then three obediences, the rival popes looked for allies among the ranks of secular rulers. The Roman Holy See was not the only subject of dispute; turmoil also dominated the Kingdom of Naples—the most important state south of Rome. The fight over the Neapolitan throne ultimately led to war. Gregory XII, pope of the Roman obedience, supported Ladislaus of Durazzo, while Ladislaus’s rival, Louis of Anjou, had the backing of the Pisan obedience. He was crowned king of Naples by Pope Alexander V and also was favored by the succeeding Pisan pontiff, John XXIII. In May 1411, Ladislaus suffered a military defeat and John XXIII had his banner dragged through the mud in Rome. Afterward, however, Louis of Anjou’s fortunes in the war turned and he was forced to withdraw from Italy. On 9 September 1411, John XXIII reacted to the situation on the battlefield by declaring a crusade against Ladislaus. On 2 December, he appointed indulgence commissioners for Austria, Bohemia, and Meissen: the Passau dean, Wenceslas Thiem, and the Bologna lawyer, Pace Fantuzzi. They arrived in Prague at the beginning of April in 1412. After much preparation and negotiation, the declaration of indulgences that so agitated the Prague reformers was likely initiated on 22 May.5 At this time, Bohemian King Wenceslas stood with his brother Sigismund, the king of Hungary and the Romans, on the side of John XXIII. Sigismund had good reason to oppose Ladislaus. The latter had tried to take the Hungarian crown in 1403, and, up until 1409, he had held several bases in Dalmatia. Consequently, both Luxembourgs supported Pope John in his battles with Gregory XII and King Ladislaus. This is why Wenceslas agreed to the indulgence campaign within his territories. The king also was swayed by the prospects of benefiting financially from the campaign. After the outbreak of public unrest, however, Wenceslas’s decision making was

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mostly driven by a desire for peace in the kingdom. The monarch forbade any manner of resistance against indulgences that could lead to the disruption of the public order. It was for this reason that the Old Town councilmen had condemned three young men to death. This interpretation was also emphasized by Hus’s adversaries at Constance. During Hus’s hearing at the council, the lawyer and papal auditor, John Náz, stated that he had been present when the Prague councillors asked the king for advice about how to deal with the hundreds of demonstrators who were protesting the execution of three of their fellows. The king allegedly responded with, “Even if there were thousand such, let them suffer the same fate as the others! And if there are not enough justices and officers here in the kingdom, I will have them brought from other areas.”6 It was undeniably difficult to manage this situation without the king’s intervention. Wenceslas twice invited the quarrelling parties—Wycliffite masters from the Faculty of Arts and anti-Hussite professors from the Faculty of Theology—to meet at his summer residence at Žebrák to discuss the matter. The second round of negotiations took place on the same day that the disrupters of the peace were arrested. The king’s decision to forbid the propagation of Wyclif’s articles and other disputed teachings was meant to end the disturbances. Most of the representatives from the university and the clergy accepted this ruling during a meeting at the Old Town Hall on 16 July 1412. The Wycliffite group, however, announced that it would continue to defend the true articles. Street demonstrations led by Jerome and Voksa, the loud interruption of indulgence preachers, an execution, the repeated upheavals of a dissatisfied people, and, in the background, the theoretical justification of disobedience regarding unjust rulings of the establishment—these events from the summer of 1412 gave the impression that Prague was on the brink of revolution. In Bohemia, it was a relatively novel situation. Only rarely do larger, politically motivated attacks against the public order appear in the records. In the year 1309, Kutná Hora patricians captured several members of the estate of lords; high nobles did the same twice with King Wenceslas IV. In these cases, however, the conflicts took place within the bounds of the estates, and the “common” people were not involved in any way. With the religious issue in question, however, it was indubitably different: this time the preachers tried to reach the populace in its entirety. Waldhauser and Milíč gained a remarkable number of followers who, when it came to it, were capable of showing their will or displeasure (against the mendicant orders, for instance) even in Prague’s streets. The battle over public space was already underway. With his enduring and purposeful argumentation, Hus fostered in his listeners a sensitivity to the issues of Hussite ecclesiastical reform. In the event of conflict, his followers had the potential to rise up as a cohesive interest group.7



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During the Late Middle Ages, western society became fairly familiar with popular uprisings. We can name some of the best-known examples here. In the first half of the fourteenth century, Cola di Rienzo inspired people with his quasi-republican ideals so much so that they drove the nobles out of Rome. During the Ciompi Revolt in 1378, textile workers in Florence temporarily took over governance of the city. France and England experienced considerable rural uprisings in the second half of the fourteenth century. The chief difference between these events and Hussitism is that the former were not religiously motivated. Rienzo employed rhetoric derived from ancient Rome; the Ciompi rebels, as well as those engaged in the insurgency of 1381 in England, made political and often surprisingly concrete and radical demands. Similarly, what was at stake in the numerous urban revolts of the fourteenth century were the social and communal programs that were mainly formulated by the urban middle class. Religious resistance movements that were denounced by the Church as heretical could only achieve a larger scale under specific conditions. Such movements were typically unable to obtain long-term public support. Only rarely were heretical groups involved in armed engagements, as was the case with the northern Italian followers of Fra Dolcino. Popular movements led by preachers were directed primarily toward settling communal conflicts or they took the form of extraordinary campaigns of penitence.8 The most significant parallel to Hussitism was English Wycliffism, known also as Lollardism. John Wyclif did not participate in organizing the peasant uprising in 1381. It also cannot be proved whether one of the spiritual leaders of the rebellion, the preacher John Ball, was a former student of Wyclif’s, as the chroniclers claim. That said, the similar tenor of certain ideas, especially those regarding the expropriation of the Church, cannot be denied. The Oxford master’s response to the uprising was not decisive. In no way did he approve of violent acts, which included the murder of Archbishop Simon Sudbury. On the other hand, he was of the opinion that the clergy’s behavior was unquestionably calling for revolt; for him, however, this revolt was to take a different form. Wyclif’s plan for reform was one led by secular lords, and not an initiative carried out by the peasants. His followers from the Lollard ranks later even tried to gain the parliament for this plan. In the meantime, however, Archbishop Arundel’s persecution of Wycliffites increased. Sir John Oldcastle, who was mentioned earlier, was imprisoned for his heretical views. He managed to escape from the Tower of London and to put together a counterattack. His uprising in January of 1414 was discovered and suppressed. Oldcastle fled again, only to die at the stake in 1417. According to the report from the trial, the insurgents had aimed to abolish the ecclesiastical estate, to destroy churches, and to murder the king. It is currently not possible to verify the truth of these allegations. In any case, after

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Oldcastle’s uprising, Lollardy came to be associated with sedition, betrayal, and rebellion against the Church and the king. The Lollards were quickly marked as an illegal force. Thus, even though the two groups shared similar origins, the fate of the English Wycliffites unfolded differently from the fate of their Bohemian counterparts. While the Wycliffites were able to establish themselves permanently in the Czech Lands, in England they gradually were marginalized as a secret sect. During Wyclif’s life and with the first generation after his death (1384), the Lollard movement did resemble that of the Hussites. Wyclif had the support of individuals from the highest circles. When it came to propagating his teachings, he relied on his Oxford colleagues; he did not underestimate the value of making his views known more widely. Nonetheless, he did not become a leader who was accepted and respected by all strata of society. He lacked the synergistic potential of the Bohemian capital city: in Prague, Jan Hus had access to the university, the royal court, the assembly of the landed nobility (land diet) as well as the city council, and a broad cross-section of the populace. In spite of his academic ambitions, Hus was a true leader of a popular movement—a position that Wyclif was never able to achieve.9 In Hus’s lifetime, the struggle of the English Wycliffites was still far from lost. Their literary activities were flourishing, not least because of the ties forged between the Oxford university and members of the lesser nobility with Lollard inclinations. Lollard knights were also active at the royal court—another analogy to the situation in Bohemia.10 The two groups were connected occasionally by means of correspondence. As discussed earlier, Hus addressed a letter to John Oldcastle, though this was before Oldcastle’s failed rebellion. Since Hus always advocated for the collaboration of all the estates, he hardly would have approved of Oldcastle’s enterprise. News of the 1414 uprising did reach the Czech Lands. The report, which begins with the words, “Surprising and horrifying news from England,” has been preserved in two versions: one is held in the archive of Třeboň, and the second was transcribed by a certain Olomouc canon. The text was probably sent via diplomatic channels from the English King Henry V to King Sigismund shortly after the revolt. Documents do not indicate whether the report also reached the Prague Wycliffites, but we can assume as much given the mutual interest on both sides.11 Was there also potential for an armed uprising in Prague? Reports of threats and violent acts would seem to affirm this. In 1409, John Protiva compiled a series of charges against Hus that included an accusation of provoking the people. Allegedly, Hus’s oratorical skills had so inflamed his listeners that immediately following his sermon they set out for the archiepiscopal court where they created a commotion with loud shouting and seditious language.12 On 25 April 1410, a Polish messenger who had decried Wyclif and Wycliffites was beaten near the Old Town pillory.13 In the summer of 1410,



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after the book burning and the excommunication of the appellants, six men burst into the New Town Church of St. Stephen with swords drawn—reportedly because they wanted to kill the preacher for disparaging reform. The so-called Chronicle of the University of Prague observes that, “Then all priests became afraid, so henceforth they ceased any acts of excommunication not based on the Law of God.”14 According to Hus, Martin, John, and Stašek were not the only victims of the 1412 indulgence disputes. Some people were “beaten, flogged, and bludgeoned” by students singing in the choir of St. Vitus Cathedral, while others were beset with excommunication and imprisonment.15 Several members of the parish of St. Peter Na Poříčí were arrested in the autumn of 1412 following the imposition of a more severe interdict against Hus. This case concerned thirteen individuals who protested against the announcement of the interdict by the parish priest. One woman apparently even swept the stones of the clergy house, conceivably to parody the ritual of the ecclesiastical sentence.16 The threat of violence as an expedient in a religious dispute was also mentioned by Stephen of Páleč when he spoke of the gathering of the Wycliffite masters of the university on 16 July 1412. He complained that the doctors of theology were afraid to enter the debating hall because the masters were, “closely surrounded by men with belted swords, cobblers, publicans, and other laymen who filled the school; and when someone opposed the masters and their speeches, he left the dispute beaten and wounded with a rapier.”17 In Constance, Jerome of Prague was accused of driving through the streets of Prague with one to two hundred armed men inciting both the populace and the clergy to rise up. He admitted that he was sometimes accompanied by seventy young men when he traveled with King Wenceslas, but otherwise he denied the allegation. A more concrete indictment was leveled against Jerome for intervening in the proclamation of indulgences, which took place in August of 1412 in the southern Bohemian town of Jindřichův Hradec. Here the crusade sermon had been entrusted to the priests John of Vysoké Mýto and Beneš, the altarist of the Church of St. Michael in Opatovice. When Jerome learned of this, he appeared suddenly at the presbytery with a number of armed men, thereby terrifying both preachers; “with an enraged face and with ire,” he then chased them to the parish church and from there out of the city.18 Hus was evidently not complicit in the cases where violence was involved. It was rather the impulsive Jerome with his proclivity for fighting who stood out in this area. In contrast, Hus opposed using force and in no way did he encourage it. While he did consider killing to be acceptable under certain circumstances—particularly when it resulted from a judicial verdict, he was nonetheless very cautious when it came to violence in religious disputes.19 Telling in this respect is his commentary on the Parable of the Great Feast,

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where the lord-host commands: “Compel people to come in, that my house may be filled” (Luke 14:23). This was the classic text applied since the time of Augustine to justify the use of physical force against heretics. Hus, however, subscribed to the Wycliffite interpretation: only legitimate secular lords have the right to force someone to attend a spiritual feast; that is, only they can force someone to adopt correct religious views. In the Czech Postil he wrote, “The king, the prince, the lord is a servant of God, having land, power, and a sword to defend the good and restrain the bad, be they secular or ecclesiastical.”20 According Hus, clerics should not be excluded from the jurisdiction of lords, for simoniacs exploit the ecclesiastical courts to conceal their sins. We have already touched on Hus’s approach to dealing with heretical simoniacs: in extreme cases, the initiative could fall to the secular lords and the people. However, Hus then also stated explicitly, “But I do not want to advise them to kill anyone; for they may possibly even kill an innocent.”21 Thus, under no circumstances did Hus call for an uprising, nor did he approve of spontaneous outbursts of violence. He did, however, intensively and relentlessly promote disobedience toward the corrupt ecclesiastical system. In his Books on Simony, he casually revealed that he encouraged many clerics not to give money for the confirmation of their prebends.22 Active engagement with the clergy was necessary if the reform movement was to hold onto its adherents. This became all the more important when Hus no longer benefited from the king’s favor. As we have seen, Hus tried to replace the king’s support to a certain extent by securing backing from the nobility. In the spring and summer of 1412, it became clear that the movement relied above all on the sympathies of the people, which it had gained by means of sermons as well as various productions and demonstrations. Creating a sense of belonging among the protesters became more significant as the reformists moved beyond the bounds of ecclesiastical and later even secular legality. Those who participated in street riots followed their university leaders in disobedience. Hus’s campaign against the preaching of indulgences in 1412 had the contours of a rebellion, both in terms of content and outward appearances. Hus had already expressed his skepticism about false indulgences in his earlier sermons. This theme came up repeatedly in his speeches from the pulpit starting with the beginning of the crusade campaign in the spring of 1412 and continuing over the next two months.23 Even before the start of the indulgence campaign, he had written briefly to the king in an attempt to convince the ruler to withdraw his consent; this was, however, in vain. He followed up with two other brief statements issued in the form of leaflets.24 On 17 June, Hus finally announced a disputation, the aim of which was to submit John XXIII’s bull of indulgence to a theological examination. In the meantime, the situation became politically divisive. Theologians in particular were aware of



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the consequences of Hus’s protest. Not only was he moving against the will of the king, but he also was defying concrete orders issued by the authority of the Church. It was simple enough to see that his views constituted a fundamental questioning of ecclesiastical authority, and thereby of the entire order of the Church as well. Some members of the Wycliffite reform group distanced themselves from Hus on this point. These were not insignificant outliers, but rather masters Stanislav of Znojmo and Stephen of Páleč. Despite their own reservations regarding the bull, they categorically opposed any questioning of papal authority. From that moment forward, they joined the ranks of Hus’s most implacable adversaries. Páleč was then the dean of the Faculty of Theology. Using his position, he banned all bachelors of theology—a group to which Hus also belonged—from participating in the debate. Hus and his friends did not let this stop them. Hus presented a comprehensive deliberation that became a provisional pinnacle for the protest actions that ended three weeks later with the execution of the three youths. His argumentation focused on specific aspects of the papal bull condemning King Ladislaus. He presented the question of whether the bull served to honor God, to provide salvation to the people, and to benefit the kingdom. It is not difficult to surmise that the response was in the negative. Did Hus reject the crusade and indulgences on principal, or was he only criticizing the dubiousness of the given case? His claim that he did not wish to challenge the power of the Roman pontiff but only to act against the current situation can be seen largely as a rhetorical embellishment. The crusade was, in his opinion, legitimate only if it served in the defense of Christianity. This was not the case with the Italian war between Ladislaus and Louis of Anjou: Hus conclusively exposed the financial and political greed underlying the motives for selling indulgences and opposing the king of Naples—a figure who was not even convicted of heresy. It was more complicated in the case of the indulgence. Hus stressed that he did not wish to question the authority of priests to forgive sins. However, an indulgence represented the forgiveness or, more specifically, the remission of accumulated penance beyond the usual process of ministering the sacrament. Participating in the crusade or contributing to the endeavor financially were considered sufficient substitutes for penance. Hus judged the papal bull of indulgence to be a deception and the promised forgiveness of sins a lie. Ultimately, only God can grant forgiveness. How could the pope know whom God forgave? And how could he forgive sins for donations intended for a war whose legitimacy was highly doubtful? That the grace of forgiveness is bestowed by God and that the sinner must be truly repentant in order to be forgiven were points not questioned by the theory of indulgence. Even though Hus employed long sections of text from Wyclif in his polemic, he avoided

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those passages in which Wyclif attacked the theological mechanism of the indulgence. Hus pointed out that when the regulations for forgiving sins are meticulously maintained, indulgences are in fact superfluous. This suggests that he considered indulgences to be not only unnecessary but also harmful, since their sole purpose was, then, to generate financial profit for the Church.25 Why was the anti-Church movement in the Czech Lands so strongly motivated by the indulgence campaign of Wenceslas Thiem? It seems that indulgences and their acquisition were effectively part of everyday life in Prague. During the jubilee summer in 1393, Hus himself purchased an indulgence—an act that he later remembered with regret.26 One campaign even competed with the one organized by Thiem and Fantuzzi. On 30 July 1409, Pope Alexander V awarded the Order of the Knights of the Hospital of Saint John the right to sell indulgences for a period of five years in order to support their charitable activities and their war with the Turks. The Knights Hospitaller then launched their campaign across Europe. This occasionally led to conflict: in November of 1411, the Dominican inquisitor, John Falkenberg, accused the indulgence commissioner of the Hospitallers of preaching falsehoods.27 In Prague, competition between the two indulgence campaigns also caused tension. Although John XXIII suspended the Hospitallers’ indulgences on 1 April 1412, the Order of Saint John did not concede defeat. Thiem then obtained permission from the pope to punish the Hospitallers’ noncompliance with imprisonment. One member of the order—a licentiate of canonical law by the name of John—presented a defense of the Hospitallers’ indulgences in Týn Church in Prague’s Old Town.28 In one of his pamphlets, Hus brought attention to the five-year privilegium issued by Alexander V, and he concluded that the two papal bulls were mutually exclusive.29 The contentious approach taken by Wenceslas Thiem and his delegation of preachers against all critics and competitors evoked a critical response and public outrage. Although the people of Prague were accustomed to the declaration of indulgences, extant reports suggest that in this case, the acquisitive aspect of the proclamation came too much to the fore. Thiem’s assistants were partly known for holding multiple prebends and they rented districts for declaring indulgences. Hus criticized them as uneducated, parsimonious, and morally corrupt.30 For Hus, the battle against indulgences was primarily symbolic: it offered him the opportunity to show that he took his speeches from the pulpit seriously. However much he was bothered by the actions of the indulgence commissioners, in this case he was not concerned chiefly with simony. More pressing was that the bull commanded something unlawful, namely the killing of Christians and the abuse of penance for selfish and economic purposes. Hus had no choice but to prove his teachings on obedience with deeds. At the end of his disputation from 17 June, he called upon his followers to resist,



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keeping with his characteristic view regarding the supremacy of God’s law: “The disciple of Christ must therefore consider carefully the papal bulls, and if they comply with Christ’s law, he should in no way oppose them. But if he finds something in them that contradicts Christ’s law, he must firmly oppose them with the selfsame Christ.”31 In this, Hus led by example. Not only did he ignore the prohibition against disputations, but he also organized a second defense of Wyclif, probably in August of 1412. This time, the defense concerned individual theses rather than entire books. Hus selected several particularly volatile passages: about the authority to preach, about the expropriation of ecclesiastical property, about unjust rule and the ministering of sacraments.32 As was the case with the book burning and the preaching prohibition, Hus again contested a command issued by the head of the Church. With the passing of two years, his followers had become better prepared for a protest. The agitation for reform that had first been initiated in the year 1410 had been sustained, which meant that, at this point, a multitude of sympathizers were ready to do battle at a moment’s notice. The new conflict led to the first losses of human life. Did the events of 1412 consequently represent a fateful turn in Hus’s cause? It surely must have seemed so from the reformer’s perspective. In contrast to the years of 1410 and 1411, he no longer had the support of the king. From Wenceslas’s point of view, this did not constitute a change in his political strategy; it was only the situation that differed in comparison to the previous year. What was at stake was no longer confined to a dispute with the archbishop of Prague, but rather it involved opposing the pope—a pope who had the support of the Luxembourgs. A conflict of this kind did not promise to yield any kind of political gain, either on a regional or international level. The fact that Hus managed to bring people over to his side despite the king’s position reveals the potential wielded by the reform movement. During his time in prison at Constance, Hus noted that his resistance to the papal bull of indulgence represented one of the few acts for which the council could actually charge him.33 This issue was indeed brought up by the prosecution, though it did not play a key role from a doctrinal standpoint. In this context, we must draw attention instead to other allegations. During an interrogation on 7 June 1415, Hus was accused of encouraging his listeners to attack their enemy with swords. The charge was clearly without merit, since Hus had never called for a physical battle. The claim was based on Hus’s interpretation of the sixth chapter of the Epistle to the Ephesians: the preacher had allegedly spoken of spiritual weapons, during which time he brought up the example of Moses, who had commanded that the enemies of God be assailed with swords. Hus responded to the accusation saying that he had distinctly interpreted the words, “Each man put his sword on his thigh” (Exodus 32:27), in the spiritual sense, that is, as the sword of the Word of God. The council

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fathers resolutely challenged Hus’s exegetical approach, even though each of them in his own practice must have interpreted the Bible’s militant passages in a similarly metaphorical or spiritual sense. Hus also added that he knew nothing of the leaflets that were said to have appeared in Prague and that endorsed the killing of enemies.34 Although this indictment was unjust, it does demonstrate what the Constance judges deemed dangerous. Hus was not a coarse rabble-rouser. While he certainly challenged boundaries in a variety of cases and used pointed metaphors to sway his audience, he never incited violence. His teachings did, however, lead his listeners to question the validity of the actions of their superiors, which, to a certain extent, opened the doors to rebellion. The council fathers were aware that such a preacher was more dangerous than some solitary, irascible heretic. For responsible leaders of the Church, the only feasible course of action was to isolate him from society.

Chapter 12 The Judicial Process: The Appeal to Christ, 1412 Shortly before the regular synod in October 1412, a document arrived in Prague by which Cardinal Pietro degli Stephaneschi—on behalf of the pope—aggravated the anathema issued against Jan Hus. While a “minor” excommunication deprived an individual of access to the sacraments, a “major” excommunication also included prohibitions against associating with the condemned and giving him food, drink, or accommodations. The synod of Saint Luke on 18 October 1412 provided a convenient occasion for publicizing the cardinal’s decision. On the same day, Hus presented a demonstrative counterattack: he appealed the excommunication by invoking Jesus Christ. According to the testimony of his adversary, Stephen of Dolany, Hus called out to his audience in the Bethlehem Chapel in a loud voice saying, “Look, dear sons and daughters, I declare before you that I challenge this evil pope, who only calls himself pope, by appealing to Christ.”1 The full text of his speech was nailed to the gate of the Lesser Town bridge tower. All those participating in the synod who traveled across Old Town to reach the archiepiscopal court were thereby able to read his declaration. In his appeal, Hus repeated the reasons why he believed the excommunication to be invalid and irregular. He submitted that the excommunication that was arranged by his opponent, Michael de Causis, and announced by Cardinal Pietro on behalf of Pope John XXIII was merely a “pretense.” What Hus meant was his settlement with Archbishop Zbyněk, which had come in the summer of 1411 with the help of the king’s mediation, had resulted in the formal conclusion of the case against him. For two years, the pope refused to hear Hus’s representatives. Because both judges and witnesses were antagonistic, Hus had no guarantee of safe access to a hearing; his attorney was even imprisoned at the papal curia. For this reason, he could not attend the pope’s trial in person. And since Hus saw no possibility for justice with regard to the papal judiciary, he entrusted his case to the supreme judge, Jesus Christ, “who knows, protects, and judges, declares and rewards without fail the just cause of every man.”2

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In the medieval compilation of canon law known as Gratian’s Decree, it states that the pope is the highest judicial authority of the Church and no one can judge him.3 Hus was not, however, the first to contradict his conviction by the pope. It is telling that these appeals occurred in situations with particularly escalated conflicts. Already in 1245, Frederick II contested his deposition by Innocent IV to the future pope as well as to the general council. The condemned often appealed to God prior to their execution, as was the case with the Grand Master of the abolished Knights Templar, Jacques de Molay, in the year 1314. With the outbreak of the Great Schism and the spreading of conciliarism, the matter of appealing a papal verdict to the council gained potency. Conciliarist theoreticians, which included Hus’s judges at Constance, Jean Gerson and Pierre d’Ailly, developed apposite legal and theological justifications. During the Council of Pisa, the entourage of King Rupert appealed to God and to the future council. Cardinals of the Pisa obedience appealed to Jesus Christ, to the general council, and to the future pope against the Roman Pope Gregory XII. One of these appellants was Oddo Colonna, who later, as Pope Martin V, banned any and all appeals to the council. Hus’s appeal to Christ in the given examples stands out in two ways. First, his appeal was to Jesus Christ alone, while most of the earlier pleas to a divine authority also encompassed an appeal to a secular power. Second, Hus was protesting a decision that was reached during court proceedings; in contrast, the majority of the other appeals were directed against administrative or magisterial measures. From a strictly legal point of view, an appeal to God was inadmissible and ineffective because canonical procedural law did not recognize God as a judicial authority. Hus’s lawyer, John of Jesenice, knew this well. However, during the autumnal synod of 1412, he was dwelling outside of Prague and so was not able to advise his client and friend. In his summary of the course that was followed throughout the proceedings—a summary prepared for Constance—he tried to disguise Hus’s appeal to God as an appeal to the council.4 According to Hus’s understanding of the law, however, God’s justice was superior to all judicial authorities and procedural regulations.5 In his appeal, Hus introduced three models on which he had based his approach: the Greek theologian, John Chrysostom, from the fourth century; the Prague bishop, Andrew, from the thirteenth century; and the Lincoln bishop, Robert Grosseteste, also from the thirteenth century. The historicity of these alleged appeals to God is quite doubtful, though Hus was clearly convinced of the relevance of all three examples. In any case, his primary exemplar was Jesus himself: when tyrannized by the Pharisees and false judges, he turned to God the Father. Hus’s appeal to Christ can be understood as an expression of his conception of the Church, according to which Christ and not the pope is its head. Seen in this light, his appeal against the pope to Christ was entirely



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logical. In relation to the actual developments in his case, however, the appeal was an expression of desperation: there were no more authorities on earth to which he could turn. How did Hus arrive at this dead end? In what directions did his case go and how did the legal status of the Bethlehem preacher change? The first prohibition against Wyclif’s teaching in 1403 did not affect Hus’s legal position. It concerned an internal affair within the bounds of the university and not an order issued by an ecclesiastical office, let alone a tribunal. Even though Hus’s endorsement of Wyclif’s ideas was widely known and he himself never denied it, the first official charge against him related to other matters. In 1408, Archbishop Zbyněk suspended Hus and his associates from their priestly duties because they had supported the rebellious Pisan cardinals. When Zbyněk was himself forced to abandon the Roman obedience in September of 1409, Hus’s suspension was terminated. However, Wycliffism had come to occupy a dominant position in the dispute in the meantime. When Stanislav of Znojmo was indicted for his views on the topic, he and his favorite pupil, Stephen of Páleč, set off for Italy. The two masters departed in the autumn of 1408 and their destination was Rome. However, they were detained in Bologna by Cardinal Cossa—an adherent of the Pisan obedience; they were only released in the spring of the following year. Hus recalled this injustice several times, including in his appeal to Christ, when he justified his decision not to travel to the papal court in Rome.6 Accusations of Wycliffism, which were now also emerging abroad, attracted the attention of the archbishop of Prague. He ordered that Wyclif’s books be submitted for inspection. Anyone who disobeyed this order was excommunicated. In the end, Hus obeyed the command and presented the books. The diocesan synod repeated the directive again on 15 June 1409.7 Five students appealed Zbyněk’s edict to Pope Alexander V, who had been elected at the Council of Pisa.8 Not only Stanislav’s alleged teachings about remanence, but also Wyclif’s texts consequently became the subject of a trial at the papal curia. Both parties sent their procurators to Rome; the students were represented by Master Mark of Hradec. The appointed papal auditor, Henry Krumhart of Westerholz, summoned Archbishop Zbyněk to discuss the matter in person. Shortly thereafter, however, the situation changed again. On 20 December 1409, Alexander V issued the previously mentioned bull in which he ordered the surrender of Wyclif’s texts and banned preaching in chapels.9 Hus and his friends were convinced that this act violated the jurisdiction of the auditor Krumhart. The pope took over the case himself: he cancelled all appeals and instructed Archbishop Zbyněk to continue his work eradicating heretical books—a task that had been the very cause of Zbyněk’s recent summons to the court. It is not surprising that the Prague Wycliffites, headed by Hus, were of the belief that the bull had been obtained by their Prague adversaries by means of deception and bribery.10

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The pope’s actions were unusual but legally sound. The appeal made by the five students was denied, and the dispute between the archbishop and the university consequently concluded. When the pope commissioned Zbyněk to lead an inquisition against Wycliffism, he effectively initiated a new process. Zbyněk had carried out his earlier inquisitorial investigations on the basis of his episcopal authority. Hus had been interrogated by the inquisitor, Mařík Rvačka, apparently in September of 1409. Now, Zbyněk had a papal mandate to do so. According to the law at that time, the precondition for such an undertaking was a widely and universally held suspicion of heresy. Only then could the inquisitor proceed with the case on his own initiative and without a specific accuser. This was very important, because during the accusatory process the plaintiff had to vow that he would take on the punishment himself if the allegation could not be proved. Under such circumstances, it is not surprising that few accusers came forward. As a result, Hus’s party tried to deny the heretical reputation. This led to the epistolary scheme carried out in the autumn of 1410, when several personages sent letters to Rome in defense of Hus. All of the senders confirmed that they knew Hus to be a man of orthodox beliefs.11 In the meantime, Hus came to occupy a prominent position at the center of the action. Up until that point his name had not appeared in the court trials. Alexander’s bull had named neither Hus nor the Bethlehem Chapel. However, after Zbyněk publicized the bull at the synod in June 1410, Hus moved into the foreground. Together with seven associates, he filed an appeal against the Prague synod (which had ordered the book burning and forbade preaching) to Pope Alexander V.12 When the pope died, Hus renewed the appeal with his successor, John XXIII, previously Cardinal Cossa. That is how Hus’s ordeal with the Curia began. The legal battle was to be waged across the Alps between Prague and Italy. Disregarding the appeal, Zbyněk had the books burned on 16 July 1410, and then, two days later, he issued an excommunication against the appellants. This was, however, unlawful due to the pending appeal. At the Curia, Cardinal Oddo Colonna had to contend with an appeal from eight members of the University of Prague. He instructed Zbyněk to continue his campaign against Hus, and he summoned the suspected master to appear before the court.13 Discussions now focused on the question of Hus’s personal appearance at the trial in Rome, Bologna, or wherever else the Curia would be at the time. Hus had no intention of going to Italy. He made this very clear even in his appeal to Christ. He named three procurators who were to represent him at the Curia: John of Jesenice, who departed for Italy sometime in October of 1410; Mark of Hradec, who had remained there as the representative of the first five appellants; and Nicholas of Stojčín, about whose activities on the peninsula nothing is known. Jesenic succeeded in obtaining a judgment from theologians



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in Bologna that asserted that the archbishop of Prague did not have the right to burn Wyclif’s texts. In spite of this document, Colonna most probably rejected the appeal against book burning, since from that time forward there are no more references to the appeal included in the records. When Colonna was reluctant to review the arguments—submitted to him by Hus’s procurators—in favor of rescinding the personal summons of the defendant, Mark of Hradec filed a complaint against him for his prejudice. The papal auditor, Giovanni Tomari of Bologna, was charged with handling this complaint. In February of 1411, Oddo Colonna charged Hus with contumacy (failure to appear at court), even though—as Jesenice claimed—the time period for settling the complaint had not yet expired.14 Hus’s approach to excommunication was theological in nature. Accordingly, he believed that neither a bishop nor a pope could excommunicate someone who had not also been excommunicated by God. Hus expressed this view on multiple occasions. He certainly had his own situation in mind when he did so. Since God would not excommunicate a person for a just act, such as defending the right to preach or books useful for study, a prelate could hardly do so either.15 It is notable that Hus could have voiced legal objections to the excommunication with which he was charged. Both the archiepiscopal and papal interdicts were marked with procedural errors. This did not, however, change anything regarding their effect. Bolstered by Cardinal Colonna’s declarations, Archbishop Zbyněk aggravated his anathema against Hus as early as 24 September 1410; he also continued to gather testimonies that would further incriminate the preacher. In Prague on 15 March 1411, he then made public the papal excommunication issued by Colonna.16 I detailed the reaction of the king and others in his sphere of influence in the chapter on the expropriation of church property. Let me add here that Hus defended himself stringently against this first papal excommunication and that he made clear his resolve to sustain his opposition to the charge. In a letter he wrote to John Bradáček and the inhabitants of Český Krumlov, he compiled a number of quotations from Scripture and the fathers of the Church; the message uniting them all can be expressed with one maxim: “We must obey God rather than men” (Acts 5:29). To the end of his text Hus added: “I made this remark so that you may know how to oppose the devil’s dogs.”17 As was discussed earlier, the conflict between King Wenceslas and Archbishop Zbyněk came to an end in the summer of 1411 with the ruling of the royal commission. Hus made mention of this event numerous times, including in his appeal to Christ. His evaluation of the arbiters’ resolution was not, however, entirely correct from the point of view of church law. First of all, the reconciliation was not altogether unproblematic, for Zbyněk fled Prague before ratifying the agreement that had been imposed on him. In a

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letter to Wenceslas IV from 5 September 1411, the archbishop even wrote, “And so not only has the agreement not been carried out, but I have suspended it for the reason listed below and many others.”18 The Bishop of Litomyšl John Železný assessed the issue quite accurately after the February synod in 1413. In his opinion, an agreement made between the topmost representatives of the Kingdom of Bohemia and the Bohemian Church could not affect the procedures of the papal curia.19 Hus nevertheless tried to challenge the personal summons. He wrote to the pope and the cardinals, underscoring the reconciliation with Zbyněk, yet it did not have any kind of impact on his situation.20 In Rome, Hus’s case was slowly progressing. Late in the year 1411, the matter was entrusted to a commission of four cardinals, among which was the well-known lawyer Francesco Zabarella. He appeared to be open to the argumentation of Hus’s advocates, and he leaned toward retracting the personal summons. However, this positive development was soon cut short. The case was passed on yet again, this time to Cardinal Brancaccio, who pressed for delaying the cancellation of the summons and the excommunication. Meanwhile, Hus’s position deteriorated. For some time, his lawyer, John of Jesenice, had been embroiled in a dispute in Rome with the attorney of the Prague canons, Michael of Německý Brod, also known as de Causis. The enmity between the two men escalated to the laying of charges on both sides, which resulted in Jesenice’s imprisonment in March of 1412. The lawyer managed to escape the dungeon, but he was then convicted of being an obstinate heretic in absentia. This turn of events substantially undermined Hus’s prospects. In the summer of 1412, Pietro degli Stephaneschi was appointed the new judge in his case. He ignored the arguments made in support of cancelling the summons, and he aggravated the excommunication that had been issued by Colonna. In Prague, nobody took this lightly, and Hus judged the situation in terms of its ramifications. We must remember that Hus had been convicted for failing to appear in court and not for heresy; the latter issue had not even been addressed by the papal judges yet. After the indulgence dispute of 1412, a new grievance was filed against Hus with the Curia; however, it also was not processed.21 With the aggravation of the anathema, the hearing of Hus’s case was halted. According to the procedure that was followed for charges of heresy, representation by procurators was not permitted. If the accused was not present, the case could not move forward. From a legal point of view, Hus was on the run. The papal auditor, Conrad Konhofer of Nuremberg, empowered secular forces to move against Hus as they would against heretics.22 This had little real impact, since no secular lords in Bohemia would have handed Hus over to Rome. Moreover, the Czech Inquisition, whose representatives were traditionally close to the king, was not hostile toward Hus. Prior to Hus’s departure for Constance, the papal inquisitor for Bohemia, the Dominican



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Nicholas of Nezero, provided Hus with a testimonial declaring that he had heard nothing of the preacher that was bad or suggestive of unorthodox views. Nicholas, who was also royal confessor to Wenceslas as well as the titular bishop of Nezero, wrote the following affirmation: “I have conversed in many and several places with Master Jan Hus, eating and drinking with him, and have often been present at his sermons and have had many conversations with him about various matters relating to the sacred Scriptures, but have never found in him any error or heresy.”23 On the international stage, Hus’s case was not proceeding favorably. On 10 February 1413, a council convened by John XXIII in Rome denounced Wyclif’s books, which were then burned the same day before St. Peter’s Basilica.24 This condemnation was referenced even in the decrees of the Council of Constance. It was the Council of Constance that first really began to address the charges of heresy laid against Hus. According to one report, the day after Hus arrived at the site of the council, Michael de Causis posted documents from his case in public spaces around the city and proclaimed everywhere that Hus was excommunicated and suspected of heresy.25 De Causis’s actions were not just an expression of a personal hostility, but a legally relevant measure. He wanted to prove—or evoke—the reputation of heresy that was required for initiating the inquisitorial process. Hus demanded that his detractors form an official side in the judicial proceedings, since that would then allow them to be punished for false allegations.26 This demand was not heard, however. The fathers of the Council of Constance began their investigations where the Roman trial against Hus had ended. They did not issue a new summons; they based their decision on the point that Hus had been standing accused of heresy for many years and he had finally appeared at a court hearing. The pope did rescind the excommunication, for otherwise an interdict would have to be declared over Constance and church services would cease.27 Thus, Hus entered the trial acquitted of prior verdicts—verdicts that had been based on his failure to adhere to procedural customs. He was not, however, free of the suspicion and accusations of heresy. A few lists of errant articles—evidential testimony against him and his reputation as the chief supporter of Wyclif’s teachings—were sufficient to now convict Hus formally of heresy before the conciliar court.

Chapter 13 The Invisible Church and Conditional Obedience: Hus’s Book On the Church, 1413 The dispute over the crusade indulgence in 1412 quickly developed into a critical discussion about the nature of the Church. The papal bull of indulgence sparked a debate about an incendiary topic—one that raised many questions. Is the bull made void only due to the current pope’s avaricious motives, or does the Roman bishop have no authority at all to unbind people from their sins? Are the faithful permitted to oppose the papal bull if it is unjust, or must they submit to the authority of the Church unconditionally? And where can the one, holy, Catholic and Apostolic Church actually be found? The debate revolved around these and other questions. While Jan Hus’s departure from Prague did cause the situation to settle somewhat for a time, it did not resolve the chief points of contention. King Wenceslas made another attempt to convince the clerics to set aside their quarrel and in that way to divest his kingdom of its reputation as a nest of heresy. In accordance with the king’s wishes, Conrad of Vechta—who had been managing the ecclesiastic province of Prague as an administrator since the resignation of Archbishop Albík—convoked an extraordinary synod in early February in Český Brod; the event was later transferred to Prague, where it began on 6 February 1413. Both parties— doctors of theology as well as Hus’s supporters in the ranks of the masters of arts—presented their proposals. These showed clearly that at the core of the conflict was a matter of ecclesiological import. In the second point of their proposition, the doctors deliberated on the definition of the Church, and in the third they reviewed obedience to Church authorities. Hus’s party formulated its material strategically in order to gain favor from the court and the aristocratic community. Among other recommendations, the Hussites proposed that the clergy be charged an extraordinary tax, the proceeds of which would be managed by the king and lords in order to finance a delegation to the papal curia. Those who perceived heresy to exist within Bohemia and Moravia were to join the delegation at their own expense.1

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However, the question of whether the Roman curia could even settle the issue was still a source of controversy. This was made evident immediately in the next round of negotiations. When the synod in February did not lead to a resolution, the debate was set to continue before a commission named by the king. After a certain deviation in the summer of 1412, it seemed that Wenceslas was once again favorably inclined toward the Hussites. The four-member committee consisted of two of the king’s courtiers, Albík of Uničov and Jacob of Beroun, along with two masters associated with Hussitism, Zdeněk of Labouň and Christian of Prachatice. Zdeněk, as the spokesman of the committee, strove to bring about a positive outcome for the king. He asked each side if they were willing to yield to the decision of the Holy Roman Church. Four representatives from the theological faculty agreed, but on the condition that this referred to the one Church, wherein the pope is its head and the College of Cardinals its body. Three Hussite representatives declared they were prepared to subject themselves to the Roman Church, whose head is Christ and the pope serves as His deputy, “in each and every point that faithful and pious Christians must and should obey.” Master Zdeněk’s deciding verdict was unmistakably inclined toward the views of the Hussites. He announced to the king that both parties had promised, on penalty of either a fine or expulsion from the kingdom, to submit to the decision of the Roman Church, “as faithful and pious Christians must and should obey.”2 The theologians protested against this wording the next day, but were unsuccessful in modifying the formulation. All four of these theologians—Stanislav and Peter of Znojmo, Stephen of Páleč, and John Eliae—were then exiled by the king for impeding religious reconciliation.3 In the end, the doctors were not forced to leave Bohemia altogether but only Prague, and in their rural exile they continued with their polemically oriented literary work—much like Hus. The polemic on the notion of the Church already was initiated in the summer of 1412 in connection with the indulgence disputes. Following their discussions with the Hussites, the two most active literary members of the Faculty of Theology composed treatises in which they outlined their conception of the Church; Stanislav wrote Tractatus de Romana ecclesia (Tractate on the Roman Church), and Páleč wrote De equivocacione nominis ecclesia (On Equivocation in Using the Word Church). Both also presented scholarly sermons against Wyclif’s articles. Because Hus was occupied fighting against the aggravated anathema and handling his departure from Prague, Jakoubek of Stříbro defended the Hussite standpoint in his Tractatus responsivus (Treatise of Response). When Hus left Prague, he began work on a systematic doctrine of the church, which he wanted to incorporate into his book De ecclesia (On the Church). His plan to take up the material in as pragmatic and calm a tone as possible was forced off course by news from



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Prague. When he found out about the proposition presented by the theologians at the February synod, Hus could not help but react. Beginning with the eleventh chapter, his treatise on the Church becomes a polemic against Stanislav and Páleč, whom Hus suspected of being behind the theologians’ proposal.4 In the meantime, the theological disagreements continued, having gained new momentum primarily because of the extraordinary synod. The texts composed by Hus’s party in response to the theologians’ recommendations gave rise to further commentary: Andrew of Brod wrote the treatise Contra obiectus Hussonitarum (Against the Objections of the Hussites); Stanislav of Znojmo expressed his views in the text Alma et venerabilis (Nourishing and Venerable); and Stephen of Páleč penned Replicacio contra quidamistas (Rejoinder against “Some People”—an attack on the vague denotation of opponents).5 While Andrew’s concise composition did not evoke a response, the works of Hus’s former friends, Stanislav and Stephen, prompted Hus to counter in written form. He completed De ecclesia at the end of May in 1413. He then sent it to Prague, where it was read out to eighty scribes. According to a manuscript testimony, the dictation ended on 8 June.6 At that time, Hus was already working on his texts Against Stephen of Páleč and Against Stanislav of Znojmo. Hus mentioned his ongoing argument with Stanislav in a letter to John of Rejnštejn, which was likely written mid-June.7 As a final contribution to the debate, Hus composed a rebuttal to the treatise, Tractatus gloriosus (Famous Tractate), which Páleč had presented on behalf of the doctors of theology at the discussions in Žebrák in the summer of 1412. Hus finished his work titled Contra octo doctores (Against Eight Doctors) probably around the end of June during his stay in Prague.8 It was Hus’s adversaries, namely Stephen of Páleč, who had the last word in the battles of the treatises. Páleč responded to Hus’s text Against Stephen of Páleč with the voluminous Antihus, which he completed on 10 April 1414. At around the same time, he tried to refute Hus’s main ecclesiological work, De ecclesia, with a treatise bearing the same name.9 A comprehensive account of the argumentation presented in all these texts cannot be pursued here. We will limit ourselves, therefore, to a brief overview of Hus’s views on the doctrine of the Church.10 All of his ecclesiastical principles were based on a notion of predestination that he adopted from John Wyclif. This approach was already in evidence in his first synodal sermon: according to Hus, the true Church is an invisible community of those predestined for salvation. All his other tenets are derived from this, and it is the source of all the deviations from the teachings about the Church that were held to be valid at the time. Moreover, these “official” perspectives were formulated only in relation to conciliarism and the conflict with Wycliffism and Hussitism. The writings of John Wyclif and Hus belong among the first dogmatic accounts of the Church in the history of theology. In contrast, the

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Prague theologians laid the foundation of “Catholic” ecclesiology in the form of anti-Hussite polemics. In the course of subsequent discussions, the issue regarding the nature of the Church was differentiated further. With the negotiations between the Hussites and the Council of Basel in 1433, along with the tractate that was written there by John Stojković of Dubrovnik (also titled De ecclesia), the first round in the systematization of theories regarding the Church was provisionally concluded.11 How, then, did the idea of predestination impact an understanding of the Church? This theological concept is founded on the thesis that God predetermined the fate of all of humanity from the beginning, and that each soul is preselected for either eternal blessedness or damnation. This conclusion emerged from, among others, the conceptions articulated by realists regarding the eternal ideas in the mind of God. Following Augustine’s distinction between the children of God and the children of the devil, Wyclif and Hus both pronounced there to be only one Holy Catholic Church, and that is the eternal community of those predestined for salvation. This eternal Church includes all the predestinate of the past, present, and future. It is governned by Christ himself: “Christ is the head of the universal holy Church and the Church is his body, and each predestinate is his limb and therefore part of the Church, which is the mystical body of Christ.” Since not every Christian will be saved, the line between the Church of Christ and the Church of the Antichrist (the Church of the wicked) cuts across the community of all those who profess affiliation with the Church. Indeed, Hus emphasized that “being in the Church” is not the same as “belonging to the Church.” A person can be part of the Church outwardly but not constitute a true limb of the Church. Likewise, while excrement is in the body, it is not part of it, and in the end it must be eliminated.12 The problem that arises with regard to predestination is that only God himself knows who is destined for salvation and who is “foreknown” to be damned. People cannot know this without being granted a special revelation, which Hus surely did not expect would occur.13 The matter is all the more complicated by the fact that the “present” grace that a person may possess at a certain point makes no difference in relation to being predestined for an eternal life. That is, a person can be unrighteous for some time or, theoretically, even for the duration of his life according to contemporary standards, yet, at the same time, be predestined for and able to attain salvation—and vice versa. In this way, Paul the Apostle could strike against the Church before his conversion, and yet have been a member of that Church for all time. Hus wrote, “Some are sheep according to predestination and ravening wolves according to present unrighteousness.”14 The best-known example from the other side of the spectrum—where one who was ostensibly holy did not attain



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the goal of eternal blessedness—is that of Judas Iscariot; according to Wyclif and Hus, he never belonged to the Church of the predestined, even when he was Jesus’s disciple. It is easy to see what may have been confusing and unsettling about this understanding of the Church. No one can know if they or their fellow men belong to the true Church, and it even seems that it does not matter what kind of life one leads! Hus did, however, advise believers to trust that their faith, a life shaped with love, and perseverance would be sufficient for redemption. With regard to the judgment of others, the words of Jesus apply: “By their fruit you will recognize them” (Matthew 7:16) and “Believe the works” (John 10:38). That is, outward behavior provides at least some indication with regard to salvation.15 Hus undeniably had some difficulty bringing this very point in line with his own theories. That is, despite the reference to recognizing people “by their fruit,” people’s behavior does not, after all, indicate whether they belong to the Holy Church of the predestined since it only offers information about their “present” righteousness. This teaching about the Church had far-reaching consequences for ecclesiastical hierarchization, because even in the case of prelates it could not be taken for granted that they belonged to the Church of Christ. According to Hus, it is arrogant of worldly clerics to proclaim themselves the foremost members of the Church. The underlying aim of his theory was at the center of this critique: it allowed him to challenge the lifestyle of priests from a theologically rooted position. Hus wrote, “And without a revelation, a Christian cannot clearly recognize a true and holy shepherd, yet from his actions that accord with the Law of Christ it is to be assumed that he is one. Whereas if he sees that he lives at variance with Christ, what else can he conclude other than that he is a deputy of the Antichrist?”16 The visible Church—the hierarchically organized clergy that constituted the pillar of religious life at that time—was not, for Hus, identical with the true Catholic Church. Clergymen could claim the right to direct the faithful only when they emulated the true head of the Church—Jesus Christ—with their own lives and morals. Hus logically challenged equating the Catholic Church with the Roman hierarchy that was espoused by the Prague doctors of theology. He commented on the subject, saying, “The pope is not the head nor are the cardinals the whole body of the universal Catholic Church, since only Christ is the head of this Church and the individual predestinate are together the body and each of them is a limb.”17 The teachings on papal primacy were founded on the words spoken by Christ to Peter: “And I tell you that you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church” (Matthew 16:18). Hus’s interpretation of this text was that the rock did not refer to Peter but to Christ—the rock to which Peter had professed when he recognized Jesus as the Messiah and the Son

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of the living God. The pope is a representative of Christ only if he lives in keeping with Christ. “It is known,” declared Hus, “that every pope who lives at variance with Christ, as well as every depraved person, is generally called the Antichrist.”18 We can note here that during the quodlibet in the previous year, that is, in January of 1412, Jakoubek of Stříbro caused a commotion when he identified Pope John XXIII unequivocally as the Antichrist.19 According to Hus, the title of pope should, strictly speaking, be given to the bishop who represents Christ the best. In his Books on Simony, he even argued that any person who is holier that the pope has a greater right to the papal throne.20 Such views brought into question the entire hierarchical underpinning of the Church. In the sermon he presented at the university on 19 January 1410 on the topic of Ite et vos in vineam meam (“You also go into the vineyard,” Matthew 20:4), Hus made a distinction between the Church in the broader sense, which encompasses the community of all Christians, and the Church in the narrower sense, which consists only of the predestined; as a third option he also described the Church as comprising the pope and cardinals. One cannot, however, infer from this statement that Hus was partly allowing for an institutional conception of the Church. Hus certainly recognized the objective existence of the Church as an institution in its time; calling the institution the “Church” was a practical and common turn of phrase. Enumerating the multiple meanings of words was one of the working methods of scholasticism. Stephen of Páleč even identified six different definitions for the term “Church.” What was decisive was where one believed the one true Church to be. And here Hus was unambiguous: the only true Church was the invisible Church of the predestined led by Christ.21 The pope and the cardinals were to serve this Church, and they were not to exploit their offices to make any other claims. The early Church had managed without cardinals for three hundred years, Hus noted. In contrast to the proposal put forward by the doctors at the February synod, he opined that not only cardinals but also bishops who follow Christ in their morals are successors to the apostles. And he went even further: “What would also correspond with evangelical wisdom is if all priests were holy and led entirely by the sole High Priest, the Lord Jesus Christ. [. . .] God can return his Church to its original state by divesting the pope and the cardinals of their dominant position.”22 According to Hus, then, the hierarchical Church should not be equated with the true Church simply on the basis of its institutional structure. This principle applied not only to prelates but also to all priests, since it was not possible to know conclusively if they belonged to the invisible Church. If an immoral life could be held as an outward sign of membership in the Church of the wicked, then this brought into question the legitimacy of a bad priest and, by extension, the sacraments he was performing. It needs to be added that Hus



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understood the issue as two discrete points, even though he seemed to address both in the same way. For him, the lifestyle of clerics was a crucial topic. He was of the opinion that sinful prelates (just like sinful lords) hold their offices in a manner that is unrighteous before God. Sinful priests were unworthy of offering the sacraments; Hus hesitated, however, to declare these sacraments as invalid. It is telling that in his defense of Wyclif’s articles, Hus devoted relatively little attention to the fourth point, which stripped sinful priests of their sacramental power.23 His point of view was that, ultimately, God himself is the agent of the sacramental act and the priest plays only a mediating role. This is why Hus could counter Protiva’s accusation by saying that he always preached the validity of the sacraments, “for divine power works through good as well as bad priests.”24 When his text criticizing Páleč was brought under discussion at Constance, Hus added the following to the articles: “I have delimited and now delimit all such statements that as to merit and thus truly and worthily, before God, are such not popes, prelates, or shepherds, etc.; but as to the office and the reputation of men they are popes, pastors, priests, and others like this.”25 But an office is something different from a sacrament. God acts through the sacraments, even when the celebrating priest is unfit, since it can benefit the faithful. Even Páleč admitted that a wicked priest officiates “unsuitably,” but he did not deny the validity of the sacrament.26 When the office is carried out unworthily and unjustly, however, does that not mean that the person concerned should be held responsible? Outwardly, the sinful leader maintains his official function, even though in God’s eyes he holds it “by name only” and “by usurpation.”27 A secular lord can, according to human law, continue to rule as long as he does not do so tyrannically. In the case of the cleric, who is to be wholly governed by the Law of God, the problem of legitimacy emerges. Consequently, such priests should lose their offices.28 In Constance, Hus was careful not to emphasize this corollary. He did, however, take it seriously, as we saw in relation to his ecclesiastical reform. Contemporary reformers took up the topic of the deposition of unworthy clerics many times. The Pisan cardinals as well as the representatives of the Council of Constance truly did depose a pope. What was important, though, was who carried out the deposition. Conciliarists viewed the overthrowing of a pope as an extreme measure, whose use must be necessarily reserved for the institutional Church. Only the council, which, according to the theory of conciliarism, represented the universal Church, could judge and condemn a pope. Hus perceived the principles of ecclesiastical obedience very differently. In his university sermon Ite et vos, he warned of sprouting the seeds of rebellion (he believed that no one should allow themselves to be “befouled by the vice of disobedience”), but he left the door to reform open. “We have to assume,”

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Hus states, “that our superiors are legitimate, and we must humbly obey them in all things that are reasonable.”29 Already in 1408, he applied this view to an interpretation of the biblical verse, “In reverent fear of God submit yourselves to your masters, not only to those who are good and considerate, but also to those who are harsh” (1 Peter 2:18). He accepted the general commandment to obey, though he did add, “But, for God, subjects are not to obey condemnable commands, but the acceptable ones given by their lords and prelates, which serve the glory of God the Almighty.”30 From this we can draw some conclusions regarding Hus’s position on the question of rulership and Donatism. Although he granted a central role to the personal qualities of office holders, he did not consider them to be decisive. What mattered more was the nature of the specific situation. A person was permitted to accept the sacraments from an unfit priest since God’s agency ensured they did not lose their effectiveness. The orders of an evil ruler had to be carried out as long as they served the good of the Church. On the other hand, one had to oppose a command that was not in concordance with God’s will and law—the moral quality of the lord or prelate notwithstanding. In De ecclesia, Hus deliberated on the theme of obedience and resistance extensively. He did this partly in order to justify his own practice. “Therefore, the faithful disciple of Christ should consider, when the pope issues a decree, whether it is expressly a command from an apostle or Christ’s law, or whether it has its basis in Christ’s law,” writes Hus. “If he truly sees that the order of the pope contravenes Christ’s commandment or counsel, or that it is harmful towards the Church, then he should boldly resist so that he does not participate in a malefaction by means of his consent.” It is for this reason that he, according to his own words, opposed the bull of Alexander V on the prohibition of preaching, along with the indulgence bull from 1412. The call for revolt at the end of his discourse against indulgences includes the same ideas that we find later in De ecclesia.31 Not even the Prague theology professors required absolute obedience on the part of subjects. In their assessment, people were to yield to the apostolic throne and prelates in all things, “wherein pure good is not forbidden and pure evil is not commanded.”32 At the core of the dispute was the appraisal of socalled “neutral acts,” which could not be immediately recognized as clearly good or bad. According to the theologians, in such cases it was necessary to rely on the judgment of the institutional Church and its representatives. In his Antihus, Stephen of Páleč did allow that any regulation set forward by the Church or the bishops that would contradict Holy Scripture, faith, or good morals would not have to be followed. At the same time, Páleč held the view that everything the Church submits to people to be believed in and obeyed is in perfect concord with the Scriptures.33 Hus viewed the matter from a



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fundamentally different perspective. In his opinion, everyone should evaluate the orders of their superiors. If the connection between these orders and Holy Scripture is not evident, it is then necessary to rely on one’s own reason and take into account all the circumstances. A nonsensical directive need not be obeyed: if, for example, the pope ordered Hus to play a whistle or to stuff a sausage, he would not be obliged to comply.34 All things considered, compliance with absurd commands was a secondary matter, for what was truly at stake was the issue of authority in questions of faith. In principle, all Christian theologians of the Middle Ages recognized the supremacy of Christ’s commandments. For Jean Gerson, Holy Scripture was a sacred, “sufficient and infallible precept for the governance of the entire body of the Church.”35 Hus brought his own treatise on the sufficiency of Christ’s law for administering the Church to Constance. In contrast to Hus, Gerson sought the authority required for interpreting Scripture within ecclesiastical institutions. According to Gerson, the Church’s interpretation of the Bible is legally binding, and resistance to its conclusions must be punished. “It is arranged in this way due to necessary caution,” he decided, “for many argue against the truth and they quarrel ceaselessly.”36 Gerson used the same words in 1414 in a letter to Conrad the Archbishop of Prague when he warned him against propagating Wyclif’s heresies. In place of rational argumentation he insisted instead on forceful intervention with “fire and sword.”37 Hus’s persistent regard for Christ’s commandments ought not to be understood in the sense that he was an evangelical fundamentalist. First of all, he perceived Christ’s law to mean not only the commandments issued by Jesus during his earthly life, but the Bible in its entirety. The Sacred Scriptures, as the eternal truth of God existing outside of time, comprise all other truths and thus all laws. Hus therefore believed canonical and civil law to also be part of God’s law. The truth does not need to be stated in the Bible explicitly, but can be implied in its texts. It is sufficient for a law to be founded on the Bible, that is, to be in accord with its spirit. If this be not the case, then the law is not binding. Hus also brings up the legal principle of epieikeia (equity), by means of which the letter of the law can be adapted to a specific situation. His reference to this principle was probably meant to underscore the idea of a judicious approach to regulations and obedience in individual cases, and not to put forward the historical conditionality of ecclesiastical legislation on which his opponents insisted. He acknowledged that certain of the commandments in the Old Testament had ceased to be binding, but this was largely due to Christ’s earthly endeavors. Hus accepted the decrees of the councils and popes only on the condition that “they are explicitly or implicitly in accordance with God’s law.” Ecclesiastical institutions were to explain the Law of God, but under no circumstances were they to create a legal superstructure above it.38

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But how can we recognize the implicit conformity of a legal norm to the gospel? For Hus, a good guideline was to gauge its degree of usefulness. Every good, just law “is beneficial to both its executor and the whole Church,” and, as such, is grounded in the Law of God.39 As to determining whether or not an edict is beneficial, Hus left this again to each individual believer. Not only is it “necessary to forbid every law that diverges from God’s law,” but also all must “be subject to judgment by one’s conscience.”40 As a result, the personal assessment of commands issued by Church leadership became a matter of conscience. Church tradition was therefore stripped of its dogmatic effectuality and the Church as an institution lost its exclusive authority in matters of faith, for each believer was to judge the conformity of each ruling to Christ’s commandments according to his own conscience. “A person can believe the bulls according to one’s own judgment,” Hus avers in On the Church.41 It is possible that Hus was thinking primarily of himself and his own judgments regarding the papal bulls and that he did not expect other people to suddenly express their views on theological and legal issues.42 He did, however, formulate his position in generalizing terms. He writes, “Subordinate clergy and even the laity are permitted to judge the deeds of their superiors.”43 This opinion was merely a corollary of his ecclesiology. In his discourse, De sufficiencia legis Christi (On the Sufficiency of the Law of Christ), which he prepared for Constance, Hus claimed that Christ’s law alone is sufficient for the governance of the Church and “we must not add anything to it nor take anything away.”44 In addition, he openly subscribed to the predestinationist conception of the Church. Hus set the invisible Church against unconditional obedience to the visible Church, and he made obedience dependent on the legitimacy—decided by individual judgment—of commands. At the Council of Constance, Hus’s doctrine on the Church was to play a central role. The list of forty-two heretical theses assembled by Stephen of Páleč and presented to the council was largely based on the text of De ecclesia. Hus penned his responses in the dungeon, possibly on 3 January 1415.45 After the forty-two articles were evaluated by a committee led by Pierre d’Ailly, only eleven of the points from Páleč’s list remained. On the other hand, other heretical articles were added from Hus’s writings against Páleč and Stanislav. It was on the basis of this list of thirty-nine articles that Hus was questioned on 8 June 1415.46 What becomes evident, then, is the extent to which ecclesiological treatises impacted events at Constance. Hus blamed his friends for giving the council access to his tractate, On the Church, along with his polemic, Against a Hidden Adversary. He had wished only for the texts Against Stanislav and Against Páleč to be put forward. In the letter he wrote immediately after the first public hearing on 5 June, Hus



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expressed his conviction that the council would not accept his Augustinian views on the Church. “If only I could be granted a hearing that I might reply to their arguments,” he lamented.47 He was not mistaken in his appraisal. His Augustinian-Wycliffite ecclesiology was indeed deemed unacceptable by the council fathers. Hus’s opponents contended that his notion of the Church as a community of all the predestined could not be accorded doctrinal authority because such a Church cannot actually come together to make a determination. Furthermore, an individual believer with a conscience cannot claim to represent the mystical body of Christ. In the eyes of his judges, Hus was exposing the Church to the dangers of excessive subjectivity. His ecclesiology shook the very foundations of the institutional Church, which was also reflected in the final verdict passed at Constance. The first thirteen of the thirty censured articles related almost exclusively to the concept of predestination and to the pope’s dominion over the Church. Other articles concerned Hus’s disregard for the decrees of ecclesiastical authorities and his ideas regarding a decentralized Church administration.48 When Hus was being sentenced, justification for the verdict was based principally on his teachings about the Church.

Chapter 14 Writing in the Vernacular and Mission in the Countryside: The Czech Postil, 1413 On Friday, 27 October 1413, Jan Hus completed a work that many historians consider to be the pinnacle of his literary production: the Czech Postil. Containing fifty-nine chapters, the Postil provides interpretations for Sunday gospels along with other gospel texts read throughout the liturgical year. Two festival sermons are attached to the temporal cycle, in addition to a preface and the original index. Sermons from the feast days of saints are not included, and neither are sermons on the Epistles or Old Testament texts. In the preface, we find again some of the important themes that Hus had been employing throughout his career. He fervently recalled the example of Jesus Christ who, despised by the mighty powers of this world (especially the prelates), preached to ordinary people until his death. Even today, Hus concluded, much work remains to be done, even more than in Christ’s time, since “many are the people who would like to hear the Word of God.” Many are also priests as the world is literally full of them; most, however, neglect the task of preaching the Word of God: “Few are the faithful preachers who work with the people of God out of love for God’s praise, for the people’s and their own salvation.” In order to fulfill his function as priest, Hus decided to comment on the Sunday readings in the vernacular. “I intend,” he wrote, “to explain the reading as simply as I can, but not of course in the same manner in which I preach.”1 Hus probably never did present the extant form of his Postil to the public. It is a literary work, and a work of very high quality. A lively style, illustrative examples, effective polemical passages, personal testimonies and references to the dramatic events of the time—all this makes the Postil one of the most significant monuments of medieval literature written in Czech. Although the Postil was never delivered from the pulpit, the material used throughout nevertheless creates a link to Hus’s preaching. In the earlier chapter on Hus as a preacher, we saw that the Czech Postil represents a veritable summation of his previous preaching activity. Hus adapted numerous quotations

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and rhetorical-homiletic figures from his older sermonic works. This is true of many of his other writings. Repeatedly employing previously formulated passages was a common practice among medieval authors. In the case of the Czech Postil, however, there was good reason for this: the author did not have access to many more texts than those he had written himself.2 We already know that on 18 October 1412 the excommunicatory charge against Hus was aggravated. Because the interdict extended to the site where the sentenced individual resided, it caused the cessation of church services and other ecclesiastical undertakings such as baptisms and funerals; as a result, Hus decided to leave Prague in accordance with the king’s wishes. He most likely did not leave the capital city until after November 27, which was the deadline for the final implementation of the interdict and also the First Sunday of Advent. This gave Hus the opportunity to finish off the ecclesiastical year 1411–12 in Prague and to leave to his followers the completed text of his last Latin sermon collection, the Postilla adumbrata. Then he probably set off for Žatec, where his residency is documented in the correspondence of the local clerics. Even though Hus stayed in the city incognito, his presence did not remain a secret. The townspeople tolerated the excommunicated preacher. They themselves were in conflict with the Church. In September 1414, the pope was threatening them with an interdict because they had drowned two priests and burned another at the stake. Unfortunately, we do not know whether the incidents happened before or after Hus’s stay.3 According to canon law, the place where Hus was currently residing was required to stop all church services. It seems, however, that this ruling was not upheld, especially if Hus abstained from preaching. “And knowing well that I was in Prague from Christmas until after Easter, they carried out the service; and only when I preached, then they immediately stopped the service,” Hus wrote in the Czech Postil.4 He frequently changed his place of residence and, as needed, he moved between Prague, Žatec, and possibly other locations. In June 1413, Hus visited Prague again, but because of the interdict he soon retreated back to the countryside. He traveled to southern Bohemia, where he found refuge with members of the local lower nobility, the brothers John and Ctibor of Kozí. He completed the Postil at Kozí Castle on 27 October. During the festival of the display of relics in April 1414, he once again sojourned in Prague. In the summer he stayed briefly in the town of Sezimovo Ústí near Kozí Castle; from there he moved on to Krakovec Castle in Rakovník.5 Hus obviously grieved over having to abandon his beloved Bethlehem. Several times he sent a short, encouraging letter to his community—a kind of sermon in writing.6 He found solace in viewing his exile and forced wanderings as an imitation of Christ. In the Postil it states: “And because they expelled the Lord Jesus and cast him forth out of the city of Nazareth, [. . .]



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then what wonder would it be that they should exile me, a sinner, from a city or the land?” In a farewell letter to his Prague supporters, he articulated his resolve to preach everywhere in the countryside where he might be useful, as well as “in the fields and in the forests.” He then carried this out during his exile in southern Bohemia. “Now I preach amid fences, by the castle known as Kozí, by the paths between towns and villages. For Christ states: ‘Go out to the paths and fences,’ which means: amid the fences,” Hus wrote. The quote comes from a chapter in the Postil that may have held special meaning for Hus. Although he did not write the Postil concurrently with the passing of the liturgical year (he began later and proceeded more quickly), it is hypothetically possible to determine that he wrote the chapter in question when the topic was being covered in sermons, namely on the second Sunday after the feast day of the Holy Trinity (2 July 1413). He may have just arrived at Kozí at that time and begun preaching in the open countryside. If that was indeed the case, he would have simultaneously preached, written about, and fulfilled Christ’s command to head out onto the pathways and amid the fences. Hus was so committed to following in the footsteps of Christ that he had doubts about whether he could travel to the site of his preaching by cart or on horseback, since Jesus as a wandering preacher went on foot.7 Based on the testimony of the Old Czech Chronicles, Hus traveled from Kozí and even from Krakovec to preach at markets and in villages, especially when there was a feast or a wedding.8 The old Czech Versified Chronicles record that Hus preached in a barn at Kozí and even served Mass there. The priest Věnek then allegedly began to baptize children in a pond and ceased using holy water and oil. A report that dates to after Hus’s death lists the liturgical and other innovations of the radicals in the area around Kozí and Sezimovo Ústí.9 It is difficult to determine whether this development of religious radicalism was directly associated with Hus’s activity. It is notable, however, that the places connected with his residency in southern and northwestern Bohemia overlap with the future centers of radical Hussitism. That said, they also correspond with the traditional regions of popular heresy that had been drawing the particular attention of the Inquisition since the early fourteenth century. For his places of refuge, Hus likely chose sites that would be open to reform and that had a certain nonconformist tradition—and where he could hope to be welcomed. In his Antihus, Stephen of Páleč expressed the belief that Hus’s nomadic existence in the countryside caused him to “assume the nature of wild forest animals.”10 This apparently left its mark on Hus’s perspicacity, Páleč continues, for the logic of his argumentation had come to resemble that of a night watchman. This expressive polemical attack lacked any grounding in reality. Hus’s keen intellect did not suffer while he was in exile. On the contrary, he actually wrote his more important works there. The book On the Church was

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completed before 8 June 1413 and read aloud on that date in the Bethlehem Chapel. Hus was most probably residing in Prague at that time, though he had been working on the manuscript in exile since late 1412. He likely made use of the well-equipped parish library in Žatec, which served as a sort of regional library. While assembling the first, systematic section of De ecclesia, Hus was simultaneously writing the Czech Books on Simony. He finished the latter on 2 February 1413, possibly during his stay in Prague before the extraordinary synod. When he then saw the memorandum the doctors had composed for the synod, he started writing a second, polemical section of De ecclesia, which pushed back the completion of the book to May or June. Hus already had begun working on the Czech Postil in February, which he did while simultaneously carrying out other projects, with De ecclesia at the forefront. In one letter, he expressed his hope that he would have half the Postil written in June; the project was finished before the end of October. In the meantime, Hus created a Czech version of The Six Errors; the task was concluded on 26 June 1413 in the Bethlehem Chapel. On Sin—a short piece that Hus wrote in Sezimovo Ústí—is dated 26 June 1414. He subsequently traveled to Krakovec, where he composed another polemical work, the Booklets against the Cook-priest.11 The diligence with which Hus carried out his literary projects is admirable, particularly when we consider the conditions under which the exiled preacher had to create his works. Let us remember that up until mid-1413, he was working concurrently on the Latin polemics comprising his theory on the Church. At the same time, he was writing various and extensive texts in Czech. Hus already had proven himself earlier in the field of vernacular literature (that is, texts written in the common language). With his banishment from Prague and his direct contact with people in the countryside, this undertaking gained even more significance for him. He was inspired by the pastoral task of educating and religiously elevating humble believers. Even in his highly argumentative Books on Simony, the author continuously made an effort to explain his points in a manner that could be understood by the lay public. The appearance of the Booklets against the Cook-priest was provoked by a claim made by the adversary referred to in the title that Hus was worse than all the devils. A purely personal polemic, one could say. Nonetheless, at the beginning of the text, Hus articulated his wish that the work be given not to the adversary but to his master so that it would not be lost. The author was concerned that in such a case, “[his] work would have been expended fruitlessly and the truth not been revealed.”12 Announcing the “truth” to all people not fluent in Latin was the main goal of Hus’s vernacular endeavors. In the opening to his brief tract A String Made from Three Threads, Hus formulated the reasons that led him to write short, educational texts providing religious edification in the common tongue:



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Noticing that people are swamped in sins, and being afraid they will fall into the eternal abyss, and wanting to draw them away from sins and the throat of the devil, I would like to present a string that, when held, could draw people into eternal joy. And since people do not like to hear long speeches and also scribes do not like to write in Czech—and when they do, they do so wrongly—and I also do not have much spare time, I now want to braid short the string made from three threads. The thread is a sacred life, made from active faith, hope, and love and preserved in each person.13

Saving people from sin and subsequent damnation occupied a central position in the majority of the didactic texts that came from Hus’s pen. The path that he proposed seems conventional: it is a constant spiritual struggle with the temptations of this world. In accordance with the medieval ascetic tradition, Hus approved of withdrawing from the world, and he recommended it to his readers as well.14 His Czech writings were also, to a considerable extent, derived from existing literature—not only from the Church fathers and Wyclif, but also from medieval Christian writers—and so in places they seem more like translations than adaptations. Hus’s On Recognizing the True Path to Salvation, known also as The Daughter (due to the address to an imaginary reader at the beginning of each chapter), belongs to the tradition of providing guidelines for a pious life. In all probability, Hus wrote them for the members of religious women’s groups who lived near the Bethlehem Chapel.15 In his conclusion to this text, Hus urges the reader to fight against the well-known medieval triad of the devil, the flesh, and the world. The same call to arms can be found at the end of his Expositions—an extensive work in Old Czech that Hus completed on 10 November 1412, that is, shortly before he left Prague. The Expositions consists of a detailed explanation of the confession of faith, the Ten Commandments, and the Lord’s Prayer. In the last paragraph, Hus calls readers into spiritual battle against the three aforementioned enemies, and he gives them (the readers) the designation of the “Knights of Jesus Christ.”16 In his interpretation of the Ten Commandments more than in the other sections, the author exploited the opportunity to criticize current conditions, with a particular focus on the corrupt lives of priests and prelates. The metaphoric reference to readers as God’s knights gained new meaning in the context of reform propaganda and the protest movement (let us recall, for instance, the conclusion to the discourse on indulgences). We can assume that the author was not concerned solely with educating his readers in his treatments of ongoing issues such as simony, but also with involving this audience actively in the efforts to improve the current situation.17

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The distinctiveness of Hus’s Czech writings inheres in this very connection between the reform efforts and his personal struggle. In his vernacular works, he was responding to contemporary trends in literature in his own way. Many late medieval theologians were moving away from abstract, speculative questions and were devoting themselves instead to practical, moral, and pastoral-theological matters. This also coincided with the origins of the pan-European phenomenon known as the theology of piety, whose focus was the religious education of the laity and which increasingly made use of local languages. Jean Gerson, who has often been compared with Hus, produced over one hundred vernacular works of various genres and was labeled “one of the masters of the French language.”18 A prerequisite for the success of this literature was securing the interest of educated and literate laypeople. Recent research shows that the key factors in the development of vernacular literature of this type were both a spontaneous initiative in scholarly circles and, above all, a cultural investment on the part of a ruler and the nobility. A good example is the so-called Viennese School, and not only because of its temporal and spatial associations with Hussitism, but also because of its significance for spiritual literature written in German. The Viennese School refers to a group of theologians at the University of Vienna who, in close cooperation with the Habsburg court, devoted themselves to the popularization of specialized knowledge. Nicholas of Dinkelsbühl, who joined a debate about Utraquism at Constance, was one of the authors representing this group. The duke’s court served as an initiator for and the first recipient of the works produced by the Viennese School; that said, members of the courtly and rural nobility also were included among its commissioners. Scholars were to provide spiritual shepherds in the field with catechetical handbooks for the edification of the laity and with instructions on how to attain a good religious life appropriate to each of the individual estates. The authors and translators were on the search for a format suitable for popularizing theological as well as medical and astronomical knowledge. The result was a large number of treatises on spiritual and pastoral themes, the interpretation of prayers, literature for landlords (the masters of the house), and so on. All in all, the works of the Viennese School were to benefit the “welfare” of the duchy and the local church. They were often the product of reform efforts characterized by respect for the hierarchy and directed toward the suppression of superstition and heresy—especially Hussitism.19 It would be highly productive to carry out a judicious comparison of Czech reform literature and vernacular adaptations with the literary production of the Viennese School and other groupings of theologians of piety. We can first set out a few points. The level of investment in vernacular literature seen in Vienna only existed in Bohemia under Charles IV. The emperor provided



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support to the university and a group of translators with ties to the Dominican Order, which converted the Bible, The Golden Legend of Jacob de Voraigne, and other foundational works of Christian literature into Czech. These Prague structures, which served as a model in Vienna, were dissolved after Charles’ death. Although Thomas of Štítné—the most important author of translations and adaptations of Latin scholarly literature—was a lower noble, the nobility did not otherwise express any kind of interest in being involved with this manner of project. Intellectual pursuits shifted to the university, but a center for the theology of piety comparable to the Viennese School did not materialize. Religious debates (especially about the frequent communion of the laity) were conducted only at an advanced theological level and in Latin.20 Hus therefore was establishing a new tradition, despite the fact that he could have built on Thomas of Štítné’s sizable vernacular oeuvre to a certain extent. He did not focus on methodical instructions for meditation and spiritual exercises as was done in the devotio moderna literature; he also did not write many practically oriented manuals regarding the pious life for landlords and other estates as had been done by the Viennese authors or also Štítné. His writings in the common language were characterized by generally ethical imperatives that, according to the author, were to be applied on a societal scale, even though they were binding for each individual Christian. A useful example here is The Daughter. While it is a text with an undeniably personal focus, it is also clearly formulated social criticism with clerics positioned as the main target. In the section on the conscience it states, “Oh, there are many who are cursed in the conscience, many priests who do no regard their fornication, their avarice, their simony as a mortal sin. Also other states do not hold that affairs, dances, foolish pastimes, jokes, games, the cutting of clothes and other evil habits are a sin and so they do not take them upon their conscience.”21 These considerations, compiled as a lesson for a pious female reader, reflect Hus’s conception of the Church according to which individual laypeople are subject directly to God’s commandments and not to frequently corrupted priests, and where the highest judge is their own conscience. It is difficult to determine the intended audience of Hus’s Czech compositions. In the case of the shorter, catechetical texts, it may have been the literate laity who did not speak Latin—that is, the same group that was the focus of the Viennese School. The larger and more complicated works were intended instead for clerics. With a project such as the Czech Postil, which corresponds in its arrangement to a universal, “eternal” ecclesiastical calendar, the parameters seem to fit that of a typical manual for preachers. This does not preclude the possibility that it may have been used by the laity for reading and education (the so-called “preaching in the armchair”). That said, when Hus was writing the Postil (and maybe even the Expositions), he was probably

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thinking above all of country priests who did not have access to Latin tracts and handbooks. After more than twenty years in Prague, Hus’s change in location must have affected the sensitive preacher profoundly. In his preface to the Postil he wrote, “So that you, when you read, will understand my Czech words, know that I wrote in the way that I typically speak; because in one region Czechs speak differently than in another.”22 He was clearly thinking more than ever about writing in the vernacular and about the Czech language and also about the requirements for a successful dissemination of religious knowledge to the widest circle of clerical collaborators who would then pass it on to an even wider audience. Hus also was occupied with editorial questions. He produced informative indices and detailed instructions for the use of these indices.23 He was likewise concerned with using clear and legible spelling. We have already heard his lament over the scribes who simply did not like to copy Czech texts. Hus decided to use a new, diacritically orthographical system with his Expositions, and he asked the copyists to adopt it. In his introductory note he explained: “When you are reading these books, know that I did not write in the common custom which has been used by Czechs, and not well; they want to write the entire Czech language with the Latin alphabet, but it cannot be done.”24 Hus’s solution consisted of using diacritical marks to distinguish specific Czech sounds. For example, instead of the hitherto common digraph of “cz,” he used the sign “ċ,” from which evolved the present-day letter “č.” Hus unquestionably belonged among the pioneers of diacritical orthography. It is debatable whether we can also identify Hus as the author of the theoretical treatise Orthographia Bohemica. If true, Hus would be the inventor of a new orthography. Hus’s relentless efforts to supply parish clergy and interested laypeople with religious literature in their mother tongue were, of course, also related to the Bible. In the Postil, Hus always introduced pericopes in their entirety, because the users “generally do not possess [gospel] readings written in Czech.”25 He himself had an evangeliary or a lectionary at his disposal at Kozí Castle, which included Sunday readings from the second edition of the Old Czech Bible. It does, however, remain highly questionable whether Hus actually contributed to the second or third translation of the Bible or to their revision.26 Hus’s rural mission and Czech compositions reveal how important pastoral care, priestly service, and employing the vernacular were to him. In the Expositions, he criticized the use of Germanisms in Czech. According to Hus, Czechs who used words such as “hantuch instead of ubrusec [table cloth], šorc instead of zástěrka [apron], knedlík instead of šiška [dumpling], renlík instead of trérožka [pot],” deserved, “to be whipped.” When a “true Czech hears the way they speak, he does not understand them,” complained Hus.27 But behind this linguistic purism lay much more, as indicated by the term “true Czech.”



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It was during the time of the Decree of Kutná Hora that the Wycliffites of the Czech university nation developed remarkably nationalistic concepts in relation to this concept. The strong medieval Czech national consciousness received significant momentum particularly due to Master Jerome of Prague and John of Jesenice. Earlier it was pointed out that Jerome had insisted on the inborn orthodoxy of “pure” Czechs. Traditionally, this was how members of the Czech language community whose parents were both Czechs were described. In his defense of the Decree of Kutná Hora, Jerome went so far as to give priority to “true Czechs” over others in the country on the basis of divine and natural law. Hus also celebrated Czech orthodoxy. “I thank God that I have never seen a heretical Czech,” he stated publicly in the Bethlehem Chapel.28 In his Defense of the Book on the Trinity, he used the common phrase “true Czech” in the same context.29 He also evidently held the view that the nation is a society bound by blood, since he demanded that children from German-Czech marriages speak Czech and do not mix the two languages. Accusing “true Czechs” of heresy represented, for Hus and his associates, an insult to the celebrated Lands of the Bohemian Crown—an argument by means of which they wished to gain the king’s support. Hus was certainly of the opinion that the German families who settled in the Czech Lands should swear an oath to the king and the land. “But that will happen when a snake warms itself on the ice,” he added.30 The fervent nationalistic sentiments were largely confined to the time period shortly before the departure of the German masters from Prague. Three years later, when the Czech theologians opposed the Wycliffite reform program, the language issue retreated again to the background. “I love a good German more than a bad Czech, even if he were my birth brother,” declared Hus, and in his Exposition he added, “Good English priests are more pleasing to me than cowardly Czech priests and a good German more pleasing than an evil brother.”31 The standpoint of faith had maintained its position of priority. Hus also made this clear in one of the letters he wrote to his followers: he urged them to look to God’s cause first, then to avenge the degradation of the land or the nation, and only then to rectify personal injustices.32 Hus used his time in exile in the Czech countryside productively. He approached banishment as an opportunity to try out the calling of a priest and preacher under changed circumstances, and to bolster his pursuit of Christ’s example. In the meantime, the overarching situation had become so exacerbated that he had to count on the fact that the attacks against him could end in martyrdom. When Hus was writing his text On Sin in Sezimovo Ústí in the summer of 1414, the events leading to his execution had already been set in motion. In the spring of that year, King Sigismund had sent several Czech nobles after Hus (including John of Chlum), in order to invite him to the

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upcoming council. Pope John XXIII, with whom Sigismund had agreed on convening the council, stepped up the pressure on the representatives of the secular and spiritual powers in the Czech Lands. Bishop John of Litomyšl received a commission to carry out a more resolute action against Hus, and King Wenceslas received a written threat featuring similar content. Completion of the task was entrusted to the head of the Crown Council, Henry Lefl of Lažany. Accordingly, he invited Hus to his castle of Krakovec, where the preacher was to spend his final weeks in his homeland.33 In the end, Hus decided to go to the council. He announced this to both the Roman and Bohemian kings in letters. He declared that he was ready to be publicly heard and, if necessary, to submit to death in order to uphold Christ’s law.34 In August and September of 1414, he prepared for the trip with the help of his lawyer, Jesenice. On 11 October, he and his guides set out on their journey.

Chapter 15 The Council of Constance: Conviction and Execution, 1414–15 The journey to Constance proceeded without difficulty. Jan Hus traveled in the company of the Lords John and Henry Lacembok of Chlum, Wenceslas of Dubá, and their servants. Among them was also Peter of Mladoňovice—a graduate and the scribe of John of Chlum. Peter recorded all the events that he judged to be important, thereby becoming an invaluable reporter of the last nine months of Master Jan Hus’s life. The procession also included the ambassador of the University of Prague, Master John of Rejnštejn. The convoy comprised two wagons and about thirty horses. In his first letter home, sent from Nuremberg on 20 October 1414, Hus named the places beyond the Czech border through which the group rode, including Bärnau, Neustadt an der Waldnaab, Weiden, Sulzbach, Hirschfeld (probably meaning Hirschbach), Hersbruck, and Lauf. Hus and his companions found a friendly welcome everywhere they went. In Nuremberg, a curious crowd already awaited them. Hus discussed religious issues not only in the imperial city on the Pegnitz River, but also in smaller towns along the way, and nowhere did he encounter misapprehension on the part of the people with whom he interacted. In Biberach, even John of Chlum joined the theological debate, earning the nickname “Doctor of Biberach.” Hus gave notice in each of the places through which he passed that he was heading toward Constance, and he let people know that, “if anyone wishes to charge him with any error or heresy let him ready himself for the Council, for he, Master [Jan], is prepared to render account for his faith at that Council to any opponent.”1 At that time, Hus was still convinced that at Constance he would face his opponents in an open debate. Hus arrived at Constance on 3 November 1414 and found accommodation in the home of Fida the widow, which was not far from what is known today as the Hus House.2 His aristocratic guides announced his arrival to Pope John XXIII. At first, nothing transpired that hinted at the forthcoming difficulties. The pope even reportedly claimed to guarantee Hus’s security, even if

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he were to kill his own brother.3 The only act that was deemed inappropriate for Hus was to give a public sermon. When someone—whether friend or foe was not known, as averred by John of Rejnšten—had spread the message that Hus intended to give a Sunday sermon, the preacher was asked to desist. Hus wrote several letters to Prague, reporting on local prices and estimating that he would not be able to subsist on his funds for long. Otherwise, very little seemed to occur. Everyone was waiting for King Sigismund, but he did not arrive in Constance until Christmas. In the meantime, Hus occupied himself with an issue that had caused a commotion in Bohemia. His friend, Jakoubek, had begun to serve the Lord’s Supper to the laity in both kinds. Partaking of the chalice would become the main symbol of Hussitism. While in Constance, Hus wrote a short discourse voicing approval for the renewed practice. At the same time, however, he advocated caution and reasoned that permission should first be obtained from the Church.4 Hus had assembled three brief tractates before leaving Prague in preparation for his engagement at Constance. Fortunately, a preserved page, which includes Hus’s own handwritten notes, illuminates how these writings came into being in the autumn of 1414.5 The document comprises three different formulations of the main question posed in the treatise About the Sufficiency of Christ’s Law, along with the concept for The Sermon on Peace and material related to Hus’s declaration of faith. Hus wanted to address the council fathers with these three texts and use them as an introduction to their discussion.6 The Sermo de pace (Sermon on Peace) is a regular conciliar sermon in which Hus distinguishes between different forms of peace, ranking the peace between man and God as the most significant. If the clergy were to fulfill the commandments of God and set a good example for laypeople, peace on earth would be guaranteed. Because this is not the case, reforming the clergy is essential for the good of the Church. Hus’s criticism of the clergy is the focal point of the text, and it connects this last sermon not only to ten-year-old synodal speeches, but to all of Hus’s preaching activities. “I have preached against the crimes of the clergy, and I hope to preach the same at the Council,” Hus wrote shortly before his departure.7 What the Sermo makes plain is the degree to which Hus misjudged his role at the Council of Constance. That he wanted to subject the clergy to hard moral criticism in his conciliar sermon is not surprising in and of itself. Many of the council participants did the same and often with much harsher language. Hus’s misreading of the situation was rooted in his belief that he would be included among the conciliar preachers so that he could speak in one of the Constance churches. Even on the day of his arrest, he repeatedly declared that he had come to the council voluntarily and that he wanted to introduce the assembly to his teachings at a public meeting. He was clearly



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expecting an academic discussion of some kind. It was only after his imprisonment that he understood that the council intended to treat him like a rebel suspected of heresy. While his arrest did not cause Hus to abandon all hope, it clearly signaled the beginning of the end. Hus never regained his freedom. The scope of this biography does not permit for a detailed examination of all the events that took place at Constance as recorded by Peter of Mladoňovice and other conciliar sources. This text will focus instead on the most significant of the controversial issues and on the historical background of the events that transpired in order to try to answer the question posed at the very beginning: why was Jan Hus convicted and burned at the stake? One document that is traditionally brought up as a matter for dispute is the royal declaration of safe conduct. Sigismund had promised Hus safe conduct by means of intermediaries even before his departure. The letter itself was issued on 18 October 1414, though it did not come into Hus’s possession until two days after his arrival at Constance.8 The document was addressed to all subjects of the Roman Empire and guaranteed Hus safe passage and safe residence within, as well as safe return from, any and all territories of the imperial domain. The difficulty that arose with regard to the letter’s validity was that the council may have been within the bounds of the Roman Empire, but it also represented an ecclesiastical legal entity over which the king of the Romans had no authority. Theoretically, both the Imperial City of Constance and the local bishop could have opposed the council and the pope with recourse to the royal promise of safe conduct. In principle, however, it came down to a confrontation between two competing jurisdictions that had to be resolved politically. King Sigismund was ostentatiously incensed by Hus’s arrest; in a letter that he wrote to the Bohemian nobles in March 1416, the king admitted that he eventually retreated because he did not want to endanger the work of the council. He wrote, “And God knows that we regretted very much what happened to him [i.e., Hus].”9 In fact, there are reasons to question the sincerity of this utterance, for Sigismund’s courtiers were involved in Hus’s arrest from the very beginning, and the king’s tacit consent to the proceedings against Hus may be assumed.10 Due to political considerations, Sigismund recalled all of his letters promising safe conduct for travel to Constance on 8 April 1415.11 Sigismund obviously did not want the situation with Hus to delay the resolution of the Papal Schism—an outcome he expected from the council. In this sense, Hus’s case was categorized among “other trivialities,” as the king described it.12 The “Bohemian question” certainly could not match the importance of overcoming the schism and uniting the Church. In addition to its unification efforts, the council also hoped to achieve two other aims: the reformation of the Church and the refutation of heresy. For the council

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itself, its function as a court in matters of faith was of no small consequence. The topic of heresy brought a wide range of contemporary conflicts under discussion. Some carried the weight of international politics, as in the case of Jean Petit, which intersected with Franco-Burgundian interests, or in the case of John Falkenberg, which involved relations between the Kingdom of Poland and the Teutonic Knights. Nevertheless, Hus’s trial and the appraisal of Hussitism (including the denunciation of receiving communion in both kinds and the execution of Jerome of Prague) became the principal issue among all other matters of faith to be taken up by the council. It was not by chance that Prague’s Wycliffism was listed first among twenty-six points proposed for the Capitula agendorum—the agenda of the council.13 Sigismund’s assessment of the circumstances as a “triviality” is therefore to be understood as relative and attendant on a specific viewpoint of the situation. For Sigismund, as heir to the Lands of the Bohemian Crown, it was important for the matter to be settled with as little commotion as possible. Hus believed it was the king’s influence that finally granted him the public hearing that he had requested so many times. He was interrogated at the council’s public sessions for three days, during which time he was able—to a limited extent—to respond to the allegations made against him. Even the king was present during the last two days of the proceedings. While it was certainly not the free and open discussion of Hus’s imaginings, it far exceeded the typical medieval process granted to heretics. The council fathers had originally wanted to condemn Hus without delay rather than allow for a public hearing. One of the Bohemians noticed that the judgment was already predetermined. Peter of Mladoňovice immediately informed the lords of Dubá and Chlum. They then alerted Sigismund, who sent Ludwig of the Palatinate and Frederick, Burgrave of Nuremberg, to bring the hearing about. However, the severity of the charge and Hus’s intransigence made any successful defense increasingly illusory. It was during this period that Sigismund stated that he himself would set fire to the stake beneath the obstinate heretic.14 The king never could guarantee Hus protection from the ruling made by the ecclesiastical court. At most he could—again, theoretically—counteract the death sentence, which was entrusted to a “secular power,” and send Hus to Bohemia with a judgment instead. This would have corresponded with the assurances stipulated in the promise of safe conduct as Hus understood them based on the oral account provided by Henry Lefl.15 Under the circumstances, however, such an intervention was hardly feasible. The kings—Sigismund and even less so Wenceslas—did not rush to Hus’s aid in the critical moment. Although the preacher still had powerful supporters among the Bohemian and Moravian nobles, the lords could hardly do more than issue proclamations and exert epistolary pressure on Sigismund



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and the council. At the meeting of the conciliar nations on 13 May, Peter of Mladoňovice read out the objection to Hus’s imprisonment that was raised by Czech and Polish nobles who were present at Constance. The presentation gave rise to a long debate that also involved Bishop John Železný. On 31 May, the lords lodged a new complaint to which they added all the documentation that Hus had gathered as proof of his innocence, a statement from the beginning of his treatise De sufficiencia, and the written endorsement of the Moravian nobility from January 1415. Shortly thereafter the Moravian and Bohemian nobles sent further letters of protest to Constance. In June 1415, a letter bearing the seals of 250 Bohemian nobles was read at the council.16 Yet Hus also had enemies among his compatriots at Constance. Michael de Causis and Stephen of Páleč played the leading roles in this respect. Stephen, Hus’s former friend, is one of the most interesting characters in the drama that unfolded over the last three years of Hus’s life. We can suppose that he did not intend initially to send Hus to his death. Rather, he wished—as did most of the other participants—that Hus would retract his teachings. After all, such a retraction would confirm that Páleč had been in the right when he broke with Wycliffism in 1412, and that it was he who had represented the correct standpoint in all the polemics that had taken place since that break. When Hus was burned at the stake nonetheless, Páleč continued to try to justify his past behavior. In a sermon he gave on 5 July 1416—that is, on the eve of the first anniversary of Hus’s death—he spoke about heresy, among other topics. He declared that heresy must be dealt with uncompromisingly: “It is not possible to condone anyone in this matter.”17 He was certainly thinking of his former friend when making this pronouncement; indeed, Páleč’s belief that he could not have done otherwise can be read between the lines of his self-justification. His role in Hus’s trial was not insignificant. He testified against the preacher several times during the hearings and, on his own initiative, compiled an inventory of forty-two heretical articles taken from the De ecclesia that he then passed on to the council.18 Hus was confronted with a number of allegations during both his imprisonment and the public hearings. Michael de Causis was likely responsible for assembling the first summary of the previous procedural steps taken against Hus, which served to prepare the first commission appointed to investigate the case.19 This commission then presented Hus with the forty-five famous Wyclif articles to which the defendant responded by means of a written statement.20 In January 1415, he provided a more comprehensive explanation with regard to the articles that Páleč had selected from his writings.21 Meanwhile, the commission gathered and reviewed testimony against Hus, with the earlier indictments sent to the Curia serving as a basis for their inquiry. The commissioners interrogated some witnesses who had traveled to Constance,

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while they allowed others to be questioned in Prague. Forty complaints were lodged as a result of the Constance inquests, while sixteen others came from the documents obtained in Prague.22 The pope’s flight from Constance led not only to the relocation of Hus to another prison, but also to the appointment of a new investigative commission. In April, a commission led by d’Ailly drew up a more precise list of thirty-nine heretical points gleaned from Hus’s books. Hus was interviewed at a public sitting of the council on 5, 7, and 8 June. The judges confronted him with the aforementioned witness testimonies and, on the last day, with the thirty-nine articles taken from his writings. At the end of the third hearing, Cardinal Zabarella promised to provide the master with a revised list of his heretical viewpoints. This list, which was submitted to Hus on 18 June in the form of thirty points, also served as the foundation for the final verdict.23 We can examine the accusations leveled against Hus only cursorily here and so will focus instead on identifying the main facets of the proceedings.24 First of all, it appears that the council fathers were keen to obtain the most precise and substantive wording of the indictment possible. The repeated interrogation of witnesses and of Hus himself, along with Hus’s written statements, led to the clarification of the allegations. Of the original fifty-six points of censure that had been brought forward by witness testimonies, only sixteen were retained. And even these gradually lessened in significance as the heretical ideas taken directly from Hus’s books gained purchase in the case. This was the new versus the earlier stage of the process. The list compiled from Hus’s writings was also finessed: many articles were eventually omitted because they were deemed either too inaccurate or doctrinally inconsequential. Overall, Hus continued to uphold the theses of more than half of the articles in question, or he explained the way in which they should be understood. He fully repudiated only about a quarter of the given points. During the trial at Constance, the number of articles whose legitimacy Hus confirmed increased. It is revealing that his comments on the definitive thirty articles constituted an explanation of their meaning, and not an assertion that the doctrines were attributed to him incorrectly. Some thematic developments also can be observed in the accusations brought against Hus from 1408 onward. The charges leveled against the preacher in Prague focus on his public declarations. A quarter of the articles related to his putatively seditious sermons; another quarter dealt with the allegedly remanentist and Donatist statements Hus made partly in private but also partly in sermons. In Constance, these topics did not completely disappear, but they did diminish in importance. In the final verdict of the trial, the concept of​​ remanentism against which Hus had so often argued—the last time being when he was en route to the border—no longer appears. However, with Páleč’s list



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of articles there emerged a new theme: the doctrine of the Church. Not even in Wyclif’s forty-five articles did ecclesiology play a quantitatively significant role. In contrast, articles related to a predestinationist understanding of the Church and to the papacy made up half of Páleč’s list and three quarters of d’Ailly’s. To this were added other ecclesiological heresies. Of the definitively condemned articles, one-fifth speak to the ineffectiveness of priestly acts performed against God’s will, one-fourth concern the concept of the Church based on the teaching of predestination, and a full one-third attend to the Pope. This may seem ironic, since only a short time previous the judges of the council had found the pope to be a notorious sinner as well as a heretic and deposed him as a result. What should not be overlooked, however, is that the heretical articles played what was primarily a formal role in the proceedings. It did not matter overmuch how many of them Hus affirmed or denied. His judges simply wanted him to renounce the entire list. That this list had been revised several times and the defendant was eventually presented with a considerably reduced inventory of heresies constituted a concession to which the judge was not bound. The decision that was truly fateful for Hus had already been made on 4 May 1415, which was when the council finally condemned the teachings and person of John Wyclif. From that point forward, no one could endorse Wyclif’s theses without automatically committing heresy. The step had been taken from learned dispute to inquisitorial proceeding. No longer were judgments being made about individual pronouncements; the task now was to determine whether or not Hus was a heretic. Hus therefore had to renounce Wyclif’s heresy as a whole, regardless of whether or not he held with one or another of Wyclif’s theses. It cannot be denied that many of the articles were attributed to Hus erroneously, and that most of the testimonies made against him were distortions or lies. This is understandable to a certain extent since it was only his adversaries who were questioned. The goal was, after all, to ferret out heresy, not to put together a faithful summary of all of Hus’s teachings. The Constance judges rejected some of the lies during the trial. According to procedural rules, however, the court had to acknowledge the testimony of credible witnesses, and Cardinal Zabarella emphasized their substantial number and respectability during the interrogation on 7 June. “We cannot judge according to your conscience,” stated Pierre d’Ailly, “but according to what has been proved and deduced here against you and some things you have confessed.”25 The main objective of the Constance fathers was not to investigate what Hus had or had not actually said over the last ten years in Prague. They offered him a very straightforward way to save himself: to renounce Wyclif’s teachings, now officially classified as heretical. Hus did not, however, want to do so with such indiscrimination.

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Although most of the council fathers had a university education, they did not want to engage in any form of academic debate with Hus. This adherence to court proceedings in his case stemmed from more complex circumstances. The trial against Hus overlapped with the conflict between the council and Pope John XXIII. The majority opinion of the council was that the best way to unite the Church would be for all three of the popes to resign in order to allow the assembly to put forward only one candidate—one with unassailable qualities. John XXIII, who had summoned the council in the first place, originally agreed to the proposition, stating that he was willing to withdraw on the condition that the other two competitors would do the same. He subsequently changed his mind, however, and fled from Constance on 20 March. The council then employed the Haec sancta decree to proclaim its sovereignty over the pope and to initiate proceedings against the pontiff’s heresy. John XXIII was detained and brought back to Constance, where he was deposed on 29 May. Because the council did not recognize the remaining two popes, it now ruled the headless Church. Under these circumstances, the judging of heretics provided a good opportunity for the council to demonstrate its authority. By concluding Hus’s trial, which had begun with the papal curia, the council made clear its right to exercise judicial power as the highest institution of the Church.26 Accordingly, the burning of Hus at the stake on 6 July 1415 can be seen as, among other things, a public spectacle representing one of the most significant ecclesial-political events of that time. The proceedings that had followed all the rules for the prosecution of heretics had come to an end. The bishop of Lodi gave a sermon, the charges and procedural acts were read again, and when Hus refused to renounce what he had not taught, the verdict was read to him. He was then stripped of his priestly rank and handed over to the imperial vicar, Ludwig III of the Palatinate, as the representative of secular power. The death sentence was carried out in the outskirts of Constance between the gardens and the fortifications. Hus accepted his fate bravely, buttressed by the example of early Christian martyrs and the suffering of Christ, in whose footsteps he tried to tread, especially in his final years. His clothes and shoes also were fed to the flames, and his books were burned beforehand in the cemetery of Constance Cathedral. When King Sigismund traveled to Narbonne two weeks after Hus’s execution in an effort to secure the followers of Benedict XIII for the Council of Constance, the chancellor of the Paris university, Jean Gerson, gave a celebratory speech. The content of his oration confirms the circumstances surrounding Hus’s conviction. “In the case of heresy, the general council can and must render judgment upon all persons, whatever their dignity or status, without mercy or fear or personal inclination,” Gerson declared. “This was



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done during the investigation of John XXIII and Jan Hus.”27 According to Gerson, the court proceedings carried out against heretics established the sovereignty of the council. The interconnection of the anti-heresy trial with ecclesiastical and political considerations, along with the application of its outcome for immediate political purposes, is indisputable. John XXIII was condemned as a heretic because there were no other acceptable options for deposing a pope. He was even accused of being a nonbeliever. Later, however, he was released from prison and pardoned by the new pope, Martin V. He died in Florence in 1419 as a cardinal of the Roman Church. The question to pose here is: what historical “necessity” brought Hus into the sphere of high politics and a judicial system from which he could no longer escape? Hus himself concluded that he was being prosecuted for his criticism of immoral clergy. In his will, which he left with Martin of Volyně before traveling to Constance, he wrote: “You likewise know that I denounced the avarice and irregular life of priests, for which cause by the grace of God I am suffering persecution that will soon achieve my destruction.”28 Already in his letters written in 1413 to the preacher of St. Vitus, Beneš of Ostroměř, and Master Andrew of Brod, Hus averred that he was being pursued for criticizing the clergy. Both recipients countered that the real reason was his endorsement and defense of Wyclif’s heretical teachings.29 Nonetheless, Hus’s censure of the clergy cannot be ruled out as a cause leading to his persecution. We can certainly trace the impetus behind the first charges submitted by the Prague priests and canons to the fact that they felt publicly attacked. It would, however, be a gross oversimplification to link the origins of the trial and conviction to only this one source. In Constance, there were many council representatives whose perspectives were broader than those of the Prague priests and who were, moreover, proponents of the reform of the clergy. What they did not want, however, was rabble-rousing. The preceding chapters highlighted the various reasons that could have led the council fathers to convict Hus. Preaching reform was not, in and of itself, one of them; the fathers likely perceived the publicization of internal clerical matters to be a more serious issue. The Wycliffite-Hussite approach to reform was not acceptable because it was based on a subversive conceptualization of the Church that ran counter to the pastoral considerations of the leading prelates. The verdict of the trial was largely justified with reference to Hus’s definition of the Church as a community of all those predestined for salvation—a viewpoint found to be incompatible with the Catholic faith. But this rather speculative heresy served above all as a front for the real fears of the council fathers, which stemmed from the reaction elicited by Hus’s disruptive teachings from a broad spectrum of society. At the same time, Hus did not promulgate a coherent social theory of any kind, and he was by no means a

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social revolutionary. He only wanted to bring the existing social system into order, reform it, and thereby maintain it. However, the consequences of his heterodox conception of the Church threatened rebellion, which the council leaders as experienced theologians had to recognize. The new theoretical definition of the Church can be seen as resulting from the fact that Hus had lost faith in the contemporary ecclesiastical institution. This may have been due to his experience of the Great Schism. The ecclesial fragmentation, along with the conciliarism adopted by leading theologians in response to the situation, created a unique constellation of power that contributed not a little to Hus’s execution. Hus did not travel to Rome to submit himself to the ruling of a pope he did not respect. In spite of the ecclesiastical injunction, he could have remained in his homeland, just like Jesenic, Jakoubek, and other excommunicates who continued to participate actively in events in Bohemia even after the Council of Constance. Yet Hus shared in the hopes that had come to be generally associated with the council. Everything seemed to support the journey to Constance: Sigismund’s guarantee of safe conduct, the possibility of resolving all the problems of Christianity through the conciliar debate, and the eventual reform and reorganization of the Church. However, this new reorganization also brought with it plays for power and battles for the right to rule over the Church. The conciliarists—the current victors—certainly had no need of a dissenting voice that would again bring into question the ecclesiastical hierarchy they dominated. The unavoidable clash between Hussitism and the Catholic Church might perhaps have been confined to the academic domain if the problem had not long since exceeded the narrow limits of the academic sphere and had far-reaching consequences of both a religious and social nature. Although the number of charges condemning Hus’s contentious sermons gradually diminished during the proceedings at Constance, ecclesiastical authorities as well as influential theologians continued to define the greatest danger as Hus’s dissemination of heretical doctrines among the people. The final judgment in his trial denounced Hus for “seducing the Christian people, especially those in the Kingdom of Bohemia, with his public sermons and the works he wrote.”30 Relevant authorities could reprimand the undisciplined preacher, but more substantial reasoning was required to justify an execution. The council anchored this reasoning in Wyclif’s heresy. Hus was asked to flatly renounce the entire list of heresies without being given the opportunity to explain how individual theses could be brought into line with Christian teachings. This coincided with Gerson’s view that heresy must be condemned first of all “with regard to the small, that is, the common Christians.”31 A discreditable thesis that could offend the faithful people’s ears, should, according to Gerson, be



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condemned, even if it could be interpreted in a proper or correct sense within an academic debate. The debate requested by Hus was therefore not only disallowed, but also superfluous. The issue of preaching to the people also emerged at the hearing of 8 June. D’Ailly—the same d’Ailly whose reform sermons we compared with those of Hus—spoke to Hus’s thesis that cardinals must imitate the life of the apostles in order to merit their offices: “You do not observe moderation in your preaching and writing; for you should have adapted your sermons to the need of the hearers. Why was it necessary or useful, therefore, while preaching to the people to preach against the cardinals, since none of them was present there? Rather you should have spoken and preached it to their faces and not to scandalize the laymen.”32 The cardinal of Cambrai’s response points to an important facet of the conflict between Hus and his judges, namely the relationship of scholars to politics and to spheres external to the university in general. In the Late Middle Ages, intellectuals turned increasingly to the world while literacy grew among the laity. This development, which also was effected by those accused of heresy, led to the mixing of heretofore more or less discrete systems of communication. Sermons critical of the Church had become an established tradition in Bohemia already in the second half of the fourteenth century. The Wycliffite masters associated with Hus took a decisive step at the beginning of the fifteenth century when they reinforced this tradition with argumentation drawn from Wyclif’s writings—argumentation that could also stand up to academic debate. However, the council fathers cautioned Hus that the learned and popular articulations of his opinions could not be interchanged at his pleasure. It was recommended instead that he submit to the doctrinal and legal authority of the Church, which at that time meant the authority of the council. The council fathers excluded academic debate from the discussion of heresy because this particular heresy had exceeded the bounds of university operations. In so doing they wanted to castigate not only a rebellious colleague, but, above all, a publicly active preacher.33 To summarize in one sentence: Jan Hus was burned at the stake because he defended Wyclif’s teachings even when they had been condemned, he drew conclusions from these teachings that were dangerous to the Church as an all-embracing institution, and he successfully spread these views among the laypeople. Why did Hus not recant his teachings when this could have saved his life? He himself repeatedly put forward two reasons: first, that he could not renounce something that he had not taught, because in doing so he would be lying to God; and second, that the articles he did espouse had not been proved heretical by any evidence from Holy Scripture. Gerson had a response to such a defense. In the above-quoted sermon, he also stated that the council

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can denounce even those claims that cannot be refuted by biblical arguments alone. In addition, the council can carry out judgment on persons even if their contentious theses can be interpreted in an orthodox sense.34 Thus, the individual articles did not truly matter. Hus did not share this opinion. During the hearing on 8 June, there was a dispute over the meaning of the word “to abjure.” Hus believed that it meant rejecting previously held heresies. Accordingly, he argued that he could not renounce something he had never held. Both the council and King Sigismund believed that one could distance oneself from heresy without having embraced it beforehand. As the king stated: “I am willing to abjure and do abjure all errors.”35 Hus, however, maintained his position. He was plainly convinced that he would threaten his soul if he were to give a false recantation. It also seems that there was a tactical dimension to his repeated refusal to renounce the articles that had been improperly attributed to him. It turned attention away from the points that his teachings had actually promoted, and in which his opinion clashed with that of the council. On 5 July, Cardinals d’Ailly, Zabarella, and other representatives of the council presented Hus with a final version of his retraction—one that eliminated completely the problem of falsely attributed articles: Hus was only to abjure the articles that had been taken from his books, and with regard to those that he argued were attributed to him incorrectly, he had only to declare that he had never preached them and would never preach them because they constitute heresy.36 But even this Hus refused to do. His refusal was evidently not based on the wrongly attributed articles, but rather on those that had been excerpted out of his writings correctly. In the end, Hus was not condemned due to false testimonies, but because of his deviations from orthodoxy as the council understood it. Hus did not find the council’s authority to be as compelling or binding as God’s commandments and Holy Scripture. Hus disclosed an important motive behind his unwavering stance in a letter written to an unknown member of the council addressed simply as Pater (Father), whom research has tentatively identified as Francesco Zabarella. Around 20 June, Pater tried to convince Hus of the necessity of his abjuration. Hus presented his established reasons and added: “I should thereby scandalize a great many of God’s people who have heard me preach the contrary.”37 In his final weeks, he was already committed to sacrificing himself for the movement that he had brought to life. He sought inspiration in the example of Christ. He expressed his willingness to be a martyr several times, especially in the critical period following the year 1412. Already in his decade-old exposition on the Psalms, he had pleaded for the strength to suffer even death for Christ. For Hus, the endeavor to follow Jesus’s life and commandments ended in martyrdom.38



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Hus’s determination to remain faithful to his principles is not without its heroism. In today’s world with its many forms of radical fanaticism, we may not necessarily regard the unwavering adherence to one’s truth as a virtue. Searching for the positive in the case of Hus cannot be limited to the defense of certain principles, but must also involve an accounting of those principles themselves. Hus excelled at playing the role of a “public conscience” in early fifteenth-century society. He was able to ask unpleasant questions of the establishment in a way that was necessary and beneficial. At a time when people were complaining about the poor state of the Church and looking for a culprit to blame, Hus urged everyone (especially all priests) to begin with and critically review their own behavior. His perspective on reforming ​​ the Church was in many ways idealistic. In literal application, it threatened anarchy. Yet Hus certainly did not want society to be given over to arbitrariness; he wished, rather, to subject it to a higher moral law. He acknowledged the common people’s right to defend themselves against earthly authorities when the unfair course of their official machinations was causing despair. He placed discussion and substantive argumentation above authoritarian legislation. Hus’s famous statement from the introduction to his defense of Wyclif’s work on the Trinity—that from the beginning of his studies he had been guided by the rule that he would change his opinion if he came across one that was more sensible—can be understood as a proclamation.39 Not even in Constance did Hus believe he could truly be convinced and condemned. He shared this conviction with his judges. But unlike the council fathers, he refrained from advocating his views in a ruthless manner. Hus did not question the contemporary concept of heresy, but he did believe that corporal punishment should be used very carefully and that it would be best to avoid executing heretics. In Constance, this opinion provoked “noise and outrage” among the audience.40 In the end, the council representatives enforced their authority with the aid of secular powers. When Gerson claimed that Hus, although of low origin, had many mighty supporters, he was exaggerating. Rather, the only lord who defended Hus at the time identified himself as a “poor knight.”41 The true lords of royal origin washed their hands of Hus. The extent of the support he had gained in Bohemia became fully apparent only after his death. The consequences of his execution led to what the council fathers had most feared: though they had succeeded in ending the Papal Schism, their course against Hussitism brought about a further division in the Church.

Chapter 16 Epilogue: Hussitism and Reformation Before Martin Luther was charged with an imperial interdict—but after he had already been excommunicated by the Church—he was to be given a hearing. This took place in April 1521 in connection with the imperial Diet of Worms. To the demand that he retract his teachings he replied, “If I will not be convinced by evidence from Scripture or by clear and rational reasoning (for I believe neither the pope nor the Council, because it is evident that they were often mistaken and contradicted one another), then I will be persuaded by the passages from Scripture that I have set forward; and because my conscience is in the power of the Word of God, I cannot and do not wish to recant, for acting in a manner that opposes the conscience is neither certain nor salvific.”1 These words became famous and are sometimes even seen as a formulation of the modern freedom of conscience—albeit somewhat hastily, since Luther was speaking here of the boundedness of the conscience to the Bible. Moreover, the role of the conscience had already been emphasized by medieval canon lawyers.2 In our context we can point to yet another set of relevant circumstances. An entire century before Luther, Jan Hus had voiced the opinion that popes can and do act in error; he also refused to withdraw his teachings until convinced to do so by passages in Scripture or by means of rational reasoning. The similarities between Luther’s conviction and Hus’s trial at Constance were already noted by contemporaries. The Trier official, Johann von den Ecken, responded to Luther’s above-cited words as follows: “But you are reviving what was condemned by the general Council of Constance, selected from the entire German nation, and yet you want to be convinced by passages from Scripture. In this you are very much in error. What will it actually bring about, this new dispute over things that have been cursed by the Church and Council for centuries?”3 Even without giving the name of the Czech preacher, the imperial lawyer was here suggesting a fundamental correspondence of Hus’s and Luther’s teachings. Luther himself amended his views on Hussitism over time. In his early works, he wrote of the Hussites living on the other side of the Saxon border as “our heretical neighbors.” When employing the term

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“neighbor,” Luther was probably not referring solely to the proximity of a settlement, but was rather also invoking the more general, Christian meaning of the word as fellowman. In any case, he was already showing a certain respect for the way Hussites lived.4 Soon after the publication of his famous theses against indulgences, Luther began to view Hussite teachings in a more positive light. The decisive turn came after the Leipzig debate with Johannes Eck in the summer of 1519. Eck was well aware that Luther’s theses regarding indulgences could lead to a radical challenge to the papacy and ecclesial law—just as it had in the case of Hus. Luther was uncomfortable with the direction of this argumentation, but, in the end, he eventually agreed with the Hussite denial of the primacy of the Roman Church. Shortly after the debate, he acquired a copy of Hus’s tract, On the Church, from Bohemia. When reading this text, Luther was astonished to discover that Hus had already expressed “the most obvious evangelical truth.” “Until now, I have unknowingly taught and espoused all the views of Jan Hus, as has Johannes Staupitz,” he confessed in a letter written to Georg Spalatin. “In short, we are all Hussites without our knowing it. All things considered, Paul and Augustine are literally Hussites. And look at the misery we have fallen into in the absence of the Bohemian leader and teacher.”5 Does that mean that the Reformation broke out 105 years before its currently accepted date, and that it was inaugurated by Hus’s rather than Luther’s actions against papal indulgences? The Wittenberg reformer himself denied it. He continued to defend the articles that had been condemned in Constance, but he relativized the statements he had made in his letter to Spalatin: “They do wrong who call me a Hussite. He [Hus] does not think the same as I; but if he was a heretic, I am ten times more a heretic, because he said so much less and smaller things, as if he were just starting to reveal the light of the truth.” Although in the German version Luther was more modest by half (“I did five times more”), he still insisted on the gap between Hus’s and his own reformist undertakings.6 During one of his discussions at the table, he declared that Hus had criticized only the lifestyle of the papal church while he also attacked its doctrine. “That is my calling,” Luther averred.7 Here he was not altogether fair to Hus. Moreover, the teaching carried out by these two figures is not the only point to consider. In order to assess the relationship between Hussitism and the Lutheran Reformation, we must briefly outline the developments that took place after Hus’s death. When Hus was convicted as a heretic, all of his followers automatically became heretics as well. His friend Jerome of Prague, who followed Hus to the stake on 30 May 1416, was condemned as a Wycliffite and a Hussite. As a result of the ban on accepting communion in both kinds, Hussitism became an illegal movement from the point of view of the Roman Church. But the



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situation looked somewhat different from the distant city of Constance than it did in the Bohemian Kingdom. The verdicts of the council did not in any way reduce the numbers of those continuing to adhere to the banned teachings. On the contrary, Hus’s execution provoked great outrage. On 2 September 1415, Bohemian nobles gathered in Prague to give this outrage written form. This was followed by a petition, which took about a month to carry out. The result was a letter of complaint that was sent to Constance as eight parchment sheets bearing a total of 452 noble seals. While many Bohemian-Moravian nobles did not participate in this act of protest, the letter still constituted the most significant manifestation of support for the Hussite cause up to that point.8 All in all, however, the Hussite movement was not defined by unity for long. Communion from the chalice—known as Utraquism—remained common to all Hussites, but a number of other points of practice and doctrine soon caused the movement to fragment into multiple groups. Radical preachers, mostly former pupils of Hus and Jakoubek, looked primarily to the countryside, where they spread teachings and introduced practices with which the more conservative Hussites did not identify. In 1418, a synod was assembled to neutralize views seen as overly radical. In its decrees, it identified the following articles as heretical: introducing communion for infants; denying purgatory, requiem masses, the intercession of saints, oaths, and the death sentence; questioning the validity of confession and repentance; simplifying services and liturgical apparatus; and serving the Eucharist to the laity.9 Most of the University of Prague masters and a large number of Hussite nobles held more moderate views. Not even the university, which, in the context of Hussitism, claimed to be the teaching authority in matters of faith, was able to bring an end to the tendency for divisiveness in the reform movement. If the petitioners had expected to obtain justice from the future undisputed pope,10 they were bitterly disappointed. The Constance conclave elected Pope Martin V on 11 November 1417. The new pontiff was none other than Cardinal Oddo Colonna, who had had a negative impact on Hus’s trial. In February 1418, prior to the end of the council, Martin affirmed the earlier judgments made against Wyclif, Hus, and Jerome. At the same time, he issued a new anti-Hussite bull that formally initiated an inquisition against Wycliffites and Hussites. Then in the spring of 1420, he declared a crusade against Bohemian heretics. King Wenceslas IV was already deceased at that time. During the final episode of his reign, he had tried to balance certain sympathies for the Hussites on the one hand and pressure from the council on the other. The king did not long survive the rebellion that broke out in the summer of 1419 in the form of the violent removal of the new, anti-Hussite council that the monarch had appointed to Prague’s New Town. His brother and heir, Sigismund, whom the Hussites had refused to accept as their sovereign, attempted to control

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the situation in the kingdom with the help of a crusade. In this he was not successful; each incursion into Bohemia—from the first to the several that followed—was repelled by Hussite troops.11 In times of crisis, the Hussites were always able to band together and decimate the invasions. Four Prague articles served as the common ground for presenting their demands externally. The individual points of this Hussite program demanded freedom in preaching, communion in both kinds, the expropriation of ecclesiastical property, and the punishment of mortal sins. These had been the core points of Hus’s teachings, with the exception of the lay chalice (of which he had also approved). All of the Hussite factions agreed on these four articles. What must be acknowledged, however, is that each of these articles could be interpreted in a moderate or a radical sense; simply speaking, the stance with regard to each point could range between “permissible” to “necessary for salvation.” Diverging interpretations were the subject of endless debates between the two main groups: the moderate Praguers and the radical Tábor community.12 What position would Hus have taken in these circumstances? This is, of course, a purely speculative question, yet it does not lack in allure. We can argue that he would have chosen a middle path. He would hardly have supported the more radical demands (such as innovations directed toward the liturgy and the Eucharist), but at the same time he would most likely have cautioned against realigning with the Catholic Church—a plan of action to which some masters became more and more inclined over time. An instructive example here is Jakoubek of Stříbro, Hus’s successor at Bethlehem Chapel. On the one hand, Jakoubek propelled the Hussite theology forward; this can be seen, for instance, in the role he played in introducing communion for children—a practice to which not all Hussite clergy responded favorably. On the other hand, he was uncompromising when waging theological battles with the Táborites; he became one of the primary antagonists of radical chiliasm and of the disrespectful, so-called Picart conception of the Eucharist, which was rejected by the Tábor community itself. Jakoubek wielded an authority that won him a certain level of respect across the Hussite factions, while it admittedly also brought with it a certain degree of isolation.13 When the Hussites began to take advantage of their military superiority to threaten neighboring and distant lands, the Fathers of the Council of Basel decided (in 1431) on a peaceful route to settling the conflict. Inviting condemned heretics to discuss controversial questions of faith had never been done before in the history of the Church. It took five years for the negotiations between the Bohemians and the council to come to an end. The accord was finalized in Jihlava in the summer of 1436 with Emperor Sigismund in attendance. For the time being, the so-called Compactata ended the Hussite Wars and



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finally allowed Sigismund to truly ascend the throne. The council permitted a limited application of the four articles in the territory of the Kingdom of Bohemia and the Margraviate of Moravia. The Hussites were formally accepted back into the Church; every adult could freely decide whether to receive the Lord’s Supper in a Catholic Church under one kind, or in an Utraquist Church under both.14 Hus did not get the chance to enjoy the success of his followers. He did live on, however, in the Hussites’ memory. In addition to the lay chalice, worshipping Saint Jan Hus was another of the recognizable features of the Utraquist Church. Shortly after Hus’s and Jerome’s executions, Jakoubek gave a sermon in the Bethlehem Chapel “in commemoration of new martyrs.”15 In panel paintings from the second half of the fifteenth century, Hus is depicted as a martyr and patron saint of the Bohemian (Utraquist) Church. Altar wings from the northern Bohemian village of Roudníky (today at the Hussite Museum in Tábor) that date to before 1486 show the martyrs James, Sebastian, and Lawrence, as well as Hus at the stake. The altar of the Resurrection from the cemetery church in Chrudim (today in the Regional Museum) was created in the beginning of the sixteenth century; the predella depicts Saints Jan Hus and Jerome of Prague next to the patron saints of the kingdom, Wenceslas and Prokop.16 After his martyrdom, Hus served his followers as an identifying figure who bridged the boundaries between individual factions. His works were continuously transcribed and, starting in the early sixteenth century, also printed. That said, in the Utraquist Church, Hus lived on more as a symbol than as an author.17 The settlement that was reached between the Hussites and the Basel Council, along with the so-called imperial Compactata with Sigismund from 1435–36, laid the foundation for the legal existence of the Utraquist Church in Bohemia and Moravia. Formally, it was to be part of the Roman Church with a different liturgy—at least, that was how it was conceived by the council fathers. The Hussites had always considered themselves to be part of a single, universal church. Practically, this was only reflected in their recognition of priestly ordination as passed on by apostolic succession. Hussites had their priests ordained by Catholic bishops. It was only in the late 1460s that the Unity of Brethren decided to abandon the appurtenances of ordination and choose their priests simply by lot. The majority Utraquist Church insisted on ordination. The Church’s own archbishop, John Rokycana (elected in 1435), was never recognized by the Roman curia. This reflected the actual situation of the Utraquist Church: in practice, it was a separate ecclesiastical unit functioning independently of Rome. From the Compactata to the seventeenth century, two ecclesiastical-legal apparatuses existed in parallel in Bohemia: the Utraquists were led by the lower Consistory at the Týn Church and the

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Catholics by the upper Consistory at Prague Castle. The Hussites did not generally abide by papal decrees or the jurisdiction of the Roman Church. Although the Compactata were abolished by the pope in 1462, it continued to function as law in Bohemia. It was not until 1567, when the confessional situation was completely altered, that it was excised from the land’s laws.18 If we submit that a Reformation is what alters the system of the medieval Church, we must recognize the Bohemian Hussites as having a Reformation character. Hussitism certainly exceeded the reform models tolerated by the Church, as required by the definition of the Reformation.19 Despite the efforts of the Basel Council, the Catholic Church did not integrate the Hussites; ultimately, it expelled them. The Hussites existed virtually independent of Rome, and they did so consciously and deliberately. They considered themselves to be part of the Catholic Church––specifically, the only legitimate part of that Church at the moment. The Utraquists acted de facto as a reformed Landeskirche. The theological basis for their separation from Rome was not the teaching about justification or the abolition of the ecclesiastically sacramental mediation of salvation as in Martin Luther’s theology. For the Hussites, a decisive point was challenging the teaching office of the institutional Church. By theoretically granting each believer the right to examine the decrees of the ecclesiastical authority and to consider their accordance with God’s Law, they also dismantled the authority of the pope-led institutional Church in matters of salvation.20 This theological position with its far-reaching consequences was already held and embodied by Hus. If we would like to symbolically date the beginning of the Hussite reformation, we could consider it to coincide with Hus’s appeal to Christ on 18 October 1412. In that moment and with a single act, he challenged the entire jurisdiction of the ecclesiastical institution and declared the superiority of God’s justice over the earthly law of the Church. But it does not make sense to date historical phenomena such as the Reformation to a specific day. What is more important is the long-term historical impact of the reformative impulse. For Hussitism, it was important that the movement be able to assert itself militarily and politically. Reform-minded laypeople, the lower and upper nobility and urban citizenry, provided the Hussite movement with essential support. It was the non-Catholic estates under whose aegis the Utraquist Church could develop. That is why Hussitism managed to escape the fate of the earlier medieval heretical movements and did not get driven underground. On the contrary, the Hussites successfully strived to practice their religion publicly, and in the end they converted their version of ecclesiastical reform into a distinct denomination.21 How do we evaluate Hus’s contribution to the success of this movement? First of all, it should be noted that he was able to combine learned heresy with a popular movement. This important feature distinguished Hussitism from other



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reformist and nonconformist undertakings of the time. In his teachings, Hus provided an alternative definition of the Church and its authority. Wycliffite ecclesiology and Hus’s emphasis on the truth of Holy Scripture in contrast to institutional jurisdiction constituted a challenge to the contemporary Church. Equally important, however, was Hus’s public involvement as a preacher and intellectual. It was due to this involvement that he gained followers and successors who could keep the movement alive even after the master’s death. Thus, the Bohemian Reformation could establish itself theologically and, at the same time, secure its position socially, politically, and eventually, even militarily. Without Hus’s talent of being able to not only convey contentious theological doctrines to a nonacademic audience, but also to elicit enthusiasm for them, the Hussite reform would not have attained such popularity among the laity. Hus would probably not have been satisfied with the trajectory of his movement. Like most reformers, he sought to reform the entire Church and not to divide it. Not only Hus, but also many important theologians and prelates of his time, found the fiscally material orientation of the Church strengthened at the time of the Avignon papacy, trade in ecclesiastical titles and sacraments, and finally the Papal Schism to be undignified and unsustainable. Hus, however, proposed a way out that most other reformists could not accept. When he encountered the Church’s incomprehension of what appeared to him to be an obvious evangelical truth, Hus lost faith in the institution known as the Church. The growing conflict with the judicial apparatus of the fragmented papacy only reinforced his conviction that the hierarchy could not represent the true Church. It may seem ironic that the final sentencing of Hus fell to the same council that later resolved the schism. However, in view of Hus’s conception of authority, the conflict between him and the representatives of ecclesiastical power was inevitable.

Notes

Chapter 1

1. Fontes rerum Bohemicarum, vol. 8, ed. Václav Novotný (Praha: Nadání Františka Palackého, 1932), 38 [hereinafter FRB 8]; translation adapted from John Hus at the Council of Constance, trans. Matthew Spinka (New York and London: Columbia University Press, 1965), 112. 2. Ibid. 3. FRB 8:42; John Hus at the Council, 119. 4. On Hus’s capture, see FRB 8:37–43; Acta concilii Constanciensis, ed. Heinrich Finke, Johannes Hollnsteiner, and Hermann Heimpel, 4 vols. (Münster: Regensberg, 1896–1928), 2:189; Václav Novotný, M. Jan Hus. Život a učení, part 1: Život a dílo, 2 vols. (Praha: Jan Leichter, 1919–21), 2:372–412; Matthew Spinka, John Hus: A Biography (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1968), 234–57. 5. See Phillip H. Stump, The Reforms of the Council of Constance (1414–1418) (Leiden, New York, and Köln: Brill, 1994). 6. Thomas A. Fudge, Jan Hus: Religious Reform and Social Revolution in Bohemia (London and New York: I. B. Tauris, 2010), 147–245. 7. See Fudge, Jan Hus: Religious Reform, 146.

Chapter 2

1. Surveys of the treatments of Hus in the historiography and elsewhere have recently been offered by Fudge, Jan Hus: Religious Reform, 209–40; František Šmahel, Jan Hus. Život a dílo (Praha: Argo, 2013), 221–32; Zdeněk V. David, “The Interpretation of Jan Hus from the Beginning throught the Enlightenment,” in A Companion to Jan Hus, ed. František Šmahel and Ota Pavlíček (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2015), 342–69. Older attempts include Kamil Krofta, Josef Hanuš, F. X. Šalda, V. V. Štech, and Josef Holeček, Mistr Jan Hus v životě a památkách českého lidu (Praha: Český čtenář, 1915); František Kavka, Husitská revoluční tradice (Praha: Státní nakladatelství politické literatury, 1953). 2. Chronik des Konstanzer Konzils 1414–1418 von Ulrich Richental, ed. Thomas Martin Buck, 3rd ed. (Ostfildern: Thorbecke, 2013), 64–66. 3. FRB 8:118–20. 4. FRB 8:17–18.

168 Notes

5. For an analysis of the descriptions of Hus’s death, see Thomas Rathmann, Geschehen und Geschichten des Konstanzer Konzils. Chroniken, Briefe, Lieder und Sprüche als Konstituenten eines Ereignisses (München: Wilhelm Fink, 2000), 260–67; Lucie Doležalová, “Passion and Passion: Intertextual Narratives from Late Medieval Bohemia between Typology, History and Parody,” in La typologie biblique comme forme de pensée dans l’historiographie médiévale, ed. Marek Thue Kretschmer (Turnhout: Brepols, 2014), 245–65. 6. David R. Holeton, “‘O felix Bohemia—O felix Constantia’: The Liturgical Commemoration of Saint Jan Hus,” in Jan Hus. Zwischen Zeiten, Völkern, Konfessionen, ed. Ferdinand Seibt (München: Oldenbourg, 1997), 385–403; Ota Halama, “Biblical Pericopes for the Feast of Jan Hus,” in The Bohemian Reformation and Religious Practice, vol. 9, ed. Zdeněk V. David and David R. Holeton (Praha: Filosofia, 2014), 173–84. 7. FRB 8:426. 8. Jiří Pešek, “Proměny utrakvistického kultu v předbělohorské době aneb Jan Hus v knihovnách pražských měšťanů na přelomu 16. a 17. století,” in Ad vitam et honorem. Profesoru Jaroslavu Mezníkovi přátelé a žáci k pětasedmdesátým narozeninám, ed. Tomáš Borovský, Libor Jan, and Martin Wihoda (Brno: Matice moravská, 2003), 743–51; Jaroslav Eršil, “K problematice vydávání Husových pramenů,” in Jan Hus na přelomu tisíciletí, ed. Miloš Drda, František J. Holeček, and Zdeněk Vybíral (Tábor: Husitské muzeum, 2001), 257–62. 9. Dušan Coufal, “Einleitung,” in Magistri Iohannis Hus Enarratio Psalmorum (Ps. 109–118), ed. Jana Nechutová et al., Corpus christianorum. Continuatio mediaevalis 253, Magistri Iohannis Hus Opera omnia 17 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2013) [hereinafter CCCM 253], xxxviii–lxviii. 10. Bohuslav Balbín, Bohemia docta, vol. 1 (Praha: Hraba, 1777), 224. 11. Bohuslav Balbín, Miscellanea historica Regni Bohemiae, vol. I.3 (Praha: Černoch, 1681), 255. 12. David C. Mengel, “A Monk, a Preacher, and a Jesuit: Making the Life of Milíč,” in The Bohemian Reformation and Religious Practice, vol. 5.1, ed. Zdeněk V. David and David R. Holeton (Praha: Knihovna AV ČR, 2004), 42–43. 13. Kavka, Husitská revoluční tradice, 79–83; Vít Vlnas, Jan Nepomucký, česká legenda (Praha: Mladá fronta, 1993), 189–90; cf. Milena Bartlová, “Kdy Jan Hus zhubl a nechal si narůst plnovous? Vizuální komunikační média jako historiografický pramen,” in Zrození mýtu. Dva životy husitské epochy. K poctě Petra Čorneje, ed. Robert Novotný and Petr Šámal (Praha: Paseka, 2011), 213–14. 14. Carl Adolf Constantin Höfler, Magister Johannes Hus und der Abzug der deutschen Professoren und Studenten aus Prag 1409 (Praha: Friedrich Tempsky, 1864), 224. 15. Peter C. A. Morée, “Jan Hus as a Threat to the German Future in Central Europe: The Bohemian Reformer in the Controversy Between Constantin Höfler and František Palacký,” in The Bohemian Reformation and Religious Practice, vol. 4, ed. Zdeněk V. David and David R. Holeton (Praha: Knihovna AV ČR, 2002), 295–307.

Notes169

16. Petr Čornej, “Ke genezi Palackého pojetí husitství,” in František Palacký 1798/1998. Dějiny a dnešek, ed. František Šmahel and Eva Doležalová (Praha: Historický ústav AV ČR, 1999), 123–37. 17. Robert Novotný, “Husitství v pojetí českoněmecké historiografie—věda či politikum?,” in Německá medievistika v českých zemích do roku 1945, ed. Pavel Soukup and František Šmahel (Praha: Filosofia, 2004), 119–33. 18. Pavel Soukup, “Johann Loserth a český středověk,” in Německá medievistika v českých zemích do roku 1945, ed. Pavel Soukup and František Šmahel (Praha: Filosofia, 2004), 251–72. 19. Jiří Beran, Z dějin vědeckého bádání o M. Janu Husovi v letech 1890–1918 (Praha: Archiv ČSAV, 1965). 20. Jan Sedlák, M. Jan Hus (Praha: Dědictví sv. Prokopa, 1915), 362, 376, and 378. 21. Novotný, M. Jan Hus 2:183; cf. Sedlák, M. Jan Hus, 263. 22. All quotes in Jan Galandauer, Pomník Mistra Jana Husa 6. 7. 1915. Český symbol ze žuly a bronzu (Praha: Havran, 2008), 13 and 20–21. 23. See Galandauer, Pomník (quotes 72). 24. Tomáš Garrigue Masaryk, Jan Hus. Naše obrození a naše reformace (Praha: Kanzelsberger, 1990), 9–11. 25. Josef Pekař, “Masarykova česká filosofie,” in Spor o smysl českých dějin 1895– 1938, ed. Miloš Havelka (Praha: Torst, 1995), 287. Cf. Miloš Havelka, “Spor o smysl českých dějin 1895–1938,” in Spor o smysl, 7–43. 26. Tomáš Ehrenberger, “Husovy oslavy v roce 1925 jako příčina diplomatického konfliktu mezi Československem a Vatikánem,” Marginalia Historica 5 (2001): 188. 27. Zdeněk Nejedlý, “Spor o smysl českých dějin,” in Spor o smysl českých dějin 1895–1938, ed. Miloš Havelka (Praha: Torst, 1995), 337. On the Marxist interpretation of Hussitism, see Peter Morée, “Not Preaching from the Pulpit, but Marching in the Streets: The communist use of Jan Hus,” in The Bohemian Reformation and Religious Practice, vol. 6, ed. Zdeněk V. David and David R. Holeton (Praha: Knihovna AV ČR, 2007), 283–96; Jan Randák, V záři rudého kalicha. Politika dějin a husitská tradice v Československu 1948–1956 (Praha: Nakladatelství Lidové noviny, 2015). 28. Josef Macek, Tábor v husitském revolučním hnutí, vol. 1, 2nd ed. (Praha: ČSAV, 1956), 139 and 145–46. 29. Josef Macek, Jan Hus (Praha: Svobodné slovo, 1961), 34 and 67. 30. See the German edition: Robert Kalivoda, Revolution und Ideologie. Der Hussitismus (Köln: Böhlau, 1976), 10–44. A late Marxist interpretation of Hus’s theology was produced by Ernst Werner, Jan Hus. Welt und Umwelt eines Prager Frühreformators (Weimar: Hermann Böhlaus Nachfolger, 1991). 31. See Jana Nechutová, “K současné znalosti latinských textů české reformace (ca 1350–1450),” Husitský Tábor 12 (1990): 23–31; Anežka Vidmanová, “Základní vydání spisů M. Jana Husa,” in Jan Hus na přelomu tisíciletí, ed. Miloš Drda, František J. Holeček, and Zdeněk Vybíral (Tábor: Husitské muzeum, 2001), 267–76, and the bibliography of sources in this book.

170 Notes

32. David S. Schaff, John Huss: His Life, Teachings and Death after Five Hudred Years (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1915), v. Schaff appreciated how Hus’s “moral heroism in the presence of a terrible death promoted the cause of liberty of opinion,” 296. 33. Matthew Spinka, John Hus’ Concept of the Church (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1966), 6 and 383–85; Spinka, John Hus: A Biography. 34. Howard Kaminsky, A History of the Hussite Revolution (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1967), 35–55, quotes 40 and 54–55. 35. Both volumes were reprinted under a joint title: Paul De Vooght, L’hérésie de Jean Huss, 2 vols., 2nd ed. (Louvain: Publications universitaires, 1975), quote 1:506. 36. Jiří Kotyk, Spor o revizi Husova procesu (Praha: Vyšehrad, 2001); Fudge, Jan Hus: Religious Reform, 227–40. 37. David, “The Interpretation of Jan Hus,” 367–68. 38. Kotyk, Spor o revizi, 98. 39. Miloš Drda, František J. Holeček, and Zdeněk Vybíral, ed., Jan Hus na přelomu tisíciletí (Tábor: Husitské muzeum, 2001), 685. 40. Drda, Holeček, and Vybíral, ed., Jan Hus na přelomu tisíciletí, 679. 41. Jiří Kejř, “Znovu o Husově rehabilitaci,” in Jiří Kejř, Z počátků české reformace (Brno: L. Marek, 2006), 247. 42. Amedeo Molnár, “Husovo místo v evropské reformaci,” Československý časopis historický 14 (1965): 1–14. 43. Peter Hilsch, Johannes Hus. Prediger Gottes und Ketzer (Regensburg: Pustet, 1999). 44. Thomas Krzenck, Johannes Hus. Theologe, Kirchenreformer, Märtyrer (Gleichen and Zürich: Muster-Schmidt, 2011). 45. Olivier Marin, L’archevêque, le maître et le dévot. Genèses du mouvement réformateur pragois. Années 1360–1419 (Paris: Honoré Champion, 2005). 46. Fudge, Jan Hus: Religious Reform; Thomas A. Fudge, The Memory and Motivation of Jan Hus, Medieval Priest and Martyr (Turnhout: Brepols, 2013); Thomas A. Fudge, The Trial of Jan Hus. Medieval Heresy and Criminal Procedure (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013); Thomas A. Fudge, Jan Hus Between Time and Eternity. Reconsidering a Medieval Heretic (Lanham: Lexington Books, 2016). 47. František Šmahel, Husitská revoluce, 4 vols., 2nd ed. (Praha: Karolinum, 1995– 96); German edition: František Šmahel, Die Hussitische Revolution, trans. Thomas Krzenck, ed. Alexander Patschovsky, 3 vols. (Hannover: Hahnsche Buchhandlung, 2002); Magistri Hieronymi de Praga Quaestiones, polemica, epistulae, ed. František Šmahel and Gabriel Silagi, Corpus christianorum. Continuatio mediaevalis 222 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2010) [hereinafter CCCM 222]; Šmahel, Jan Hus. 48. Magistri Iohannis Hus Questiones, ed. Jiří Kejř, Corpus christianorum. Continuatio mediaevalis 205, Magistri Iohannis Hus Opera omnia 19a (Turnhout: Brepols, 2004) [hereinafter CCCM 205]; Dicta de tempore magistro Iohanni Hus attributa, ed. Jana Zachová, 2 vols., Corpus christianorum. Continuatio mediaevalis 239, Magistri Iohannis Hus Opera omnia 26 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2011)

Notes171

[hereinafter CCCM 239]; CCCM 253; Magistri Iohannis Hus Constantiensia, ed. Helena Krmíčková et al., Corpus christianorum. Continuatio mediaevalis 274, Magistri Iohannis Hus Opera omnia 24 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2016) [hereinafter CCCM 274]. 49. See the German edition: Jiří Kejř, Die Causa Johannes Hus und das Prozessrecht der Kirche, trans. Walter Annuß (Regensburg: Pustet, 2005). 50. Božena Kopičková and Anežka Vidmanová, Listy na Husovu obranu z let 1410– 1412. Konec jedné legendy? (Praha: Karolinum, 1999). 51. See the recent books by Ota Halama, Svatý Jan Hus. Stručný přehled projevů domácí úcty k českému mučedníku v letech 1415–1620 (Praha: Kalich, 2015); Phillip N. Haberkern, Patron Saint and Prophet. Jan Hus in the Bohemian and German Reformations (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016). For an evaluation of recent publications, see Pavel Soukup, “Jan Hus 600 ans après. La moisson dʼun anniversaire,” Revue Mabillon 88, n.s. 27 (2016): 262–75. 52. Expression of František Šmahel, “Vzdálená minulost husitství,” in Naše živá i mrtvá minulost, ed. František Graus (Praha: Svoboda, 1968), 44–71. 53. Fudge, Jan Hus: Religious Reform, 240; see 233, n. 46. 54. František Šmahel, “Introduction: A Companion to Jan Hus,” in A Companion to Jan Hus, ed. František Šmahel and Ota Pavlíček (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2015), 7. On the contrary, Jiří Kejř, Jan Hus známý i neznámý. Resumé knihy, která nebude napsána (Praha: Karolinum, 2009), 108–9, sees the possibility of further research on Hus in the fields of theology and psychology, not history.

Chapter 3

1. For introductory information on the Great Schism, see Howard Kaminsky, “The Great Schism,” in The New Cambridge Medieval History, vol. 6, ed. Michael Jones (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), 674–96, with bibliography 1031–40; Robert N. Swanson, Universities, Academics and the Great Schism (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1979); Joëlle Rollo-Koster and Thomas M. Izbicki, ed., A Companion to the Great Western Schism (1378–1417) (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2009); Heribert Müller, Die kirchliche Krise des Spätmittelalters. Schisma, Konziliarismus und Konzilien (München: Oldenbourg, 2012); Harald Müller, ed., Der Verlust der Eindeutigkeit. Zur Krise päpstlicher Autorität im Kampf um die Cathedra Petri (Berlin and Boston: Walter de Gruyter, 2017). For selected sources in English translation, see C. M. D. Crowder, Unity, Heresy and Reform, 1378–1460: The Conciliar Response to the Great Schism (London: Edward Arnold, 1977). 2. Vladislav T. Kotek, “Husův dopis v annaberské sbírce autografů,” Listy filologické 107 (1984): 102, and M. Jana Husi Korespondence a dokumenty, ed. Václav Novotný, Sbírka pramenů českého hnutí náboženského ve XIV. a XV. století 14, Spisy M. Jana Husi 9 (Praha: Komise pro vydávání pramenů náboženského hnutí českého, 1920) [hereinafter Korespondence], 267–69, 276–79 and 335–37, nos. 128, 132, and 164.

172 Notes

3. Pavel Soukup, “Jan Hus as a Preacher,” in A Companion to Jan Hus, ed. František Šmahel and Ota Pavlíček (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2015), 96–129. 4. See Bartlová, “Kdy Jan Hus zhubl.” 5. Korespondence, 214–15, nos. 86, 95, and 204. 6. A portrait of Hus has been attempted by Jiří Kejř, “Jan Hus sám o sobě,” in Jiří Kejř, Z počátků české reformace (Brno: L. Marek, 2006), 12–48. 7. Iohannes Hus, Positiones, recommendationes, sermones, ed. Anežka Schmidtová (Praha: Státní pedagogické nakladatelství, 1958), 125. 8. For an overview in English of Czech history in the fourteenth and early fifteenth centuries, see Jaroslav Pánek and Oldřich Tůma, ed., A History of the Czech Lands, trans. Justin Quinn, Petra Key, and Lea Bennis (Praha: Karolinum, 2009), 117–46, and Hugh Agnew, The Czechs and the Lands of Bohemian Crown, (Stanford: Hoover Institution Press, 2004), 29–43. 9. On the social situation in the pre-Hussite and early Hussite period, see the thorough account in Šmahel, Die Hussitische Revolution 1:85–478; on Bohemia’s religious history, see Marin, L’archevêque (with references to older literature). 10. For a succinct chronology of Hus’s life, see Ota Pavlíček, “The Chronology of the Life and Work of Jan Hus,” in A Companion to Jan Hus, ed. František Šmahel and Ota Pavlíček (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2015), 9–68.

Chapter 4

1. Josef Teige, Základy starého místopisu pražského, vol. I.2 (Praha: Obec královského hlavního města Prahy, 1915), 804, nos. 23–24. 2. See F. M. Bartoš, “Husovo kněžství,” Časopis Národního musea 93 (1924): 65–72. 3. Teige, Základy, I.2:796, no. 3. For the history of the chapel, see F. M. Bartoš, “První století Betléma,” in Betlémská kaple. O jejích dějinách a dochovaných zbytcích (Praha: Společnost Husova musea, 1923), 9–21; Otakar Odložilík, “The Chapel of Bethlehem in Prague,” in Studien zur älteren Geschichte Osteuropas, vol. 1, ed. Günther Stökl (Graz and Köln: Böhlau, 1956), 125–41. 4. Peter C. A. Morée, Preaching in Fourteenth-Century Bohemia. The Life and Ideas of Milicius de Chremsir (+1374) and His Significance in the Historiography of Bohemia (Heršpice: Eman, 2000); Peter C. A. Morée, “Similiter predicator. The Relation of the Postils of Milíč of Kroměříž to his Work and the Jerusalem Community,” in The Bohemian Reformation and Religious Practice, vol. 7, ed. Zdeněk V. David and David R. Holeton (Praha: Filosofia, 2009), 61–71. 5. Antonín Podlaha, “Paběrky z rukopisů knihovny metropol. kapitoly v Praze,” Věstník České akademie 18 (1909): 329–31; cf. Jaroslav Kadlec, Leben und Schriften des Prager Magisters Adalbert Rankonis de Ericinio (Münster: Aschaffenburg, 1971), 49. 6. CCCM 274:215. 7. Korespondence, 66–67, no. 17. 8. MIHOO 1:366. 9. Sources for the occupancy of the Bethlehem Chapel are collected in Teige, Základy, I.2:795–812, supplemented by Vojtěch Sokol, “Příspěvek k dějinám kaple

Notes173

10.

11.

12.

13.

14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22.

Betlemské,” Časopis Národního musea 92 (1923): 24–34. See also Bartoš, “První století Betléma”; Jindřich Marek, Jakoubek ze Stříbra a počátky utrakvistického kazatelství v českých zemích. Studie o Jakoubkově postile z let 1413–1414 (Praha: Národní knihovna ČR, 2011), 55–63. Cynthia L. Polecritti, Preaching Peace in Renaissance Italy. Bernardino of Siena & His Audience (Washington, D.C.: Catholic University of America Press, 2000), 39–40. Nirit Ben-Aryeh Debby, Renaissance Florence in the Rhetoric of Two Popular Preachers: Giovanni Dominici (1356–1419) and Bernardino da Siena (1380–1444) (Turnhout: Brepols, 2001), 35–39; quote from Ser Lapo Mazzei, Lettere di un notaro a u mercante del secolo XIV, vol. 1, ed. Cesare Guasti (Firenze: Successori Le Monnier, 1880), 228. On the performative aspects of medieval preaching, see Beverly Mayne Kienzle, “Medieval Sermons and Their Performance: Theory and Record,” in Preacher, Sermon and Audience in the Middle Ages, ed. Carolyn Muessig (Leiden, Boston and Köln: Brill, 2002), 89–124. On the periods in the history of preaching, see Michael Menzel, “Predigt und Predigtorganisation im Mittelalter,” Historisches Jahrbuch 111 (1991): 337–84. On Prague preachers’ movement, see Pavel Soukup, Reformní kazatelství a Jakoubek ze Stříbra (Praha: Filosofia, 2011), 68–114. On the controversy with the friars, see Marin, L’archevêque, 231–324. Zdeňka Hledíková, “Der Weg der geistlichen Entwicklung und Reformbewegung in Böhmen,” in Kunst als Herrschaftsinstrument. Böhmen und das Heilige Römische Reich unter den Luxemburgern im europäischen Kontext, ed. Jiří Fajt and Andrea Langer (Berlin and München: Deutscher Kunstverlag, 2009), 409; Martial Staub, “Die süddeutschen Prädikaturen und die Ethik der mitteleuropäischen ‘Devotio moderna’,” in Die “Neue Frömmigkeit” in Europa im Spätmittelalter, ed. Marek Derwich and Martial Staub (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2004), 285–99. Soukup, “Jan Hus as a Preacher,” 96–98. CCCM 274:193. CCCM 274:214. Korespondence, 178, no. 69. CCCM 274:217–18. On Hus’s preaching in general, see Soukup, “Jan Hus as a Preacher.” Louis-Jacques Bataillon, “Sermons rédigés, sermons reportés (XIIIe siècle),” Medioevo e rinascimento 3 (1989): 69–86. Schmidtová in Hus, Positiones, 229–44, and Soukup, Reformní kazatelství, 157–87. These collections have been edited as Sermones de sanctis, ed. Václav Flajšhans, Sbírka pramenů českého hnutí náboženského ve XIV. a XV. století. Spisy M. Jana Husi 7–8 (Praha: J. R. Vilímek, 1907); Magistri Iohannis Hus Sermones de tempore qui Collecta dicuntur, ed. Anežka Schmidtová, Magistri Iohannis Hus Opera omnia 7 (Praha: Nakladatelství ČSAV, 1959) [hereinafter MIHOO 7]; Magistri Iohannis Hus Passio domini nostri Iesu Cristi, ed. Anežka

174 Notes

Vidmanová-Schmidtová, Magistri Iohannis Hus Opera omnia 8 (Praha: Academia, 1973); Magistri Iohannis Hus Leccionarium bipartitum. Pars hiemalis, ed. Anežka Vidmanová-Schmidtová, Magistri Iohannis Hus Opera omnia 9 (Praha: Academia, 1988); Magistri Iohannis Hus Postilla adumbrata, ed. Bohumil Ryba and Gabriel Silagi, 2nd ed., Corpus christianorum. Continuatio mediaevalis 261, Magistri Iohannis Hus Opera omnia 13 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2015) [hereinafter CCCM 261]. Sermons in Czech for Sundays and feast days have been edited as Mistr Jan Hus, Česká nedělní postila. Vyloženie svatých čtení nedělních, ed. Jiří Daňhelka, Magistri Iohannis Hus Opera omnia 2 (Praha: Academia, 1992) [hereinafter MIHOO 2]; Mistr Jan Hus, Česká sváteční kázání, ed. Jiří Daňhelka, Magistri Iohannis Hus Opera omnia 3 (Praha: Academia, 1995). Cf. the overview and classification in Anežka Vidmanová, “Hus als Prediger,” Communio viatorum 19 (1976): 65–81. 23. Václav Flajšhans, ed., “M. Io. Hus Sermones in Capella Bethlehem,” 6 parts, Věstník Královské české společnosti nauk (1938–45). Cf. Eva Kamínková, Husova Betlémská kázání a jejich dvě recense (Praha: Státní pedagogické nakladatelství, 1963); Bohumil Ryba, “K chronologii Husových Betlémských kázání,” Listy filologické 88 (1965): 142–46; F. M. Bartoš, “Problém Husových tzv. Betlemských kázání,” in Husův sborník, ed. Rudolf Říčan and Michal Flegl (Praha: Ústřední církevní nakladateství, 1966), 42–47; Soukup, “Jan Hus as a Preacher.” 24. Anežka Vidmanová, “Stoupenci a protivníci Mistra Jana Husi,” Husitský Tábor 4 (1981): 52–56. 25. CCCM 239. See my review in Studia mediaevalia Bohemica 6 (2014): 312–14. 26. I use MS Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, Cod. 4310, fols. 103r–104v, quotes fol. 103r–103v. 27. MIHOO 7:476–84, no. 83, quote 478. 28. The sermon from the Leccionarium on Nemo potest is found in MS Prague, Národní knihovna ČR, III A 6, fols 119va–120va. 29. Flajšhans, ed., “M. Io. Hus Sermones in Capella Bethlehem,” part 5, Věstník Královské české společnosti nauk (1943): 47–56, quote 49. 30. CCCM 261:443–44, no. 110, quote 444. 31. See Magistri Iohannis Hus Polemica, ed. Jaroslav Eršil, 2nd ed., Corpus christianorum. Continuatio mediaevalis 238, Magistri Iohannis Hus Opera omnia 22 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2010) [hereinafter CCCM 238], 224–55. 32. MIHOO 2:383–90, no. 48, quote p. 389. 33. Korespondence, 215, no. 95; translation adapted from The Letters of John Hus, trans. Matthew Spinka (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1972), 128. 34. Mistr Jan Hus, Výklady, ed. Jiří Daňhelka (Praha: Academia, 1975) [hereinafter MIHOO 1], 291. 35. Hus, Semones de sanctis, 371, no. 72. 36. Cf. Jan Sedlák, “Husův vývoj dle jeho postil,” Studie a texty k náboženským dějinám českým 2 (1915): 394–414. 37. Korespondence, 188, no. 73.

Notes175

1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

6.

7.

8. 9. 10. 11.

12. 13. 14.

15.

Chapter 5

Fontes rerum Bohemicarum, vol. 5, ed. Josef Emler, Jan Gebauer, and Jaroslav Goll (Praha: Nadání Františka Palackého, 1893) [hereinafter FRB 5], 569. CCCM 238:309 and 407. CCCM 238:282; Jan Sedlák, Miscellanea husitica Ioannis Sedlák, ed. Jaroslav V. Polc and Stanislav Přibyl (Praha: Karolinum, 1996), 436. All quotes in CCCM 274:220. Documenta Mag. Joannis Hus vitam, doctrinam, causam in Constantiensi concilio actam et controversias de religione in Bohemia annis 1403–14018 motas illustrantia, ed. František Palacký (Praha: Friedrich Tempsky, 1869), 327–31; cf. Novotný, M. Jan Hus 1:108–11, and Spinka, John Hus: A Biography, 62–64. František Šmahel, Život a dílo Jeronýma Pražského. Zpráva o výzkumu (Praha: Argo, 2010), 22–25; Michael Van Dussen, “Conveying Heresy: ‘A certayne student’ and the Lollard-Hussite Fellowship,” Viator 38 (2007): 217–34. Anne Hudson, “The Survival of Wyclif’s Works in England and Bohemia,” in Anne Hudson, Studies in the Transmission of Wyclif’s Writings (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2008), no. XVI, 1–43; for the number of works known in Bohemia, see Anne Hudson, “From Oxford to Bohemia: Reflections on the transmission of Wycliffite texts,” Studia Mediaevalia Bohemica 2 (2010): 27–28 (cf. previous calculation in Anne Hudson, “From Oxford to Prague: The Writings of John Wyclif and His English Followers in Bohemia,” The Slavonic and East European Review 75 (1997): 649). CCCM 274:217 and 235. Jiří Daňhelka, “Das Zeugnis des Stockholmer Autographs von Hus,” Die Welt der Slawen 27 (1982): 229–31. John Wyclif, Tractatus de universalibus, ed. Ivan J. Müller (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1985), 77. Vilém Herold, “Zum Prager philosophischen Wyclifismus,” in Häresie und vorzeitige Reformation im Spätmittelalter, ed. František Šmahel (München: Oldenbourg, 1998), 133–46. On Hus’s teaching on universals, see František Šmahel, “Jan Hus a viklefské pojetí universálií,” Historia Universitatis Carolinae Pragensis 21, no. 2 (1981): 49–68; František Šmahel, “Hus und Wyclif: Opinio media de universalibus in re,” in František Šmahel, Die Prager Universität im Mittelalter (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2007), 515–24. Quotes from Documenta, 168 and 177. CCCM 238:316. Korespondence, 170–71, no. 63. Stanislav Sousedík, “Stanislaus von Znaim († 1414),” Mediaevalia Philosophica Polonorum 17 (1973): 43–50; Franz Machilek, “Polemiky mezi přívrženci a odpůrci wyclifsko-husitského hnutí,” in Jan Hus na přelomu tisíciletí, ed. Miloš Drda, František J. Holeček, and Zdeněk Vybíral (Tábor: Husitské muzeum, 2001), 343–57; Šmahel, Die Hussitische Revolution 2:796–815. Jean Gerson, Œuvres complètes, ed. Palémon Glorieux, 10 vols. (Paris: Desclée & Co., 1960–73), 5:477.

176 Notes

16. William J. Courtenay, “Inquiry and Inquisition: Academic Freedom in Medieval Universities,” Church History 58 (1989): 168–81; J. M. M. H. Thijssen, Censure and Heresy at the University of Paris, 1200–1400 (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1998); Jürgen Miethke, “Gelehrte Ketzerei und kirchliche Disziplinierung. Die Verfahren gegen theologische Irrlehren im Zeitalter der scholastischen Wissenschaft,” in Jürgen Miethke, Studieren and mittelalterlichen Universitäten. Chancen und Risiken (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2004), 361–405. 17. Kantik Ghosh, “Wyclif, Arundel, and the Long Fifteenth Century,” in After Arundel. Religious Writing in Fifteenth-Century England, ed. Vincent Gillespie and Kantik Ghosh (Turnhout: Brepols, 2012), 545–62; Olivier Marin, “Libri hereticorum sunt legendi: Svoboda výuky na pražské univerzitě (1347–1412),” Historia Universitatis Carolinae Pragensis 42 (2002): 33–58. 18. Dušan Coufal, “Ke sporům o Viklefa a jeho 45 článků (I): Oxfordské testimonium a Štěpán z Dolan,” Studia mediaevalia Bohemica 7 (2015): 234–39. 19. CCCM 238:52. 20. CCCM 274:217 and 228; cf. CCCM 238:300. 21. Anežka Vidmanová, “Autoritäten und Wiclif in Hussens homiletischen Schriften,” in Antiqui und moderni. Traditionsbewußtsein und Fortschrittsbewußtsein im späten Mittelalter, ed. Albert Zimmermann (Berlin and New York: De Gruyter, 1974), 391–93. 22. On the development of Wycliffism in Bohemia, see František Šmahel, “Wyclif’s Fortune in Hussite Bohemia,” in František Šmahel, Die Prager Universität im Mittelalter (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2007), 457–89; David R. Holeton, “Wyclif’s Bohemian Fate. A Reflection on the Contextualization of Wyclif in Bohemia,” Communio viatorum 32 (1989): 209–22. For De ecclesia, see Alexander Patschovsky, “Ekklesiologie bei Johannes Hus,” in Lebenslehren und Weltentwürfe im Übergang vom Mittelalter zur Neuzeit, ed. Hartmut Boockmann, Bernd Moeller, and Karl Stackmann (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1989), 375, n. 14. 23. See, for example, Vilém Herold, “Wyclif’s Ecclesiology and Its Prague Context,” in The Bohemian Reformation and Religious Practice, vol. 4, ed. Zdeněk V. David and David R. Holeton (Praha: Knihovna AV ČR, 2002), 15–30. 24. Bernhard Töpfer, “Die Wertung der weltlich-staatlichen Ordnung durch John Wyclif und Jan Hus,” in Häresie und vorzeitige Reformation im Spätmittelalter, ed. František Šmahel (München: Oldenbourg, 1998), 55–76; Ian Christopher Levy, “Was John Wyclif’s Theology of the Eucharist Donatistic?,” Scottish Journal of Theology 53 (2000): 137–53. 25. On the influence of Wyclif’s remanentist teachings, see Stanislav Sousedík, Učení o eucharistii v díle M. Jana Husa (Praha: Vyšehrad, 1998), 38–42; Šmahel, Život a dílo Jeronýma Pražského, 178–79. 26. CCCM 274:250. 27. Jan Sedlák, “Učil Hus remanenci?,” Studie a texty k náboženským dějinám českým 1 (1914): 505–06 and 488. 28. CCCM 274:225.

Notes177

29. Pražské synody a koncily předhusitské doby, ed. Jaroslav V. Polc and Zdeňka Hledíková (Praha: Karolinum, 2002), 280 and 285–86. 30. Korespondence, 226, no. 101. 31. Magnum oecumenicum Constantiense concilium, 6 vols. (Frankfurt and Leipzig: Christian Genschius, 1697–1700) [hereinafter Hardt], 4:761. 32. CCCM 274:219. 33. CCCM 274:213–27; Jan Hus, De corpore Christi, ed. Václav Flajšhans, Sbírka pramenů českého hnutí náboženského ve XIV. a XV. století. Spisy M. Jana Husi 2 (Praha: Jaroslav Bursík, 1903), 5. For this complex question, I follow the solution of Sousedík, Učení o eucharistii, 48–60; see also Patschovsky, “Ekklesiologie,” 390–93. 34. Conciliorum oecumenicorum generaliumque decreta, ed. Giuseppe Alberigo, vol. 2.1, ed. Antonio García y García et al. (Turnhout: Brepols, 2013), 581. 35. CCCM 274:250–53. 36. Sacrorum conciliorum nova et amplissima collectio, ed. Giovanni Domenico Mansi, vol. 27 (Venezia: Zatta, 1784), 592. On Wyclif’s trial in Constance, see Walter Brandmüller, Das Konzil von Konstanz, 2 vols. (Paderborn: Ferdinand Schöningh, 1999–97), 1:335–37; Edith C. Tatnall, “The condemnation of John Wyclif at the Council of Constance,” in Councils and Assemblies, ed. G. J. Cumming and Derek Baker, Studies in Church History 7 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1971), 209–18. 37. FRB 8:75; Spinka, John Hus at the Council, 168.

Chapter 6

1. Pražské synody, 284–85; CCCM 274:233–34. 2. F. M. Bartoš, Literární činnost M. J. Husi (Praha: Česká akademie věd a umění, 1948), 74. On the synodal sermons, see Novotný, M. Jan Hus 1:153–57 and 189–93; Spinka, John Hus: A Biography, 69. I date the 1405 synod to 19 October because the meetings were at that time moved to the following Monday if St. Luke’s day fell on a Sunday. 3. Ioannis Hus et Hieronymi Pragensis confessorum Christi Historia et monumenta, 2 vols. (Nürnberg: Johann Vomberg & Ulrich Neuber, 1558) [hereinafter H&M] 2:27v–31v. 4. H&M 2:28r. 5. H&M 2:29v–30v. 6. H&M 2:31r; for the critique of academics in Abiciamus, see Hus, Positiones, 102. 7. The sermon is printed in H&M 2:32r–36v. 8. Korespondence, 344 and 32–36, nos. 166 and 12; CCCM 274:232–34. Novotný, M. Jan Hus 1:175, n. 1 links this controversy to the sermon Diligite, which is, however, not possible. Cf. Zdeňka Hledíková, Úřad generálních vikářů pražského arcibiskupa v době předhusitské (Praha: Universita Karlova, 1972), 130. 9. H&M 2:33v–34r; Pražské synody, 132. 10. Korespondence, 29, no. 11; Sedlák, Miscellanea, 499.

178 Notes

11. Staré letopisy české z Vratislavského rukopisu, ed. František Šimek (Praha: Historický spolek, 1937), 5. 12. De sanguine Christi, ed. Václav Flajšhans, Sbírka pramenů českého hnutí náboženského ve XIV. a XV. století. Spisy M. Jana Husi 3 (Praha: Jaroslav Bursík, 1903). Cf. Caroline Walker Bynum, Wonderful Blood: Theology and Practice in Late Medieval Northern Germany and Beyond (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2007). Most recently, see Jan Hrdina, “Wilsnack, Hus und die Luxemburger,” in Die Wilsnackfahrt, ed. Felix Escher and Hartmut Kühne (Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 2006), 41–63. 13. On Constance sermons preached by the Bohemians, see Pavel Soukup, “Die böhmischen Konzilsteilnehmer zwischen Häresiebekämpfung und Kirchenreform. Die Konstanzer Predigten von Mauritius Rvačka, Stephan von Páleč und Matthäus von Königsaal,” in Das Konstanzer Konzil als europäisches Ereignis. Begegnungen, Medien und Rituale, ed. Gabriela Signori and Birgit Studt (Ostfildern: Thorbecke, 2014), 173–217. 14. Mistr Jan Hus, Tractatus de ecclesia, ed. S. Harrison Thomson (Praha: Komenského evangelická fakulta bohoslovecká, 1958) [hereinafter De ecclesia], 115–16. 15. Mistr Jan Hus, Drobné spisy české, ed. Jiří Daňhelka, Magistri Iohannis Hus Opera omnia 4 (Praha: Academia, 1985) [hereinafter MIHOO 4], 312–23. 16. A survey of late medieval reform projects can be found in Christopher M. Bellitto, “Reform Context of the Great Western Schism,” in A Companion to the Great Western Schism (1378–1417), ed. Joëlle Rollo-Koster and Thomas M. Izbicki (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2009), 303–31; Müller, Die kirchliche Krise. Fundamental works concerning the conciliar reforms are Johannes Helmrath, “Reform als Thema der Konzilien des Spätmittelalters,” in Christian Unity. The Council of FerraraFlorence 1438/39–1989, ed. Giuseppe Alberigo (Leuven: Leuven University Press, 1991), 75–152; Stump, The Reforms of the Council of Constance. 17. H&M 2:31r. 18. On the Bohemian reform movement in general, see Marin, L’archevêque, and Franz Machilek, “Einführung. Beweggründe, Inhalte und Probleme kirchlicher Reformen des 14./15. Jahrhunderts.” in Kirchliche Reformimpulse des 14./15. Jahrhunderts in Ostmitteleuropa, ed. Winfried Eberhard and Franz Machilek (Köln, Weimar, and Wien: Böhlau 2006), 1–121. On the German reform theologians, see Manfred Gerwing, Malogranatum oder der dreifache Weg zur Vollkommenheit. Ein Beitrag zur Spiritualität des Spätmittelalters (München: Oldenbourg, 1986), 91–101. 19. D’Ailly’s letter has been edited in Joannis Gersonii Opera omnia, ed. Louis Ellies Du Pin (Antwerpen: Societas, 1706), vol. 2:880. 20. Louis B. Pascoe, Church and Reform: Bishops, Theologians, and Canon Lawyers in the Thought of Pierre d’Ailly (1351–1420) (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2005). 21. Ian Christopher Levy, Holy Scripture and the Quest for Authority at the End of the Middle Ages (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 2012), 200–04; Hobbins, Authorship and Publicity, 60–65.

Notes179

22. Petrus de Ailliaco, Tractatus et sermones (Strasbourg: Georg Husner, 1490), Omelia in synodo, 9. 23. MIHOO 4:241. The canon in question is D. 32, 6, see Corpus iuris canonici, vol. 1: Decretum magistri Gratiani, ed. Emil Friedberg (Leipzig: B. Tauchnitz, 1879), 117. Cf. Gerardi Magni Sermo ad clerum Traiectensem de focaristis, ed. Rijcklof Hofman, Corpus christianorum. Continuatio mediaevalis 235 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2011), 310 (see also 144–46). 24. Petrus de Ailliaco, Tractatus et sermones, Omelia in synodo, col. 13. 25. Quellen zur Kirchenreform im Zeitalter der großen Konzilien des 15. Jahrhunderts, ed. Jürgen Miethke and Lorenz Weinrich, 2 vols (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1995–2002), 1:338–77, quote 356. 26. Ibid., 1:368. 27. MIHOO 4:187–270. Reform concepts in this work have been discussed by Pavlína Rychterová, “Theology goes to the Vernaculars: Jan Hus, ‘On simony’ and the Practice of Translation in Fifteenth-Century Bohemia,” in Religious Controversy in Europe, 1378–1536: Textual Transmission and Networks of Readership, ed. Michael Van Dussen and Pavel Soukup (Turnhout: Brepols, 2013), 231–49. 28. MIHOO 4:236–37. 29. MIHOO 4:213. 30. MIHOO 4:261–65. 31. On Hus’s social ideals, see František Šmahel, “Das Ideal einer gerechten Ordnung und sozialen Harmonie im Werk des Magisters Johannes Hus,” in Jan Hus. Zwischen Zeiten, Völkern, Konfessionen, ed. Ferdinand Seibt (München: Oldenbourg, 1997), 203–11, and Werner, Jan Hus, 167–73. 32. MIHOO 4:207. 33. MIHOO 4:257–59. 34. See Jürgen Miethke, “Die Prozesse in Konstanz gegen Jan Hus un Hieronymus von Prag—ein Konflikt unter Kirchenreformern?,” in Häresie und vorzeitige Reformation im Spätmittelalter, ed. František Šmahel (München: Oldenbourg, 1998), 147–67. 35. H&M 2:28r. On the ecclesiological implications of this passage, see Sedlák, M. Jan Hus, 119. 36. Conciliorum oecumenicorum generaliumque decreta 2.1:588, art. 22 and 24.

Chapter 7

1. The sermon is edited in Hus, Positiones, 119–30 (quote 125); on dating, see 236–37. Hus reused parts of this sermon in his other writings; see MIHOO 1:325, and Korespondence, 180–82, no. 70. 2. Hus, Positiones, 126. 3. Cf. Anežka Vidmanová, “Kursy v Husových rektorských projevech z r. 1409 a jejich význam pro konstituci textu,” Husitský Tábor 13 (2002): 81–95; Anežka Vidmanová-Schmidtová, “Husovy hexametry,” Listy filologické 88 (1965): 167–69. 4. A History of Charles University, vol. 1 (Praha: Karolinum, 2001), 60–62.

180 Notes

5. Hus, Positiones, 223; Šmahel, Jan Hus, 23. 6. F. M. Bartoš, “Hus jako student a profesor Karlovy university,” Acta Universitatis Carolinae, Philosophica et historica 2 (1958): 15–26. 7. Blanka Zilynská, “Pražská univerzita—patron církevních beneficií?,” Historia Universitatis Carolinae Pragensis 47 (2007): 75–87. 8. František Kavka, “Zur Frage der Statuten und der Studienordnung der Prager theologischen Fakultät in der vorhussitischen Zeit,” Folia diplomatica 1 (1971): 129–43. 9. Hus, Positiones, 99–113. 10. The lecture on Epistles is printed in H&M 2:105r–228v; the lecture on Psalms has been edited in CCCM 253. 11. On Hus’s lectures in theology, see Coufal, “Einleitung,” x–xx. His Sentences commentary has been edited as Super IV Sententiarum, ed. Václav Flajšhans, 3 vols, Sbírka pramenů českého hnutí náboženského ve XIV. a XV. století. Spisy M. Jana Husi 4–6 (Praha: Jaroslav Bursík, 1904–06). 12. Šmahel, “Jan Hus a viklefské pojetí universálií,” 50–54. 13. For the speeches, see Hus, Positiones, 21–32, quote 24–25. Hus was elected university rector on 17 October 1409, see F. M. Bartoš, “Datum Husovy volby rektorem pražské university,” Jihočeský sborník historický 4 (1931): 83–84. The election was conducted according to the recently modified statutes: Statuta et acta rectorum Universitatis Carolinae Pragensis 1360–1614, ed. František Šmahel and Gabriel Silagi (Praha: Karolinum, 2018), 49. 14. Sedlák, Miscellanea, 82–97; Jacobi de Noviano, Mgri Parisiensis, Disputatio cum Hussitis, ed. Jan Sedlák (Brno: Papežská tiskárna benediktinů rajhradských, 1914). 15. See CCCM 274:223. 16. Documenta, 355–63; cf. Jiří Kejř, Husitský právník M. Jan z Jesenice (Praha: Nakladatelství ČSAV, 1965), 12–23. 17. Processus iudiciarius contra Jeronimum de Praga habitus Viennae a. 1410–1412, ed. Ladislav Klicman (Praha: Česká akademie, 1898), 20. 18. Documenta, 352–53. 19. František Šmahel and Martin Nodl, “Kuttenberger Dekret nach 600 Jahren. Eine Bilanz der bisherigen Forschung,” Historia Universitatis Carolinae Pragensis 49, no. 2 (2009): 19–54; Martin Nodl, Das Kuttenberger Dekret von 1409. Von der Eintracht zum Konflikt der Prager Universitätsnationen (Köln, Weimar, and Wien: Böhlau, 2017). On university nations, see Jiří Stočes, Pražské univerzitní národy do roku 1409 (Praha: Karolinum, 2010). 20. Korespondence, 53–54, no. 15. 21. Václav Novotný, Kamil Krofta, Josef Šusta, and Gustav Friedrich, Dekret Kutnohorský (Praha: Historický klub, 1909), 67–72, quote 68. 22. CCCM 274:223. 23. I follow the interpretation of Nodl, Das Kuttenberger Dekret, and Martin Nodl, “Auf dem Weg zum Kuttenberger Dekret: Von der Versöhnung der Nationen zum unversöhnlichen Nationalismus,” Bohemia 49 (2009): 52–75. For national

Notes181

concepts surrounding the Decree of Kutná Hora, see František Šmahel, “The Idea of the ‘Nation’ in Hussite Bohemia,” Historica 16 (1969): 171–82. 24. Hus, Positiones, 131–56; for dating see 237–40. 25. Magistri Iohannis Hus Quodlibet, ed. Bohumil Ryba, Corpus christianorum. Continuatio mediaevalis 211, Magistri Iohannis Hus Opera omnia 20 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2006) [hereinafter CCCM 211], quote 6.

Chapter 8

1. For the number of students, see Šmahel and Nodl, “Kuttenberger Dekret,” 33–37. For Hoffmann, see most recently Blanka Zilynská, “Johann Hoffmann: Prager Student, antihussitischer Repräsentant und Bischof von Meißen,” Historia Universitatis Carolinae Pragensis 49, no. 2 (2009): 81–98. 2. The generational links have been noticed by Petr Čornej, Velké dějiny zemí Koruny české, vol. 5 (Praha and Litomyšl: Paseka, 2000), 107–8. On university disputations with Stephen and Matthew, see Hus, Super IV Sententiarum, 17–23, 200, 385–87, 389 and 517–21; Kassian Lauterer, “Matthäus von Königssaal († 1427): Lebenslauf und Schrifttum,” Cistercienser Chronik 71 (1964): 94–98. 3. Mlada Holá, “Studentské koleje pražské univerzity a staroměstský měšťan Kříž,” Mediaevalia Historica Bohemica 18, no. 2 (2015): 113–14. 4. On Hus’s students, see Bartoš, “Hus jako student”; Michal Svatoš, “Litevská kolej pražské univerzity (1397–1622),” in Praha—Vilnius, ed. Jan Petr and Luboš Řeháček (Praha: Univerzita Karlova, 1981), 19–32. On their academic careers, see Josef Tříška, Životopisný slovník předhusitské pražské univerzity 1348–1409 (Praha: Univerzita Karlova, 1981); on their literary output, see Pavel Spunar, Repertorium auctorum Bohemorum provectum idearum post universitatem Pragensem conditam illustrans, 2 vols. (Wrocław, Warszawa etc.: Zakład Narodowy im. Ossolińskich and Wydawnictwa IHN PAN, 1985–95); a collective profile was presented by Marin, L’archevêque, 111–44. 5. On the speeches, see Schmidtová in Hus, Positiones, 220–29, with an edition 35–96. 6. Hus, Positiones, 59. 7. CCCM 211:172 (see also xxxviii–xxxix). 8. FRB 5:572. 9. On Prague Wycliffites in general, see Vilém Herold, Pražská univerzita a Wyclif. Wyclifovo učení o ideách a geneze husitského revolučního myšlení (Praha: Univerzita Karlova, 1985), 148–70; on the Masters at the Black Rose, see Petra Mutlová, “Die Dresdner Schule in Prag: eine Waldensische ‘Connection’?,” in Friedrich Reiser und die “waldensisch-hussitische Internationale,” ed. Albert de Lange and Kathrin Utz Tremp (Heidelberg, Ubstadt-Weiher, and Basel: Verlag Regionalkultur, 2006), 261–76, and Howard Kaminsky, Dean Loy Bilderback, Imre Boba, and Patricia N. Rosenberg, “Master Nicholas of Dresden: The Old Color and the New,” Transactions of the American Philosophical Society, n.s. 55, no. 1 (1965): 5–88.

182 Notes

10. Šmahel, Život a dílo Jeronýma Pražského; CCCM 222:xi–cxxviii; Thomas A. Fudge, Jerome of Prague and the Foundations of the Hussite Movement (New York: Oxford University Press, 2016). 11. Paul De Vooght, Jacobellus de Stříbro († 1429), premier théologien du hussitisme (Louvain: Publications universitaires, 1972). 12. Kejř, Husitský právník. On Jesenic’s death, see most recently Robert Novotný, “‘Sloup království’ v počátcích revoluce. Oldřich z Rožmberka 1417–1420,” in Zrození mýtu. Dva životy husitské epochy. K poctě Petra Čorneje, ed. Robert Novotný and Petr Šámal (Praha and Litomyšl: Paseka, 2011), 68–69. 13. FRB 5:571. 14. On Andrew, see Jaroslav Kadlec, Studien und Texte zum Leben und Wirken des Prager Magisters Andreas von Brod (Münster: Aschaffenburg, 1982). 15. CCCM 274:213–37. 16. Sedlák, Miscellanea, 323–53. 17. CCCM 238:307–08; cf. De ecclesia, 95, where two more opponents are listed. 18. See Jaroslav Kadlec, Katoličtí exulanti čeští doby husitské (Praha: Zvon, 1990), and Zdeňka Hledíková, “Hussens Gegner und Feinde,” in Jan Hus. Zwischen Zeiten, Völkern, Konfessionen, ed. Ferdinand Seibt (München: Oldenbourg, 1997), 91–102. 19. FRB 8:35; translation adapted from John Hus at the Council, 106. 20. On Michael, see Fudge, The Memory and Motivation, 109–33. 21. Hledíková, “Hussens Gegner”; F. M. Bartoš, Čechy v době Husově 1378–1415, České dějiny II.6 (Praha: Jan Laichter, 1947), 400 and 426; FRB 8:36, 41 and 79. 22. Cf. Pavel Soukup, “Die Rolle der Prager Universitätsemigration in der antihussitischen Polemik 1409–1436,” Historia Universitatis Carolinae Pragensis 49 (2009): 71–80.

Chapter 9

1. Alexander’s bull in Acta summorum pontificum res gestas Bohemicas aevi praehussitici et hussitici illustrantia, ed. Jaroslav Eršil, 2 vols (Praha: Academia, 1980), 277–79, no. 419; for its promulgation in Prague, see Pražské synody, 291– 301. Hus’s appeal edited in Korespondence, 56–69, no. 17. 2. Sedlák, M. Jan Hus, 159*–164* (quote 160*). 3. Jacob of Teramo was an Italian churchman, author of prophetic and eschatological works, and a contemporary of Hus. See František J. Holeček, “M. Jan Hus a proroctví Giacoma Palladiniho z  Terama,” in Nový Mars Moravicus aneb Sborník příspěvků, jež věnovali Prof. Dr. Josefu Válkovi jeho žáci a přátelé k sedmdesátinám, ed. Bronislav Chocholáč, Libor Jan, and Tomáš Knoz (Brno: Matice moravská, 1999), 111–18. 4. Documenta, 404–06, and Hardt 4:427–28. On Hus’s performance, see Novotný, M. Jan Hus 1:401–11, and Spinka, John Hus: A Biography, 107–11. 5. On the Hussite media campaign, see František Šmahel, “Reformatio und Receptio. Publikum, Massenmedien und Kommunikationshindernisse zu Beginn der hussitischen Reformbewegung,” in Das Publikum politischer Theorie im

Notes183

14. Jahrhundert, ed. Jürgen Miethke (München: Oldenbourg, 1992), 255–68; Thomas A. Fudge, Magnificent Ride. The First Reformation in Hussite Bohemia (Aldershot: Ashgate, 1998), 178–274; Marin, L’archevêque, 214–29. 6. Kienzle, “Medieval Sermons.” 7. David L. d’Avray, “Method in the Study of Medieval Sermons,” in Nicole Bériou and David L. d’Avray, Modern Questions about Medieval Sermons (Spoleto: Centro italiano di studi sull’alto medioevo, 1994), 8–17. 8. David L. d’Avray, “Printing, Mass Communication, and Religious Reformation: The Middle Ages and After,” in The Uses of Script and Print, 1300–1700, ed. Julia C. Crick and Alexandra Walsham (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 50–70. 9. Daniel Hobbins, Authorship and Publicity Before Print. Jean Gerson and the Transformation of Late Medieval Learning (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2009), 152–216. 10. Sedlák, Miscellanea, 146. 11. Matthiae de Janov Regulae Veteris et Novi testamenti, vol. 3, ed. Vlastimil Kybal (Innsbruck: Wagner, 1911), 367. 12. Šmahel, “Reformatio und receptio,” 263; Vidmanová, “Stoupenci a protivníci,” 56. On Wyclif’s works, see Anne Hudson, “Opera omnia: Collecting Wyclif’s Works in England and Bohemia,” in Religious Controversy in Europe, 1378–1536: Textual Transmission and Networks of Readership, ed. Michael Van Dussen and Pavel Soukup (Turnhout: Brepols, 2013), 49–69. 13. Betlemské texty, ed. Bohumil Ryba (Praha: Orbis, 1951), 15–24; František Šmahel, “Das Lesen der unlesbaren Inschriften: Männer mit Zeigestäben,” in The Development of Literate Mentalities in East Central Europe, ed. Anna Adamska and Marco Mostert (Turnhout: Brepols, 2004), 455–57; Milena Bartlová, “Prout lucide apparet in tabulis et picturis ipsorum. Komunikační úloha obrazů a textů v počátcích husitismu,” Studia mediaevalia Bohemica 2 (2011): 268–74. 14. The treatise is edited in Betlemské texty, 41–63, and MIHOO 4:271–96. For a discussion, see most recently Marcela K. Perett, Preachers, Partisans, and Rebellious Religion. Vernacular Writing and the Hussite Movement (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press 2018), 37–47. 15. De ecclesia, 216–17; MIHOO 4:322; Korespondence, 252, no. 116. 16. Korespondence, 187, no. 73; Thesaurus anecdotorum novissimus, ed. Bernhard Pez, vol. IV (Augsburg and Graz: Philip, Martin & Johann Veith, 1723), IV.2:486. 17. Husitské písně, 133. 18. On Hus’s dream, see the letters in Korespondence, 248–53, nos. 114–16; quote from: The Letters of John Hus, 149. 19. MIHOO 2:177–79. 20. See The Jena Codex, ed. Marta Vaculínová, trans. Barbara Day, 2 vols. (Praha: Gallery, 2009); Victor Svec, Bildagitation. Antipäpstliche Bildpolemik der böhmischen Reformation im Göttinger Hussitenkodex (Weimar: VDG, 1994); Tabule staré a nové barvy Mikuláše z Drážďan ve staročeském překladu, ed. Milada Homolková and Michal Dragoun (Praha: Scriptorium, 2016).

184 Notes

21. The Tabule have been edited by Kaminsky et al., “Master Nicholas of Dresden”; their Old Czech translation in Tabule staré a nové barvy. 22. Prokop’s chronicle has been edited by Konstantin Höfler, ed., Geschichtschreiber der husitischen Bewegung in Böhmen, 3 vols., Fontes rerum Austriacarum I.2, I.6, and I.7 (Wien: Kaiserlich-königliche Hof- und Staatsdruckerei, 1856–66), 1:67–76, the treatise against the Tabule by Karel Chytil, Antikrist v naukách a umění středověku a husitské obrazné antithese (Praha: Česká akademie, 1918), 237–47, who lists further sources as well. 23. This complex topic has recently been dealt with by František Šmahel, “Die Tabule veteris et novi coloris als audiovisuelles Medium hussitischer Agitation,” Studie o rukopisech 29 (1992): 95–105; Petra Mutlová, “Communicating Texts through Images,” in Public Communication in European Reformation. Artistic and other Media in Central Europe 1380–1620, ed. Milena Bartlová and Michal Šroněk (Praha: Artefactum, 2007), 29–37; Bartlová, “Prout lucide apparet”; Milada Studničková, “Obrazová složka staročeského zpracování Tabulí,” in Tabule staré a nové barvy Mikuláše z Drážďan ve staročeském překladu, ed. Milada Homolková and Michal Dragoun (Praha: Scriptorium, 2016), 59–84. 24. Hardt 4:672; Kopičková and Vidmanová, Listy, 174–75. 25. Johann Loserth, “Beiträge zur Geschichte der husitischen Bewegung,” part 3, Archiv für österreichische Geschichte 59 (1880): 428; Manualník M. Vácslava Korandy, ed. Josef Truhlář (Praha: Královská česká společnost nauk, 1888), 149–51. 26. The dialogue between Palomar and Prokop in Monumenta conciliorum generalium seculi decimi quinti. Concilium Basileense. Scriptores, vol. 1, ed. František Palacký and Ernst Birk (Wien: Kaiserlich-königliche Hof- und Staatsdruckerei, 1857), 311. F. M. Bartoš, “Demonstrativní spálení papežské buly proti Husovi Voksou z Valdštejna,” Časopis Národního musea 98 (1924): 286–88, tried to merge the two events into one, which, however, does not seem substantiated. On the dating, see Šmahel, Die Hussitische Revolution 2:869–70. 27. On the use of songs in Hussitism, see Fudge, Magnificent Ride, 186–216; Marcela K. Perett, “Vernacular Songs as ‘Oral Pamphlets’: The Hussites and Their Propaganda Campaign,” Viator 42 (2011): 371–92; Perett, Preachers, Partisans, and Rebellious Religion, 79–116. 28. For Hus’s songs, see MIHOO 4:348–59. 29. Hardt 3:386. 30. Staré letopisy české, 8. 31. Pražské synody, 286. 32. Husitské písně, ed. Jiří Daňhelka (Praha: Československý spisovatel, 1952), 125–31. 33. Husitské písně, 131–32. 34. Hardt 4:669 and 752. 35. See Šmahel, Život a dílo Jeronýma Pražského, 329–30. 36. Husitské písně, 123–24. 37. Hardt 4:640–41. 38. Husitské písně, 124.

Notes185

39. CCCM 222:199–222; on adapting the imagery of spiritual knighthood, see Soukup, Reformní kazatelství, 261–69. 40. Andreas von Regensburg, Sämtliche Werke, ed. Georg Leidinger (München: Rieger, 1903), 121. 41. Páleč’s complaint in Johann Loserth, “Beiträge zur Geschichte der husitischen Bewegung,” part 4, Archiv für österreichische Geschichte 75 (1889): 358 (Hus’s reaction in CCCM 238:299–300); Andrew’s letter in Korespondence, 186–87, no. 73. For more on the topic, see Pavel Soukup, “‘Pars Machometica’ in Early Hussite Polemics: The Use and Background of an Invective,” in Religious Controversy in Europe, 1378–1536: Textual Transmission and Networks of Readership, ed. Michael Van Dussen and Pavel Soukup (Turnhout: Brepols, 2013), 251–87. 42. H&M 1:190r–191r (quote fol. 190v); cf. MS Bautzen, Stadtbibliothek, 8° 6, fols. 207v–210r. 43. Staré letopisy české, 8. 44. FRB 8:107; Korespondence, 244, no. 109. 45. FRB 8:109–10; translation in John Hus at the Council, 222.

Chapter 10

1. Adalbert Horčička, “Eine Handschrift des Klosters Ostrow,” Mittheilungen des Vereines für Geschichte der Deutschen in Böhmen 37 (1899): 323. 2. Veršované skladby doby husitské, ed. František Svejkovský (Praha: Nakladatelství ČSAV, 1963), 156. 3. Horčička, “Eine Handschrift,” 323. 4. Höfler, Geschichtschreiber 1:77 (see also 73; Documenta, 735–36; František Palacký, Über Formelbücher, zunächst in Bezug auf böhmische Geschichte, vol. 2 (Praha: Kronberger und Řiwnač, 1847), 204–5, no. 237. Cf. Novotný, M. Jan Hus 1:479–482; Spinka, John Hus: A Biography, 119–25. 5. Veršované skladby, 156–57. 6. Korespondence, 73–75, no. 21, and Johann Loserth, “Über die Beziehungen zwischen englischen und böhmischen Wiclifiten in den beiden ersten Jahrzehnten des 15. Jahrhunderts,” Mitteilungen des Instituts für österreichische Geschichtsforschung 12 (1891): 268–69 (quotes 269). 7. Husitské písně, 124. 8. On contacts with England, see Michael Van Dussen, From England to Bohemia: Heresy and Communication in the Later Middle Ages (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012), 63–85, and Šmahel in CCCM 222:lxviii–lxii (where the dating of the letter to Wenceslas to 1411 is considered). 9. Jan Sedlák, “Husův pomocník v evangeliu,” parts 2–3, Studie a texty k náboženským dějinám českým 2 (1915): 312–16 and 449–61. 10. H&M 2:47r–48r; Novotný, M. Jan Hus 1:485–86. 11. Hartmut Boockmann, “Zur Mentalität spätmittelalterlicher gelehrter Räte,” Historische Zeitschrift 233 (1981): 295–316; Christian Hesse, Amtsträger der Fürsten im spätmittelalterlichen Reich. Die Funktionseliten der lokalen

186 Notes

Verwaltung in Bayern–Landshut, Hessen, Sachsen und Württemberg 1350–1515 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2005), 356–78 and 480–82; Peter Moraw, “Beamtentum und Rat König Ruprechts,” Zeitschrift für die Geschichte des Oberrheins 116 (1968): 110–24; Krzysztof Ożóg, Uczeni w monarchii Jadwigi Andegaweńskiej i Władysława Jagiełły (1384–1434) (Kraków: Polska Akademia Umiejętności, 2004), 163–76 and 330–37. 12. On Wenceslas’s council, see Ivan Hlaváček, Das Urkunden- und Kanzleiwesen des böhmischen und römischen Königs Wenzel (IV.) 1376–1419. Ein Beitrag zur spätmittelalterlichen Diplomatik (Stuttgart: Hiersemann, 1970), 445–56, and Ivan Hlaváček, “Dvůr Václava IV.,” in Lucemburkové. Česká koruna uprostřed Evropy, ed. František Šmahel and Lenka Bobková (Praha: Nakladatelství Lidové noviny, 2012), 307; on court writers: Pavlína Cermanová, “Kronikáři, učenci a literáti na dvoře Václava IV. a Zikmunda,” in Lucemburkové. Česká koruna uprostřed Evropy, ed. František Šmahel and Lenka Bobková (Praha: Nakladatelství Lidové noviny, 2012), 576–84. For Jacob of Beroun, see F. M. Bartoš, “Mužové z okolí M. Jana,” Jihočeský sborník historický 11 (1938): 115–16. 13. Korespondence, 63, no. 17. 14. For Wenceslas’s attitude toward the reform movement, see the overview in Pavel Soukup, “Václav IV. a reformní hnutí,” in Lucemburkové. Česká koruna uprostřed Evropy, edited by František Šmahel and Lenka Bobková (Praha: Nakladatelství Lidové noviny, 2012), 206–19. 15. David C. Mengel, “Emperor Charles IV (1346–1378) as the Architect of Local Religion in Prague,” Austrian History Yearbook 41 (2010): 15–29. 16. On Corpus Christi Chapel, see Miloslav Polívka, “K šíření husitství v Praze. Bratrstvo a kaple Božího těla na Novém Městě pražském v předhusitské době,” Folia Historica Bohemica 5 (1983): 95–118; Miloslav Polívka, “Hussens Adel— Hussens König,” in Jan Hus. Zwischen Zeiten, Völkern, Konfessionen, ed. Ferdinand Seibt (München: Oldenbourg, 1997), 81–89. 17. Reliquiae tabularum terrae anno MDXLI igne consumptarum, ed. Josef Emler, vol. 2 (Praha: Jan Otto, 1872), 36. 18. Robert N. Swanson, Universities, Academics and the Great Schism (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1979), 203–5. 19. See Šmahel in CCCM 222:xxviii–xli. 20. Marin, L’archevêque, 293–95, and Van Dussen, From England to Bohemia, 88–102; the respective texts are edited in: Jacobi de Noviano Disputatio and CCCM 238:45–61. 21. Hobbins, Authorship and Publicity, 128–51. 22. Soudní akta konsistoře pražské, ed. Ferdinand Tadra, vol. 6 (Praha: Česká akademie, 1900), 309–10, no. 481; CCCM 274:228–29; cf. Soukup, Reformní kazatelství, 96–98. 23. Kopičková and Vidmanová, Listy (with an edition 31–89), contested the authenticity of the letters; important critical observations were presented by Aleš Pořízka, “Listy na obranu Husovu ze 12. září až 2. října 1410. Konec druhé legendy?,” Český časopis historický 99 (2001): 701–24.

Notes187

24. Hardt 4:458; Jaroslav Mezník, Praha před husitskou revolucí (Praha: Academia, 1990), 122. 25. Reliquiae tabularum terrae 2:80. 26. Documenta, 434–38, quote 437. 27. FRB 8:28, and Václav Novotný, Hus v Kostnici a česká šlechta (Praha: Společnost přátel starožitností českých, 1915), 42–43, no. 1; cf. Kejř, Die Causa, 127–31. 28. FRB 8:81; translated in John Hus at the Council, 179. On the involvement of the nobles, see Bohdan Zilynskyj, “Česká šlechta a počátky husitství (1410–1415),” Jihočeský sborník historický 48 (1979): 52–65. 29. Acta concilii Constanciensis 4:503–07. 30. Cf. the new and convincing interpretation of Sigismund’s attitude by Petr Elbel, “In tota christianitate non fuit maior hereticus quam iste. Král Zikmund a Mistr Jan Hus,” in Jan Hus 1415 a 600 let poté, ed. Jakub Smrčka and Zdeněk Vybíral (Tábor: Husitské muzeum, 2015), 95–128. 31. FRB 8:81; quote John Hus at the Council, 180. 32. FRB 8:108.

Chapter 11

1. Staré letopisy české, 10; quote Pavel Soukup, “Z prvních polemik o odpustky v roce 1412,” Studia mediaevalia Bohemica 8 (2016): 284. 2. Thesaurus anecdotorum IV.2:380. 3. The events are described in accordance with Staré letopisy české, 9–11; FRB 8:106– 7. Cf. Novotný, M. Jan Hus 2:73–118; Spinka, John Hus: A Biography, 154–55. 4. CCCM 261:363–64. 5. For the situation in Italy, see Arnold Esch, “Das Papsttum unter der Herrschaft der Neapolitaner. Die führende Gruppe Neapolitaner Familien an der Kurie während des Schismas 1378–1415,” in Festschrift für Hermann Heimpel, vol. 2 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1972), 713–800; Alessandro Cutolo, Re Ladislao d’Angiò Durazzo (Napoli: Arturo Berisio, 1969), 419–59. John XXIII’s bulls in: Acta summorum pontificum, 361–63 and 378–80, nos. 561 and 604. 6. FRB 8:107, translated in John Hus at the Council, 219. 7. More on the battle over public space in Soukup, Reformní kazatelství, 74–120. 8. On late medieval revolts and how they compare to Hussitism, see Šmahel, Husitská revoluce 1:106–58; František Graus, “Ketzerbewegungen und soziale Unruhen im 14. Jahrhundert,” Zeitschrift für historische Forschung 1 (1974): 3–21. 9. M. E. Aston, “Lollardy and Sedition 1381–1431,” Past & Present 17 (1960): 1–44; Michael J. Wilks, “Reformatio regni: Wyclif and Hus as Leaders of Religious Protest Movements,” in Schism, Heresy and Religious Protest, ed. Derek Baker, Studies in Church History 9 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1972), 109–30; Anne Hudson, The Premature Reformation. Wycliffite Texts and Lollard History (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1988), 66–69. 10. Hudson, Premature Reformation, 66–69 and 117–19.

188 Notes

11. Van Dussen, From England to Bohemia, 105–11, with an edition 142–50. 12. CCCM 274:235. 13. Höfler, Geschichtschreiber 1:11. 14. FRB 5:572. 15. MIHOO 4:201. 16. For the events in Poříčí, the chronology of which is not entirely clear, see Novotný, M. Jan Hus 2:190–91; Ryba in Betlemské texty, 19–20; Höfler, Geschichtschreiber 1:72–73. 17. Sedlák, Miscellanea, 434. 18. Hardt 4:644 and 671. 19. Expositio Decalogi, ed. Václav Flajšhans, Sbírka pramenů českého hnutí náboženského ve XIV. a XV. století. Spisy M. Jana Husi 1 (Praha: Jaroslav Bursík, 1903), 21–24; MIHOO 1:207–13. 20. MIHOO 2:300. 21. MIHOO 4:267. 22. MIHOO 4:232–33. 23. See CCCM 261:xix. 24. CCCM 238:133–44; Pavel Soukup, “Několik textů z odpustkové aféry aneb co je nového v roce 1412,” Studia mediaevalia Bohemica 7 (2015): 283–84. 25. CCCM 205:67–155. Vlastimil Kybal, M. Jan Hus. Život a učení, part 2: Učení, 3 vols. (Praha: Jan Laichter, 1923–31), 3: 266–77; De Vooght, L’hérésie, 2:817–47; Hilsch, Johannes Hus, 161–68. 26. FRB 5:568. 27. Anežka Vidmanová, “Magdeburská determinace Jana Falkenberga z roku 1411,” in Facta probant homines. Sborník příspěvků k životnímu jubileu prof. dr. Zdeňky Hledíkové, ed. Ivan Hlaváček and Jan Hrdina (Praha: Scriptorium, 1998), 509–19. 28. See Soukup, “Několik textů,” 253–61. 29. CCCM 238:143. 30. CCCM 205:102 and 141; MIHOO 1:378; Korespondence, 124, no. 43; CCCM 274:288. 31. CCCM 205:155. 32. Defensio articulorum Wiclif in CCCM 238:145–257. 33. Korespondence, 246, no. 111. 34. FRB 8:79; cf. Soukup, Reformní kazatelství, 280–81.

Chapter 12

1. Thesaurus anecdotorum IV/2:492. 2. Korespondence, 129–33, no. 46; quote from The Letters of John Hus, 219. 3. C. 9, 3, 13, see Corpus iuris canonici 1:610. 4. The Ordo procedendi in Korespondence, 230, no. 101. 5. The seminal legal-historical analysis is Jiří Kejř, Husovo odvolání od soudu papežova k soudu Kristovu (Ústí nad Labem: Albis international, 1999); for a summary in German, see Kejř, Die Causa, 90–94, and in English, see Fudge, The Trial,

Notes189

188–214. A theological interpretation can be found in Amedeo Molnár, “Hus et son appel à Jesus Christ,” Communio viatorum 8 (1965): 95–104. For the historical context, see Novotný, M. Jan Hus 2:170–76; Spinka, John Hus: A Biography, 161–64. 6. Kejř, Die Causa, 17–27; Šmahel, Die Hussitische Revolution 2:817–39. 7. Pražské synody, 289. 8. Documenta, 402. 9. Acta summorum pontificum, 277–79, no. 419. 10. Korespondence, 60, no. 17. 11. Kejř, Die Causa, 21–32; Pořízka, “Listy,” 719–21. In my view, the putative papal edict from 25 December 1409 (Kejř, Die Causa, 32) is a result of the defective dating in the Cronicon Lipsense: Höfler, Geschichtschreiber 1:11 (“VIII Kal.” instead of “XIII Kal. Ianuarii”). 12. Korespondence, 56–69, no. 17; the synodal decree in Pražské synody, 291–301. 13. Documenta, 401–8; cf. Korespondence, 228, no. 101. 14. Kejř, Husitský právník, 45–48; Kejř, Die Causa, 32–58; and, with a different interpretation, Pořízka, “Listy,” 721–23. 15. For Hus’s views on excommunication, see Betlemské texty, 48; De ecclesia, 209–17. 16. See Documenta, 202. 17. Korespondence, 89–92, no. 28 (quote 92, English in The Letters of John Hus, 53). 18. Documenta, 443. 19. Documenta, 503. 20. Korespondence, 95–102, nos. 31–32, and Kopičková and Vidmanová, Listy, 26–27. See also Kejř, Die Causa, 62–67. 21. Kejř, Husitský právník, 49–65; Kejř, Die Causa, 67–77. Stephaneschi’s excommunication in Korespondence, 125–28, no. 44; FRB 5:573–74. 22. Documenta, 203. 23. About Nicholas, see FRB 8:28, 57–59 and 64–65 (quote p. 58, translation in John Hus at the Council, 143); cf. Bartoš, “Mužové z okolí,” 89–91, and Pavel Soukup, “Inkvizitoři v Čechách v letech 1315–1415,” in Inkwizycja Papieska w Europie Środkowo-Wschodniej, ed. Paweł Kras (Kraków: Esprit, 2010), 164–67. 24. Acta concilii Constanciensis 1:108–68; Jan Sedlák, “K dějinám českého viklefovství r. 1411 a 1412,” Studie a texty k náboženským dějinám českým 1 (1914): 68–74. Cf. Novotný, M. Jan Hus 2:160–70 and 293–95. 25. FRB 8:33; Korespondence, 217–19, no. 96. 26. CCCM 274:286. 27. Korespondence, 221–22, no. 98.

Chapter 13

1. Documenta, 475–80 and 491–92. 2. FRB 5:575–79 (quotes p. 577). 3. Novotný, M. Jan Hus 2:230–286; Spinka, John Hus: A Biography, 165–75.

190 Notes

4. Hus’s treatise On the Church has been edited by Thomson, De ecclesia; on its genesis, see Novotný, M. Jan Hus 2:295–300. The early ecclesiological writings by Stanislav and Páleč and their sermons have been edited by Sedlák, Miscellanea, 312–63. Jakoubek’s tract has been printed as Mag. Johannis Hus Tractatus responsivus, ed. S. Harrison Thomson (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1927); the case for Jakoubek’s authorship was made by F. M. Bartoš, “M. J. Hussii tractatus responsivus,” Časopis Národního musea 101 (1927): 23–35. 5. Edited by Loserth, “Beiträge,” 4:342–413. 6. See De ecclesia, xxvi–xxvii. 7. Korespondence, 169–71, no. 63. 8. All three polemics by Hus have been printed in CCCM 238:259–574. For the chronology, see Novotný, M. Jan Hus 2:288–305. 9. The Antihus has been edited by Sedlák, Miscellanea, 366–514; Páleč’s De ecclesia by Sedlák, M. Jan Hus, 202*–304*. Cf. Sedlák, Miscellanea, 180–207, and Jiří Kejř, “Protihusovský traktát De ecclesia a jeho autor,” in Jiří Kejř, Z počátků české reformace (Brno: L Marek, 2006), 182–86. 10. The voluminous literature on Hus’s ecclesiology includes Spinka, John Hus’ Concept; Ernst Werner, Der Kirchenbegriff bei Jan Hus, Jakoubek von Mies, Jan Želivský und den linken Taboriten (Berlin: Akademie-Verlag, 1967); Patschovsky, “Ekklesiologie”; Krzysztof Moskal, “Aby lud był jeden...” Eklezjologia Jana Husa w trakcie De ecclesia (Lublin: Towarzystwo Naukowe KUL, 2003). 11. On the Prague debate, see De Vooght, L’hérésie, 2:625–83, and Spinka, John Hus’ Concept, 151–251; on the discusion in Basel, see Johannes Helmrath, Das Basler Konzil 1431–1449. Forschungsstand und Probleme (Köln and Wien: Böhlau, 1987), 353–72. Stojković’s treatise has been edited as Iohannis (Stojković) de Ragusio Tractatus de ecclesia, ed. Franjo Šanjek (Zagreb: Hrvatska Dominikanska Provincija and Kršćanska sadašnjost, 1983), cf. Zvjezdan Strika, Johannes von Ragusa (1378–1443). Kirchen- und Konzilsbegriff in der Auseinandersetzung mit den Hussiten und Eugen IV. (Augsburg: Wißner, 2000), 210–49. 12. De ecclesia, 1–19, quotes 12 and 15. 13. Cf. De ecclesia, 133. 14. De ecclesia, 18. 15. De ecclesia, 30–39 and 53. 16. De ecclesia, 51–52. 17. De ecclesia, 103. 18. De ecclesia, 129–30. 19. See Vlastimil Kybal, “M. Matěj z Janova a M. Jakoubek ze Stříbra. Srovnávací kapitola o Antikristu,” Český časopis historický 11 (1905): 22–37. 20. MIHOO 4:207. For Hus’s teachings summarized here, see De ecclesia, 36–39, 43–52 and 101–9. 21. Hus, Positiones, 131–32; see the parallel passage in De ecclesia, 44–45, where the Papal Church is missing. For a different interpretation of Ite et vos, see Herold, “Wyclif’s Ecclesiology,” 26, and Levy, Holy Scripture, 159. 22. De ecclesia, 119–30, quote 126–27.

Notes191

23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28.

CCCM 238:255–57. CCCM 274:230. FRB 8:97; translation in John Hus at the Council, 205. Sedlák, Miscellanea, 381. CCCM 238:253 (“nominetenus”) and 243 (“usurpative”). CCCM 238:224–57, especially 227, 242–43, and 264–65. See aslo Töpfer, “Die Wertung.” 29. Hus, Positiones, 137 (cf. Sedlák, M. Jan Hus, 124*). 30. Korespondence, 43, no. 13; cf. Alexander Patschovsky, “Das Gewissen als Letztinstanz. Wahrheit und Gehorsam im Kirchenverständnis von Jan Hus,” in Autorität und Wahrheit. Kirchliche Vorstellungen, Normen und Verfahren (13.–15. Jahrhundert), ed. Gian Luca Potestà (München: Oldenbourg, 2012), 147–58. For Hus’s social teachings, see also Kalivoda, Revolution und Ideologie, 10–38; Miloslav Ransdorf, Kapitoly z geneze husitské ideologie (Praha: Univerzita Karlova, 1986), 85–124. 31. De ecclesia, 164; CCCM 205:155. 32. Documenta, 478. 33. Sedlák, Miscellanea, 462–63. 34. De ecclesia, 191. Hus deals with the question of the “neutral acts” in De ecclesia, 174–208; cf. František Šmahel, “The National Idea, Secular Power and Social Issues in the Political Theology of Jan Hus,” in A Companion to Jan Hus, ed. František Šmahel and Ota Pavlíček (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2015), 233–35. 35. Jean Gerson, Œuvres complètes 9:465. 36. Jean Gerson, Œuvres complètes 3:335. 37. Jean Gerson, Œuvres complètes 2:162. Cf. Olivier Marin, “Orgueil et préjugé? Jean Gerson face à Jean Hus,” in Pater familias. Sborník příspěvků k životnímu jubileu prof. dr. Ivana Hlaváčka, ed. Jan Hrdina (Praha: Scriptorium, 2002), 381–99; Sebastián Provvidente, “Clavis scientiae and clavis potestatis. Hus’ causa among the ecclesiastical, university and council powers,” Studia mediaevalia Bohemica 3 (2011): 69–93. 38. CCCM 274:84. For Hus’s understandig of Scripture, see Patschovsky, “Ekklesiologie,” 393–96, and Levy, Holy Scripture, 153–57; for his conception of law, see Jiří Kejř, “Johannes Hus als Rechtsdenker,” in Jan Hus. Zwischen Zeiten, Völkern, Konfessionen, ed. Ferdinand Seibt (München: Oldenbourg, 1997), 213–26. 39. CCCM 274:58. 40. CCCM 205:22. 41. De ecclesia, 56. 42. See Šmahel, “The National Idea,” 230. 43. De ecclesia, 180. 44. CCCM 274:39–79, quote 42. 45. CCCM 274:255–290; cf. De Vooght, L’hérésie, 1:368–92. 46. FRB 8:83–102. 47. Korespondence, 260–62, no. 124, quote from The Letters of John Hus, 160. Cf. CCCM 274:286–87. 48. Conciliorum oecumenicorum generaliumque decreta 2.1:585–89.

192 Notes

Chapter 14

1. MIHOO 2:59–60. 2. The genesis of the Postil was clarified by Anežka Vidmanová, “Kdy, kde a jak psal Hus svou českou Postillu,” Listy filologické 112 (1989): 144–58. 3. Acta summorum pontificum, 561, no. 995. 4. MIHOO 2:253. 5. On Hus’s sojourns, see Vidmanová, “Kdy, kde a jak,” 144–51; on his departure from Prague, see Ryba in Betlemské texty, 19–20; on Žatec, see Jiří Pražák, “Zlomek korespondence žateckého sakristána Martina se zmínkou o Janu Husovi,” Studie o rukopisech 4 (1965): 201–4; on Kozí and Sezimovo Ústí, see František Šmahel, Dějiny Tábora, vol. 1.1 (České Budějovice: Jihočeské nakladatelství, 1988), 201–5. Cf. Korespondence, 171, no. 63; MIHOO 2:221–22; Staré letopisy české, 13; Höfler, Geschichtschreiber 2:64. For the exile period in general, see Novotný, M. Jan Hus 2:186–354; Spinka, John Hus: A Biography, 165–91. 6. Korespondence, 180–83 and 191–92, nos. 70–71 and 74. 7. For Hus’s statements concerning his coutryside mission, see MIHOO 2:299, 312–13, and 379; MIHOO 4:312; Korespondence, 179, no. 69. 8. Staré letopisy české, 13. 9. Veršované skladby, 157; Documenta, 636–38. 10. Sedlák, Miscellanea, 470. 11. Vidmanová, “Kdy, kde a jak,” 148–50; Kotek, “Husův dopis.” The colophons of Hus’s Czech writings are found in MIHOO 2:460; MIHOO 4:296 and 337. 12. MIHOO 4:312. 13. MIHOO 4:147. 14. On the motif of contemptus mundi, see Fudge, Jan Hus: Religious Reform, 87. 15. Edited in MIHOO 4:163–86. 16. MIHOO 1:392. 17. On the persuasive aspect of Hus’s vernacular writings, see Rychterová, “Theology goes to the Vernaculars”; more on his works written in Czech in Pavlína Rychterová, “The Vernacular Theology of Jan Hus,” in A Companion to Jan Hus, ed. František Šmahel and Ota Pavlíček (Leiden and Boston, 2015), 170–213. 18. Jean Gerson, Œuvres complètes 7a–7b; quote 7a:vii. 19. Cf. Klaus Wolf, Hof—Universität—Laien. Literatur- und sprachgeschichtliche Untersuchungen zum deutschen Schrifttum der Wiener Schule des Spätmittelalters (Wiesbaden: Dr. Ludwig Reichert, 2006), 177–255. 20. On Czech edifying literature and on Štítný, see Pavlína Rychterová, “Konzepte der religiösen Erziehung der Laien im spätmittelalterlichen Böhmen. Einige Überlegungen zur Debatte über die sog. böhmische Devotio Moderna,” in Kirchliche Reformimpulse des 14./15. Jahrhunderts in Ostmitteleuropa, ed. Winfried Eberhard and Franz Machilek (Köln, Weimar and Wien: Böhlau, 2006), 219–37. 21. MIHOO 4:166–67. 22. MIHOO 2:57. 23. MIHOO 1:25–29; a shorter instruction in the Booklets on Simony is in MIHOO 4:191.

Notes193

24. MIHOO 1:25. 25. MIHOO 2:60. 26. On the issue of Czech orthography, indices, and biblical translation, see most recently František Šmahel, “Instead of Conclusion: Jan Hus as Writer and Author,” in A Companion to Jan Hus, ed. František Šmahel and Ota Pavlíček (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2015), 398–409; the readings in the Postil were analyzed by Hana Sobalíková “Vliv M. Jana Husa na formování biblického překladu,” in Varia XVIII. Zborník plných príspevkov z XVIII. kolokvia mladých jazykovedcov, ed. Martin Ološtiak, Martina Ivanová and Lucia Gianitsová-Ološtiaková (Prešov: Prešovská univerzita, 2009), 637–43. 27. MIHOO 1:189. 28. CCCM 274:239. 29. CCCM 238:25. 30. MIHOO 1:159. 31. CCCM 274:235; MIHOO 1:210. 32. Korespondence, 139–41, no. 48. Cf. Šmahel, “The Idea,” 163–82; Šmahel, “The National Idea,” 214–26; Petr Čornej, “Idea národa v husitských Čechách,” in Jan Hus na přelomu tisíciletí, ed. Miloš Drda, František J. Holeček, and Zdeněk Vybíral (Tábor: Husitské muzeum, 2001), 381–84; Pavlína Rychterová, “Gens, nacio, communitas—lingua, sanguis, fides. Idea národa v českém díle Jana Husa,” in Heresis seminaria. Pojmy a koncepty v bádání o husitství, ed. Pavlína Rychterová and Pavel Soukup (Praha: Filosofia, 2013), 75–110. 33. Hus’s stay at Krakovec has recently been disputed by historians. See David Kozler, “Pobyt Jana Husa na hradě Krakovci. K novým otázkám a současnému stavu bádání,” Studia mediaevalia Bohemica 8 (2016): 7–40, with references to previous contributions. 34. Korespondence, 195–99, nos. 78–81, here esp. 198.

Chapter 15

1. FRB 8:31; translation in John Hus at the Council, 98. 2. On Hus’s arrival and first weeks in Constance, see Novotný, M. Jan Hus 2:355–72; Spinka, John Hus: A Biography, 178–83, and FRB 8:29–37. 3. FRB 8:33. 4. CCCM 274:103–16; cf. Helena Krmíčková, “Utraquism in 1414,” in The Bohemian Reformation and Religious Practice, vol. 4, ed. Zdeněk V. David and David R. Holeton (Praha: Knihovna AV ČR, 2002), 99–105. 5. Edited in CCCM 274:99–102; cf. Amedeo Molnár, “Pohled do Husovy literární dílny,” Listy filologické 82 (1959): 239–46. 6. CCCM 274:1–98. 7. CCCM 274:232. 8. FRB 8:25–26; see Rudolf Hoke, “Der Prozeß des Jan Hus und das Geleit König Sigmunds,” Annuarium historiae conciliorum 15 (1983): 172–93, and Kejř, Die Causa, 138–41.

194 Notes

9. Documenta, 610. 10. I follow the interpretation of Elbel, “In tota christianitate.” 11. Documenta, 543–44. 12. Acta concilii Constanciensis 2:203. 13. Quellen zur Kirchenreform 1:189. 14. FRB 8:81. 15. See Korespondence, 275–76, no. 131. 16. FRB 8:44–71; Novotný, Hus v Kostnici a česká šlechta, 43–56, nos. 2–6. 17. Hardt 1:834. 18. Jiří Kejř, “Štěpán z Pálče a Husův proces,” in Jiří Kejř, Z počátků české reformace (Brno: L. Marek, 2006), 111–31. 19. Documenta, 194–204. 20. CCCM 274:245–53. 21. CCCM 274:255–90. 22. Fragments of the depositions have been edited by Hardt 4:411–30; a partial reconstruction in Sedlák, M. Jan Hus, 338*–343*; Hus’s responses to an abridged, final version in CCCM 274:300–06. See also the previous depositions in CCCM 274:211–43. 23. For a juxtaposition of the 39 and 30 articles, see Sedlák, M. Jan Hus, 318*–331*; Hus’s glosses to the thirty articles in CCCM 274:293–300 (cf. his comments in Korespondence, 279–80, no. 133); the ultimate condemned version in Conciliorum oecumenicorum generaliumque decreta 2.1:585–89. 24. On Hus’s Constance trial in general, see Brandmüller, Das Konzil, 1:328–43, and most recently Fudge, The Trial, esp. 296–341. Jan Sedlák, “Proces Kostnický,” Studie a texty k náboženským dějinám českým 2 (1915): 1–34, remains the standard work on the articles of accusation. 25. FRB 8:76; John Hus at the Council, 170. 26. I adhere to the interpretation of Sebastián Provvidente, “Inquisitorial process and plenitudo potestatis at the Council of Constance (1414–1418),” in The Bohemian Reformation and Religious Practice, vol. 8, ed. Zdeněk V. David and David R. Holeton (Praha: Filosofia, 2011), 100–16. 27. Jean Gerson, Œuvres complètes 5:471–80, no. 241, quote 475. 28. Korespondence, 204, no. 86; English translation in The Letters of John Hus, 121. 29. Korespondence, 175–77 and 186–91, nos. 68 and 73. 30. Conciliorum oecumenicorum generaliumque decreta 2.1:584. 31. Jean Gerson, Œuvres complètes 10:259; cf. Levy, Holy Scripture, 214–17. 32. FRB 8, s. 90; John Hus at the Council, 193. 33. See Hobbins, Authorship and Publicity, 48; Ghosh, “Wyclif, Arundel, and the Long Fifteenth Century,” 552–57; Pavlína Rychterová, “Die Verbrennung von Johannes Hus als europäisches Ereignis. Öffentlichkeit und Öffentlichkeiten am Vorabend der hussitischen Revolution,” in Politische Öffentlichkeit im Spätmittelalter, ed. Martin Kintzinger and Bernd Schneidmüller (Ostfildern: Thorbecke, 2011), 380; on the academization of the Bohemian reform, see Patschovsky, “Ekklesiologie,” 385.

Notes195

34. Jean Gerson, Œuvres complètes 5:476–77. 35. FRB 8:104; John Hus at the Council, 215. 36. FRB 8:6. 37. Korespondence, 280–86, nos. 135–38; quote p. 282; English translation in The Letters of John Hus, 174. Cf. Jiří Kejř, “K Husovu procesu v Kostnici,” Historia Universitatis Carolinae Pragensis 48, no. 1 (2008): 11–19. 38. Kejř, “Jan Hus sám o sobě,” 15–17, and Dušan Coufal, “Neznámý postoj Jana Husa k mučednictví v jeho Enarratio Psalmorum (cca 1405–1407): Na cestě do kruhu zemských svatých,” Časopis Matice moravské 129 (2010): 241–57. 39. CCCM 238:26. 40. FRB 8:90–91; De ecclesia, 138–39. 41. Jean Gerson, Œuvres complètes 5:475; FRB 8:81.

Chapter 16

1. D. Martin Luthers Werke. Kritische Gesamtausgabe. [Schriften], vol. 7 (Weimar: Hermann Böhlaus Nachfolger, 1897), 838. 2. See Berndt Hamm, “Abschied vom Epochendenken in der Reformationsforschung. Ein Plädoyer,” Zeitschrift für historische Forschung 39 (2012): 397–99. 3. D. Martin Luthers Werke, Schriften 7:839. 4. On Luther’s relationship to Hus, see Bernhard Lohse, “Luther und Huß,” in Bernhard Lohse, Evangelium in der Geschichte, vol. 1 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1988), 65–79; Scott H. Hendrix, “‘We Are All Hussites?’ Hus and Luther Revisited,” Archiv für Reformationsgeschichte 65 (1974): 134–61. 5. D. Martin Luthers Werke. Kritische Gesamtausgabe. Briefwechsel, vol. 2 (Weimar: Hermann Böhlaus Nachfolger, 1931), 42, no. 254. 6. D. Martin Luthers Werke, Schriften 7:135 and 431. 7. D. Martin Luthers Werke. Kritische Gesamtausgabe. Tischreden, vol. 1 (Weimar: Hermann Böhlaus Nachfolger, 1912), 294, no. 624. 8. Bohdan Zilynskij, “Stížný list české a moravské šlechty proti Husovu upálení (Otázky vniku a datování),” Folia historica Bohemica 5 (1983): 195–237; Šmahel, Die Hussitische Revolution 2:931–36; Robert Novotný, “Organizace protestní akce proti Husovu upálení,” in Jan Hus 1415 a 600 let poté, ed. Jakub Smrčka and Zdeněk Vybíral (Tábor: Husitské muzeum, 2015), 153–64. 9. Documenta, 677–81. 10. See Novotný, Hus v Kostnici a česká šlechta, 64. 11. On the Hussite Revolution and Hussite Wars, see Kaminsky, A History of the Hussite Revolution; Šmahel, Die Hussitische Revolution; Čornej, Velké dějiny, vol. 5. 12. František Šmahel, “Die vier Prager Artikel. Das Programm der Hussitischen Reformation,” in Kirchliche Reformimpulse des 14./15. Jahrhunderts in Ostmitteleuropa, ed. Winfried Eberhard and Franz Machilek (Köln, Weimar, and Wien: Böhalu, 2006), 329–39. 13. De Vooght, Jacobellus.

196 Notes

14. František Šmahel, Basilejská kompaktáta. Příběh deseti listin (Praha: Nakladatelství Lidové noviny, 2011); Petr Čornej and Milena Bartlová, Velké dějiny zemí Koruny české, vol. 6 (Praha and Litomyšl: Paseka, 2007), 11–19. 15. FRB 8:231–242. 16. Kateřina Horníčková and Michal Šroněk, ed., Umění české reformace (1389– 1620) (Praha: Academia, 2010), 136–41 (authors of respective entries Milena Bartlová and Kateřina Horníčková). 17. On Hus’s memory among the Utraquists, see Haberkern, Patron Saint and Prophet, 21–148; on the liturgical commemoration, see Holeton, “O felix Bohemia.” 18. For the history of later Utraquism, see Zdenĕk V. David, Finding the Middle Way. The Utraquists’ Liberal Challenge to Rome and Luther (Washington, Baltimore, and London: Woodrow Wilson Center Press, 2003). 19. See Berndt Hamm, “Von der spätmittelalterlichen reformatio zur Reformation: Der Prozeß normativer Zentrierung von Religion und Gesellschaft in Deutschland,” Archiv für Reformationsgeschichte 84 (1993): 7. 20. The case for Utraquism as forming part of the Reformation was made by Winfried Eberhard, “Zur reformatorischen Qualität und Konfessionaliserung des nachrevolutionären Hussitismus,” in Häresie und vorzeitige Reformation im Spätmittelalter, ed. František Šmahel (München: Oldenbourg, 1998), 213–38. On Reformation impulses in Hus, see also Heiko A. Oberman, “Hus und Luther. Der Antichrist und die zweite reformatorische Entdeckung,” in Jan Hus. Zwischen Zeiten, Völkern, Konfessionen, ed. Ferdinand Seibt (München: Oldenbourg, 1997), 319–46. 21. For the wider argument, see Pavel Soukup, “Kauza reformace. Husitství v konkurenci reformních projektů,” in Heresis seminaria. Pojmy a koncepty v bádání o husitství, ed. Pavlína Rychterová and Pavel Soukup (Praha: Filosofia, 2013), 171–217.

Works of Jan Hus

Historia et monumenta (H&M)

Ioannis Hus et Hieronymi Pragensis confessorum Christi Historia et monumenta. 2 vols. Nürnberg: Johann Vomberg & Ulrich Neuber, 1558.

Spisy M. Jana Husi

1: Expositio Decalogi. Edited by Václav Flajšhans. Sbírka pramenů českého hnutí náboženského ve XIV. a XV. století 1. Praha: Jaroslav Bursík, 1903. 2: De corpore Christi. Edited by Václav Flajšhans. Sbírka pramenů českého hnutí náboženského ve XIV. a XV. století 2. Praha: Jaroslav Bursík, 1903. 3: De sanguine Christi. Edited by Václav Flajšhans. Sbírka pramenů českého hnutí náboženského ve XIV. a XV. století 3. Praha: Jaroslav Bursík, 1903. 4–6: Super IV Sententiarum. Edited by Václav Flajšhans. 3 vols. Sbírka pramenů českého hnutí náboženského ve XIV. a XV. století 4–6. Praha: Jaroslav Bursík, 1904–06. 7–8: Sermones de sanctis. Edited by Václav Flajšhans, Sbírka pramenů českého hnutí náboženského ve XIV. a XV. století 7–8. Praha: J. R. Vilímek, 1907. 9: Korespondence a dokumenty. Edited by Václav Novotný. Sbírka pramenů českého hnutí náboženského ve XIV. a XV. století 14. Praha: Komise pro vydávání pramenů náboženského hnutí českého, 1920.

Magistri Iohannis Hus Opera omnia (MIHOO)

1: Mistr Jan Hus. Výklady. [Edited by Jiří Daňhelka]. Praha: Academia, 1975. 2: Mistr Jan Hus. Česká nedělní postila. Vyloženie svatých čtení nedělních. Edited by Jiří Daňhelka. Praha: Academia, 1992. 3: Mistr Jan Hus, Česká sváteční kázání. Edited by Jiří Daňhelka. Praha: Academia, 1995. 4: Mistr Jan Hus, Drobné spisy české. [Edited by Jiří Daňhelka]. Praha: Academia, 1985. 7: Magistri Iohannis Hus Sermones de tempore qui Collecta dicuntur. Edited by Anežka Schmidtová. Praha: Nakladatelství ČSAV, 1959. 8: Magistri Iohannis Hus Passio domini nostri Iesu Cristi. Edited by Anežka Vidmanová-Schmidtová. Praha: Academia, 1973. 9: Magistri Iohannis Hus Leccionarium bipartitum. Pars hiemalis. Edited by Anežka Vidmanová-Schmidtová. Praha: Academia, 1988.

198

Works of Jan Hus

Vol. 13: see CCCM 261; vol. 17: see CCCM 253; vol. 19a: see CCCM 205; vol. 20: see CCCM 211; vol. 22: see CCCM 238; vol. 24: see CCCM 274; vol. 26: see CCCM 239.

Corpus christianorum. Continuatio mediaevalis (CCCM)

205: Magistri Iohannis Hus Questiones. Edited by Jiří Kejř. MIHOO 19a. Turnhout: Brepols, 2004. 211: Magistri Iohannis Hus Quodlibet. Edited by Bohumil Ryba. (2nd ed.). MIHOO 20. Turnhout: Brepols, 2006. 222: Magistri Hieronymi de Praga Quaestiones, polemica, epistulae. Edited by František Šmahel and Gabriel Silagi. Turnhout: Brepols, 2010. 238: Magistri Iohannis Hus Polemica. Edited by Jaroslav Eršil. (2nd ed.). MIHOO 22. Turnhout: Brepols, 2010. 239: Dicta de tempore magistro Iohanni Hus attributa. Edited by Jana Zachová. 2 vols. MIHOO 26. Turnhout: Brepols, 2011. 253: Magistri Iohannis Hus Enarratio Psalmorum (Ps. 109–118). Edited by Jana Nechutová et al. MIHOO 17. Turnhout: Brepols, 2013. 261: Magistri Iohannis Hus Postilla adumbrata. Edited by Bohumil Ryba and Gabiel Silagi. (2nd ed.). MIHOO 13. Turnhout: Brepols, 2015. 274: Magistri Iohannis Hus Constantiensia. Edited by Helena Krmíčková et al. MIHOO 24. Turnhout: Brepols, 2016.

Editions outside series

Betlemské texty. Edited by Bohumil Ryba. Praha: Orbis, 1951. Documenta Mag. Joannis Hus vitam, doctrinam, causam in Constantiensi concilio actam et controversias de religione in Bohemia annis 1403–1418 motas illustrantia. Edited by František Palacký. Praha: Friedrich Tempsky, 1869. Flajšhans, Václav, ed., “M. Io. Hus Sermones in Capella Bethlehem,” 6 parts, Věstník Královské české společnosti nauk (1938–45). Hus, Iohannes. Positiones, recommendationes, sermones. Edited by Anežka Schmidtová. Praha: Státní pedagogické nakladatelství, 1958. Hus, Mistr Jan. Tractatus de ecclesia. Edited by S. Harrison Thomson. Boulder: University of Colorado Press, 1956. M. Jana Husi Korespondence a dokumenty. Edited by Václav Novotný. Sbírka pramenů českého hnutí náboženského ve XIV. a XV. století 14. Spisy Mistra Jana Husi 9. Praha: Komise pro vydávání pramenů náboženského hnutí českého, 1920.

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Index of Personal Names Adam of Nežetice, 53 Albík of Uničov, Archbishop of Prague, 25, 100, 124 Albrecht Warentrappe, 79 Alexander the Great, 65 Alexander V, Pope, 25, 44, 75, 81–82, 87, 105, 112, 117, 130 Andrew of Brod, 42, 77, 78, 85, 87, 125, 153 Andrew of Regensburg, 87 Anthony of Montecatino, 99 Aristotle, 41 Augustine, St., 34, 37, 110 Averroes, 41

Christian of Prachatice, 74, 124 Clement VII, Pope, 21, 25 Cola di Rienzo, 107 Conrad Konhofer, 120 Conrad of Vechta, Archbishop of Prague, 25, 93, 123, 131 Conrad Soltau, 60, 96 Conrad Waldhauser, 30–31, 34, 97, 106 Ctibor of Kozí, 136

Bachmann, Adolf, 11 Balbín, Bohuslav, 9–10 Bartoš, František M., 14 Bede, Venerable, 37 Benedict XIII, Pope, 25, 152 Beneš, altarist of Church of St. Michael, 109 Beneš of Ostroměř, 153 Berlin, delinquent, 40 Bernard, priest at St Michael in Old Town, 31 Bernardine of Siena, 30, 38, 83 Boček of Kunštát, 100 Boniface IX, Pope, 25 Brancaccio, Cardinal, 120

Eck, Johannes, 160 Ecken, Johann von den, 159 Elijah, prophet, 8 Erben, Karel Jaromír, 11 Ernest of Pardubice, Archbishop of Prague, 56, 57 Eršil, Jaroslav, 15

Čeněk of Vartenberk, 100 Charles IV, Holy Roman Emperor and King of Bohemia, 23–24, 32, 65, 66, 97, 140–141

Daňhelka, Jiří, 15 De Vooght, Paul, 16 Dolcino, Fra, 107

Fida, citizen of Constance, 145 Flajšhans, Václav, 11 Francesco Zabarella, 120, 151, 156 Frederick, Bishop of Augsburg, 1 Frederick, Burgrave of Nuremberg, 148 Frederick Eppinge, 76 Frederick II, Holy Roman Emperor, 116 Fudge, Thomas, 17, 18 Geert Grote, 61 George, Bishop of Trent, 1 George of Bor, 77

220

Index of Personal Names

George of Kněhnice, 41 George of Poděbrady, King of Bohemia, 75 Giovanni Dominici, 30 Giovanni Tomari, 119 Goll, Jaroslav, 12 Gregory XII, Pope, 25, 69, 105, 116 Grégr, Eduard, 13 Hájek of Libočany, Václav, 9 Havel, Václav, 17 Havlík, priest at Bethlehem Chapel, 37 Hedwig, Queen of Poland and Lithuania, 74 Henning Baltenhagen, 70 Henry Krumhart of Westerholz, 117 Henry Lacembok of Chlum, 145 Henry Lefl of Lažany, 100, 144, 148 Henry of Bitterfeld, 60 Henry Totting of Oyta, 60 Henry V, King of England, 108 Hermann of Mindelheim, 78 Hilsch, Peter, 17 Höfler, Constantin, 10 Hroch of Podveky, 75 Illyricus, Flacius (Matija Vlačić), 9 Innocent IV, Pope, 116 Innocent VII, Pope, 25 Jacob Arrigoni, Bishop of Lodi, 152 Jacob de Voragine, 141 Jacob of Beroun, 96, 124 Jacob of Teramo, 82 Jacques de Molay, 116 Jacques de Nouvion, 69, 98 Jakoubek of Stříbro, 16, 24, 42, 45, 47, 74, 76–77, 87, 95, 124, 128, 146, 154, 161–163 James, St., 163 Jean Gerson, 43, 59, 61, 83, 84, 98, 101, 116, 131, 140, 152–153, 157 Jean Petit, 148

Jenek Václavův, 66 Jerome of Prague, 9, 17, 24, 40, 69, 70, 75–76, 86–87, 98, 99, 109, 143, 148, 160 Jerome, St., 35 Jobst of Luxembourg, Margrave of Moravia, 23–24 John Ball, 107 John, Bishop of Lubusz, 78 John Bradáček, 8 John Chrysostom, St., 35, 36, 37, 116 John, contestor of indulgences, 104, 109 John Eliae, 29, 78, 124 John Falkenberg, 112, 148 John Hildessen, 78 John Hoffmann, 73 John Hübner, 39–40 John Kbel, 39 John Náz, 78, 106 John Niger of Řečice, 75 John of Chlum, 1, 2, 74–75, 85, 100, 143, 145 John of Jenštejn, Archbishop of Prague, 40, 56, 60, 96 John of Jesenice, 28–29, 70, 76, 100, 116, 118, 119, 143, 144, 154 John of Jičín, 104 John of Kozí, 100, 136 John of Landštejn, 75 John of Luxembourg, King of Bohemia, 23 John of Minsterberg, 78 John of Mühlheim, 27–28, 29 John of Příbram, 75 John of Rejnštejn, 125, 145, 146 John of Vysoké Mýto, 109 John Oldcastle, Lord of Cobham, 76, 94–95, 107–108 John Peklo, 48–49 John, Prague Hospitaller, 112 John Protiva of Nová Ves, 29, 31, 56, 58, 77, 108 John Rokycana, 163



Index of Personal Names221

John Paul II, Pope, 16–17, 18 John Štěkna, 29, 42, 66, 68 John Stojković of Dubrovnik, 125 John Stokes, 44, 98 John the Baptist, 8 John Wyclif, 11, 24–26, 36, 39–51, 59, 62–64, 69, 76, 81, 84, 88, 90, 98, 106, 107–108, 111–112, 117, 121, 124, 125, 127, 129, 151, 157 John XXIII, Pope (Balthasar Cossa), 2, 16, 26, 61, 78, 99, 103, 105, 110, 117, 118, 121, 128, 144, 145, 152–153 John Železný, Bishop of Litomyšl, 99, 120, 144, 149 John Zúl, 57 Juan Palomar, 87 Judas Iscariot, 127 Kalivoda, Robert, 15 Kalousek, Josef, 16 Kaminsky, Howard, 16 Kejř, Jiří, 17, 18 Konáč, Mikuláš, 9 Kopičková, Božena, 18 Kříž, Prague merchant, 27–29, 31, 67 Krmíčková, Helena, 18 Krzenck, Thomas, 17 Kybal, Vlastimil, 12 Ladislaus, King of Naples, 103, 105, 111 Laichter, Jan, 14 Lawrence of Březová, 96 Lawrence, St., 163 Loserth, Johann, 11 Louis of Anjou, King of Naples, 105, 111 Ludolf of Żagań, 87 Ludwig III, Count Palatine, 8, 148, 152 Luther, Martin, 3, 9, 22, 159–160, 164 Macek, Josef, 15 Mařík Rvačka, 40, 58, 118 Marin, Olivier, 17

Mark of Hradec, 117, 118 Marmaggi, Francesco, 14 Martin, contestor of indulgences, 104, 109 Martin Kunšův, 75 Martin Lupáč, 87 Martin of Volyně, 23, 74, 153 Martin V, Pope (Oddo Colonna), 26, 93, 99, 116, 119, 153, 161 Masaryk, Tomáš Garrigue, 13–14 Matthew of Kraków, 60, 96 Matthew of Zbraslav, 58, 61, 74, 78 Matthias of Janov, 28, 42, 60 Matthias of Knín, 42, 44, 69, 75 Matthias of Tučapy, 29 Meistermann, Ludolf, 42, 73 Michael de Causis (of Německý Brod), 88, 115, 120, 121, 149 Michael of Drnovice, 75 Michael of Německý Brod. See Michael De Causis Milíč of Kroměříž, 10, 28, 30–31, 59–60, 84, 89, 97, 106 Molnár, Amedeo, 17 Moses, 113 Muhammad, 59 Nechutová, Jana, 18 Nejedlý, Zdeněk, 14–15 Nepomuk, John, 10 Nicholas Biceps, 66, 68 Nicholas, Bishop of Nezero, 121 Nicholas Burgmann, 96 Nicholas Faulfiš, 41 Nicholas Magni, 96 Nicholas Mníšek, 33 Nicholas of Dinkelsbühl, 140 Nicholas of Dresden, 16, 76–77, 86 Nicholas of Litomyšl, 40, 66 Nicholas of Miličín, 29 Nicholas of Pavlíkov, 74 Nicholas of Pelhřimov, 74–75 Nicholas of Rakovník, 66 Nicholas of Stojčín, 74, 118

222

Index of Personal Names

Nicholas of Velmovice (Abraham), 96 Nicholas Zeiselmeister, 29, 78 Novotný, Václav, 12, 18 Oddo Colonna. See Martin V, Pope Ogier, vicar general of Prague Archbishop, 27 Oswald Reinlein, 22 Pace Fantuzzi, 105, 112 Palacký, František, 10, 11, 12, 14 Paul, Apostle, 126 Paul Włodkowic, 79 Pekař, Josef, 13 Peter Lombard, 66, 74 Peter of Dresden, 76 Peter of Mladoňovice, 7–8, 74, 86, 90, 147, 148, 149 Peter of Stupno, 66 Peter of Valencia, 75–76 Peter of Znojmo, 78, 124 Peter, St., 127 Peter Storch of Zwickau, 78 Pierre d’Ailly, 50, 59–62, 116, 150, 151, 155, 156 Pietro degli Stephaneschi, 115, 120 Pliny, 35 Přibík of Houžná, 75 Prokop Holý, 87 Prokop of Plzeň, 76 Prokop, scribe of New Town, 86 Prokop, St., 163 Racek Kobyla, 93 Richard Wyche, 94 Robert Grosseteste, 116 Rupert of the Palatinate, King of the Romans, 23, 69, 96, 116 Ryba, Bohumil, 15 Šaloun, Ladislav, 13 Schaff, David S., 15 Schwarzenberg, Karel, 13

Sebastian, St., 163 Sedlák, Jan, 11–12 Sigismund of Luxembourg, Holy Roman Emperor and King of Hungary, 1, 23–24, 26, 90, 99, 100, 105, 108, 143–144, 146, 147, 148, 152, 161–163 Šíl, Josef, 13 Simon of Tišnov, 76 Simon Sudbury, Archbishop of Canterbury, 107 Šmahel, František, 17–18 Sophia of Wittelsbach, Queen of Bohemia, 99 Spalatin, Georg, 160 Spinka, Matthew, 15–16 Stanislav of Znojmo, 24, 26, 39–40, 42, 44, 47, 48, 57, 69, 76, 78, 111, 117, 124–125 Stašek, contestor of indulgences, 104, 109 Staupitz, Johannes, 160 Stephen, St., 8 Stephen of Dolany, 85, 104, 115 Stephen of Kolín, 27, 29, 66 Stephen of Páleč, 24, 26, 39–40, 58–59, 76, 78, 83, 85, 87, 101, 109, 111, 124–125, 128, 130, 132, 137, 149, 150–151 Svěrák, Jan, 7 Swieżawski, Stefan, 16 Thomas Arundel, Archbishop of Canterbury, 44, 107 Thomas of Štítné, 141 Ulrich of Rosenberg, 77 Ulrich, priest at St Philip and James in Prague, 29 Urich Richental, 7–8 Věnek, priest, 137 Vidmanová, Anežka, 18 Vincent Ferrer, 30, 38



Index of Personal Names223

Vitus, St., 8 Vlačić, Matija. See Illyricus, Flacius. Vlaška, delinquent, 40 Vojtěch Raňkův of Ježov, 28, 40, 66, 96 Voksa of Valdštejn, 87, 93, 94, 106 Walter Harraser, 39 Wenceslas IV, King of the Romans and of Bohemia, 23–24, 25, 26, 27, 31–32, 59, 68, 69–70, 76, 87, 93–97, 99–101, 105–106, 120, 123–124, 144, 161 Wenceslas of Dubá, 145 Wenceslas Pašek of Volyně, 33 Wenceslas, Prague pitch-maker, 28

Wenceslas, St., 163 Wenceslas Thiem, 105, 112 William Corff, 50 William of Zvířetice, 100 Wladyslaw Jagiello, King of Poland and Lithuania, 96 Zachová, Jana, 18 Zbyněk Zajíc of Házmburk, Archbishop of Prague, 24–25, 48, 53, 56–57, 60, 69, 75, 81–82, 86–89, 93, 94, 95, 98, 100, 115, 117–120 Zdeněk of Labouň, 124 Zdislav of Zvířetice, 76

About the Author Pavel Soukup is a researcher at the Centre for Medieval Studies, Institute of Philosophy, Czech Academy of Sciences in Prague, Czech Republic. His research interests revolve around late medieval religious literature, heresy, and crusading in Central Europe. His book publications include a monograph on reform preaching in late medieval Bohemia (Filosofia, 2011), an edited volume titled Religious Controversy in Europe, 1378–1536 (Brepols, 2013, with Michael Van Dussen), and a book on Prague indulgence riots of 1412 (Havran, 2018).