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<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_i" id="Page_i">[Pg i]</a></span></p>




<h1>ERASMUS AND THE AGE OF REFORMATION</h1>
<h3>By</h3>
<h2>JOHAN HUIZINGA</h2>

<h3>with a selection from
the letters of Erasmus</h3>


<p class="center">HARPER TORCHBOOKS / The Cloister Library<br/>
HARPER &amp; ROW, PUBLISHERS<br/>
<br/>
NEW YORK, EVANSTON, AND LONDON</p>

<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">[Pg iii]</a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 250px;">
<a href="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:john-huizinga-erasmus-and-the-age-of-reformation-frontispiece.png">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:john-huizinga-erasmus-and-the-age-of-reformation-frontispiece-th.png" width="250" height="465" alt="" title=""/>
</a></div>
<p class="center">WOODCUT BY HANS HOLBEIN. 1535</p>


<p><i>Printed in the United States of America</i></p>

<p>Huizinga's text was translated from the Dutch
by F. Hopman and first published by Charles
Scribner's Sons in 1924. The section from
the Letters of Erasmus was translated by
Barbara Flower.</p>

<p>Reprinted by arrangement with Phaidon
Press, Ltd., London</p>

<p>Originally published under the title: "Erasmus
of Rotterdam"</p>

<p>First <span class="smcap">HARPER TORCHBOOK</span> edition published 1957</p>

<p>Library of Congress catalogue card number 57-10119<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[Pg v]</a></span></p>

<h2>Contents</h2>

<p><a href="#preface"><i>Preface by G. N. Clark</i></a></p>
<p><a href="#chapter_i">Chapter I. CHILDHOOD AND EARLY YOUTH, 1466-88</a></p>
<p><a href="#chapter_ii">Chapter II. IN THE MONASTERY, 1488-95</a></p>
<p><a href="#chapter_iii">Chapter III. THE UNIVERSITY OF PARIS, 1495-9</a></p>
<p><a href="#chapter_iv">Chapter IV. FIRST STAY IN ENGLAND, 1499-1500</a></p>
<p><a href="#chapter_v">Chapter V. ERASMUS AS A HUMANIST</a></p>
<p><a href="#chapter_vi">Chapter VI. THEOLOGICAL ASPIRATIONS, 1501</a></p>
<p><a href="#chapter_vii">Chapter VII. YEARS OF TROUBLE&mdash;LOUVAIN, PARIS, ENGLAND, 1502-6</a></p>
<p><a href="#chapter_viii">Chapter VIII. IN ITALY, 1506-9</a></p>
<p><a href="#chapter_ix">Chapter IX. THE PRAISE OF FOLLY</a></p>
<p><a href="#chapter_x">Chapter X. THIRD STAY IN ENGLAND, 1509-14</a></p>
<p><a href="#chapter_xi">Chapter XI. A LIGHT OF THEOLOGY, 1514-16</a></p>
<p><a href="#chapter_xii">Chapter XII. ERASMUS'S MIND</a></p>
<p><a href="#chapter_xiii">Chapter XIII. ERASMUS'S MIND (<i>continued</i>)</a></p>
<p><a href="#chapter_xiv">Chapter XIV. ERASMUS'S CHARACTER</a></p>
<p><a href="#chapter_xv">Chapter XV. AT LOUVAIN, 1517-18</a></p>
<p><a href="#chapter_xvi">Chapter XVI. FIRST YEARS OF THE REFORMATION</a></p>
<p><a href="#chapter_xvii">Chapter XVII. ERASMUS AT BASLE, 1521-9</a></p>
<p><a href="#chapter_xviii">Chapter XVIII. CONTROVERSY WITH LUTHER AND GROWING CONSERVATISM, 1524-6</a></p>
<p><a href="#chapter_xix">Chapter XIX. AT WAR WITH HUMANISTS AND REFORMERS, 1528-9</a></p>
<p><a href="#chapter_xx">Chapter XX. LAST YEARS</a></p>
<p><a href="#chapter_xxi">Chapter XXI. CONCLUSION</a></p>
<p><a href="#letters">SELECTED LETTERS OF ERASMUS</a></p>
<p><a href="#illustrations">List of Illustrations</a></p>
<p><a href="#index">Index of Names</a></p>

<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">[Pg xi]</a></span></p>




<h2><a name="preface" id="preface"></a>PREFACE</h2>

<p><i>by G.N. Clark, Provost of Oriel College, Oxford</i></p>


<p>Rather more than twenty years ago, on a spring morning
of alternate cloud and sunshine, I acted as guide to Johan
Huizinga, the author of this book, when he was on a visit
to Oxford. As it was not his first stay in the city, and he knew
the principal buildings already, we looked at some of the less
famous. Even with a man who was well known all over the
world as a writer, I expected that these two or three hours
would be much like the others I had spent in the same capacity
with other visitors; but this proved to be a day to remember.
He understood the purposes of these ancient buildings, the
intentions of their founders and builders; but that was to be
expected from an historian who had written upon the history
of universities and learning. What surprised and delighted me
was his seeing eye. He told me which of the decorative <i>motifs</i>
on the Tower of the Four Orders were usual at the time when
it was built, and which were less common. At All Souls he
pointed out the seldom appreciated merits of Hawksmoor's
twin towers. His eye was not merely informed but sensitive.
I remembered that I had heard of his talent for drawing, and
as we walked and talked I felt the influence of a strong, quiet
personality deep down in which an artist's perceptiveness was
fused with a determination to search for historical truth.</p>

<p>Huizinga's great success and reputation came suddenly
when he was over forty. Until that time his powers were
ripening, not so much slowly as secretly. His friends knew
that he was unique, but neither he nor they foresaw what
direction his studies would take. He was born in 1872 in
Groningen, the most northerly of the chief towns of the
Netherlands, and there he went to school and to the University.
He studied Dutch history and literature and also Oriental
languages and mythology and sociology; he was a good
linguist and he steadily accumulated great learning, but he
was neither an infant prodigy nor a universal scholar. Science<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xii" id="Page_xii">[Pg xii]</a></span>
and current affairs scarcely interested him, and until his
maturity imagination seemed to satisfy him more than
research. Until he was over thirty he was a schoolmaster at
Haarlem, a teacher of history; but it was still uncertain
whether European or Oriental studies would claim him in
the end. For two or three years before giving up school-teaching
he lectured in the University of Amsterdam on
Sanskrit, and it was almost an accident that he became
professor of history in the University of his native town. All
through his life it was characteristic of him that after a spell
of creative work, when he had finished a book, he would
turn aside from the subject that had absorbed him and plunge
into some other subject or period, so that the books and
articles in the eight volumes of his collected works (with one
more volume still to come) cover a very wide range. As time
went on he examined aspects of history which at first he had
passed over, and he acquired a clear insight into the political
and economic life of the past. It has been well said of him that
he never became either a pedant or a doctrinaire. During the
ten years that he spent as professor at Groningen, he found
himself. He was happily married, with a growing family, and
the many elements of his mind drew together into a unity.
His sensitiveness to style and beauty came to terms with his
conscientious scholarship. He was rooted in the traditional
freedoms of his national and academic environment, but his
curiosity, like the historical adventures of his people and his
profession, was not limited by time or space or prejudice. He
came more and more definitely to find his central theme in
civilization as a realized ideal, something that men have
created in an endless variety of forms, but always in order
to raise the level of their lives.</p>

<p>While this interior fulfilment was bringing Huizinga to his
best, the world about him changed completely. In 1914,
Holland became a neutral country surrounded by nations at
war. In 1914, also, his wife died, and it was as a lonely widower
that he was appointed in the next year to the chair of general
history at Leyden, which he was to hold for the rest of his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xiii" id="Page_xiii">[Pg xiii]</a></span>
academic life. Yet the year after the end of the war saw the
publication of his masterpiece, the book which gave him his
high place among historical writers and was translated as
<i>The Waning of the Middle Ages</i>. This is a study of the forms of
life and thought in France and the Netherlands in the fourteenth
and fifteenth centuries, the last phase of one of the great
European eras of civilization. In England, where the Middle
Ages had been idealized for generations, some of its leading
thoughts did not seem so novel as they did in Holland, where
many people regarded the Renaissance and more still regarded
the Reformation as a new beginning of a better world; but in
England and America, which had been drawn, unlike Holland,
into the vortex of war, it had the poignancy of a recall to the
standards of reasonableness. It will long maintain its place as
a historical book and as a work of literature.</p>

<p>The shorter book on Erasmus is a companion to this great
work. It was first published in 1924 and so belongs to the same
best period of the author. Its subject is the central intellectual
figure of the next generation after the period which Huizinga
called the waning, or rather the autumn, of the Middle Ages;
but Erasmus was also, as will appear from many of its pages,
a man for whom he had a very special sympathy. Something
of what he wrote about Erasmus might also have been written
about himself, or at least about his own response to the
transformation of the world that he had known.</p>

<p>This is not the place for an analysis of that questioning and
illuminating response, nor for a considered estimate of
Huizinga's work as a whole; but there is room for a word
about his last years. He was recognized as one of the intellectual
leaders of his country, and a second marriage in 1937
brought back his private happiness; but the shadows were
darkening over the western world. From the time when
national socialism began to reveal itself in Germany, he took
his stand against it with perfect simplicity and calm. After the
invasion of Holland he addressed these memorable words to
some of his colleagues: 'When it comes, as it soon will, to
defending our University and the freedom of science and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xiv" id="Page_xiv">[Pg xiv]</a></span>
learning in the Netherlands, we must be ready to give everything
for that: our possessions, our freedom, and even our
lives'. The Germans closed the University. For a time they
held Johan Huizinga, now an old man and in failing health,
as a hostage; then they banished him to open arrest in a remote
parish in the eastern part of the country. Even in these conditions
he still wrote, and wrote well. In the last winter of the
war the liberating armies approached and he suffered the
hardships of the civilian population in a theatre of war; but
his spirit was unbroken. He died on 1 February 1945, a few
weeks before his country was set free.</p>

<p>G. N. CLARK</p>

<p>Oriel College, Oxford</p>

<p>April 1952<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xv" id="Page_xv">[Pg xv]</a></span></p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p>




<h2><a name="chapter_i" id="chapter_i"></a>CHAPTER I</h2>

<h3>CHILDHOOD AND EARLY YOUTH</h3>

<h3>1466-88</h3>

<div class="blockquot"><p>The Low Countries in the fifteenth century&mdash;The Burgundian power&mdash;Connections
with the German Empire and with France&mdash;The northern
Netherlands outskirts in every sense&mdash;Movement of <i>Devotio moderna</i>:
brethren of the Common Life and Windesheim monasteries&mdash;Erasmus's
birth: 1466&mdash;His relations and name&mdash;At school at Gouda, Deventer and
Bois-le-Duc&mdash;He takes the vows: probably in 1488</p></div>


<p>When Erasmus was born Holland had for about twenty years
formed part of the territory which the dukes of Burgundy had
succeeded in uniting under their dominion&mdash;that complexity
of lands, half French in population, like Burgundy, Artois,
Hainault, Namur; half Dutch like Flanders, Brabant, Zealand,
Holland. The appellation 'Holland' was, as yet, strictly limited
to the county of that name (the present provinces of North and
South Holland), with which Zealand, too, had long since been
united. The remaining territories which, together with those
last mentioned, make up the present kingdom of the Netherlands,
had not yet been brought under Burgundian dominion,
although the dukes had cast their eyes on them. In the bishopric
of Utrecht, whose power extended to the regions on the far
side of the river Ysel, Burgundian influence had already begun
to make itself manifest. The projected conquest of Friesland
was a political inheritance of the counts of Holland, who preceded
the Burgundians. The duchy of Guelders, alone, still
preserved its independence inviolate, being more closely
connected with the neighbouring German territories, and
consequently with the Empire itself.</p>

<p>All these lands&mdash;about this time they began to be regarded
collectively under the name of 'Low Countries by the Sea'&mdash;had
in most respects the character of outskirts. The authority
of the German emperors had for some centuries been little<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span>
more than imaginary. Holland and Zealand hardly shared the
dawning sense of a national German union. They had too long
looked to France in matters political. Since 1299 a French-speaking
dynasty, that of Hainault, had ruled Holland. Even
the house of Bavaria that succeeded it about the middle of the
fourteenth century had not restored closer contact with the
Empire, but had itself, on the contrary, early become Gallicized,
attracted as it was by Paris and soon twined about by
the tentacles of Burgundy to which it became linked by means
of a double marriage.</p>

<p>The northern half of the Low Countries were 'outskirts'
also in ecclesiastical and cultural matters. Brought over rather
late to the cause of Christianity (the end of the eighth century),
they had, as borderlands, remained united under a single
bishop: the bishop of Utrecht. The meshes of ecclesiastical
organization were wider here than elsewhere. They had no
university. Paris remained, even after the designing policy of
the Burgundian dukes had founded the university of Louvain
in 1425, the centre of doctrine and science for the northern
Netherlands. From the point of view of the wealthy towns of
Flanders and Brabant, now the heart of the Burgundian possessions,
Holland and Zealand formed a wretched little country
of boatmen and peasants. Chivalry, which the dukes of
Burgundy attempted to invest with new splendour, had but
moderately thrived among the nobles of Holland. The Dutch
had not enriched courtly literature, in which Flanders and
Brabant zealously strove to follow the French example, by
any contribution worth mentioning.</p>

<p>Whatever was coming up in Holland flowered unseen; it
was not of a sort to attract the attention of Christendom. It
was a brisk navigation and trade, mostly transit trade, by
which the Hollanders already began to emulate the German
Hansa, and which brought them into continual contact with
France and Spain, England and Scotland, Scandinavia, North
Germany and the Rhine from Cologne upward. It was herring
fishery, a humble trade, but the source of great prosperity&mdash;a
rising industry, shared by a number of small towns.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span></p>

<p>Not one of those towns in Holland and Zealand, neither
Dordrecht nor Leyden, Haarlem, Middelburg, Amsterdam,
could compare with Ghent, Bruges, Lille, Antwerp or Brussels
in the south. It is true that in the towns of Holland also the
highest products of the human mind germinated, but those
towns themselves were still too small and too poor to be
centres of art and science. The most eminent men were irresistibly
drawn to one of the great foci of secular and ecclesiastical
culture. Sluter, the great sculptor, went to Burgundy,
took service with the dukes, and bequeathed no specimen of
his art to the land of his birth. Dirk Bouts, the artist of Haarlem,
removed to Louvain, where his best work is preserved;
what was left at Haarlem has perished. At Haarlem, too, and
earlier, perhaps, than anywhere else, obscure experiments were
being made in that great art, craving to be brought forth,
which was to change the world: the art of printing.</p>

<p>There was yet another characteristic spiritual phenomenon,
which originated here and gave its peculiar stamp to life in
these countries. It was a movement designed to give depth and
fervour to religious life; started by a burgher of Deventer,
Geert Groote, toward the end of the fourteenth century. It had
embodied itself in two closely connected forms&mdash;the fraterhouses,
where the brethren of the Common Life lived together
without altogether separating from the world, and the congregation
of the monastery of Windesheim, of the order of
the regular Augustinian canons. Originating in the regions on
the banks of the Ysel, between the two small towns of Deventer
and Zwolle, and so on the outskirts of the diocese of
Utrecht, this movement soon spread, eastward to Westphalia,
northward to Groningen and the Frisian country, westward
to Holland proper. Fraterhouses were erected everywhere and
monasteries of the Windesheim congregation were established
or affiliated. The movement was spoken of as 'modern devotion',
<i>devotio moderna</i>. It was rather a matter of sentiment and
practice than of definite doctrine. The truly Catholic character
of the movement had early been acknowledged by the church
authorities. Sincerity and modesty, simplicity and industry,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span>
and, above all, constant ardour of religious emotion and
thought, were its objects. Its energies were devoted to tending
the sick and other works of charity, but especially to instruction
and the art of writing. It is in this that it especially differed
from the revival of the Franciscan and Dominican orders of
about the same time, which turned to preaching. The Windesheimians
and the Hieronymians (as the brethren of the Common
Life were also called) exerted their crowning activities
in the seclusion of the schoolroom and the silence of the writing
cell. The schools of the brethren soon drew pupils from a wide
area. In this way the foundations were laid, both here in the
northern Netherlands and in lower Germany, for a generally
diffused culture among the middle classes; a culture of a very
narrow, strictly ecclesiastical nature, indeed, but which for
that very reason was fit to permeate broad layers of the people.</p>

<p>What the Windesheimians themselves produced in the way
of devotional literature is chiefly limited to edifying booklets
and biographies of their own members; writings which were
distinguished rather by their pious tenor and sincerity than by
daring or novel thoughts.</p>

<p>But of them all, the greatest was that immortal work of
Thomas &agrave; Kempis, Canon of Saint Agnietenberg, near Zwolle,
the <i>Imitatio Christi</i>.</p>

<p>Foreigners visiting these regions north of the Scheldt and
the Meuse laughed at the rude manners and the deep drinking
of the inhabitants, but they also mentioned their sincere piety.
These countries were already, what they have ever remained,
somewhat contemplative and self-contained, better adapted
for speculating on the world and for reproving it than for
astonishing it with dazzling wit.</p>

<hr style='width: 45%;' />

<p>Rotterdam and Gouda, situated upward of twelve miles
apart in the lowest region of Holland, an extremely watery
region, were not among the first towns of the county. They
were small country towns, ranking after Dordrecht, Haarlem,
Leyden, and rapidly rising Amsterdam. They were not centres
of culture. Erasmus was born at Rotterdam on 27 October,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span>
most probably in the year 1466. The illegitimacy of his birth
has thrown a veil of mystery over his descent and kinship. It is
possible that Erasmus himself learned the circumstances of his
coming into the world only in his later years. Acutely sensitive
to the taint in his origin, he did more to veil the secret than to
reveal it. The picture which he painted of it in his ripe age was
romantic and pathetic. He imagined that his father when a
young man made love to a girl, a physician's daughter, in the
hope of marrying her. The parents and brothers of the young
fellow, indignant, tried to persuade him to take holy orders.
The young man fled before the child was born. He went to
Rome and made a living by copying. His relations sent him
false tidings that his beloved had died; out of grief he became
a priest and devoted himself to religion altogether. Returned
to his native country he discovered the deceit. He abstained
from all contact with her whom he now could no longer
marry, but took great pains to give his son a liberal education.
The mother continued to care for the child, till an early death
took her from him. The father soon followed her to the grave.
To Erasmus's recollection he was only twelve or thirteen years
old when his mother died. It seems to be practically certain
that her death did not occur before 1483, when, therefore, he
was already seventeen years old. His sense of chronology was
always remarkably ill developed.</p>

<p>Unfortunately it is beyond doubt that Erasmus himself
knew, or had known, that not all particulars of this version
were correct. In all probability his father was already a priest
at the time of the relationship to which he owed his life; in any
case it was not the impatience of a betrothed couple, but an
irregular alliance of long standing, of which a brother, Peter,
had been born three years before.</p>

<p>We can only vaguely discern the outlines of a numerous and
commonplace middle-class family. The father had nine
brothers, who were all married. The grandparents on his
father's side and the uncles on his mother's side attained to a
very great age. It is strange that a host of cousins&mdash;their progeny&mdash;has
not boasted of a family connection with the great<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span>
Erasmus. Their descendants have not even been traced. What
were their names? The fact that in burgher circles family
names had, as yet, become anything but fixed, makes it difficult
to trace Erasmus's kinsmen. Usually people were called by
their own and their father's name; but it also happened that
the father's name became fixed and adhered to the following
generation. Erasmus calls his father Gerard, his brother Peter
Gerard, while a papal letter styles Erasmus himself Erasmus
Rogerii. Possibly the father was called Roger Gerard or
Gerards.</p>

<p>Although Erasmus and his brother were born at Rotterdam,
there is much that points to the fact that his father's kin did
not belong there, but at Gouda. At any rate they had near
relatives at Gouda.</p>

<p>Erasmus was his Christian name. There is nothing strange
in the choice, although it was rather unusual. St. Erasmus was
one of the fourteen Holy Martyrs, whose worship so much
engrossed the attention of the multitude in the fifteenth
century. Perhaps the popular belief that the intercession of St.
Erasmus conferred wealth, had some weight in choosing the
name. Up to the time when he became better acquainted with
Greek, he used the form Herasmus. Later on he regretted that
he had not also given that name the more correct and melodious
form Erasmius. On a few occasions he half jocularly
called himself so, and his godchild, Johannes Froben's son,
always used this form.</p>

<p>It was probably for similar aesthetic considerations that he
soon altered the barbaric Rotterdammensis to Roterdamus,
later Roterodamus, which he perhaps accentuated as a proparoxytone.
Desiderius was an addition selected by himself,
which he first used in 1496; it is possible that the study of his
favourite author Jerome, among whose correspondents there
is a Desiderius, suggested the name to him. When, therefore,
the full form, Desiderius Erasmus Roterodamus, first appears,
in the second edition of the <i>Adagia</i>, published by Josse Badius
at Paris in 1506, it is an indication that Erasmus, then forty
years of age, had found himself.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span></p>

<p>Circumstances had not made it easy for him to find his way.
Almost in his infancy, when hardly four years old, he thinks,
he had been put to school at Gouda, together with his brother.
He was nine years old when his father sent him to Deventer to
continue his studies in the famous school of the chapter of
St. Lebuin. His mother accompanied him. His stay at Deventer
must have lasted, with an interval during which he was a choir
boy in the minster at Utrecht, from 1475 to 1484. Erasmus's
explicit declaration that he was fourteen years old when he
left Deventer may be explained by assuming that in later years
he confused his temporary absence from Deventer (when at
Utrecht) with the definite end of his stay at Deventer. Reminiscences
of his life there repeatedly crop up in Erasmus's writings.
Those concerning the teaching he got inspired him with
little gratitude; the school was still barbaric, then, he said;
ancient medieval text-books were used there of whose silliness
and cumbrousness we can hardly conceive. Some of the
masters were of the brotherhood of the Common Life. One
of them, Johannes Synthen, brought to his task a certain degree
of understanding of classic antiquity in its purer form. Toward
the end of Erasmus's residence Alexander Hegius was placed at
the head of the school, a friend of the Frisian humanist, Rudolf
Agricola, who on his return from Italy was gaped at by his
compatriots as a prodigy. On festal days, when the rector made
his oration before all the pupils, Erasmus heard Hegius; on one
single occasion he listened to the celebrated Agricola himself,
which left a deep impression on his mind.</p>

<p>His mother's death of the plague that ravaged the town
brought Erasmus's school-time at Deventer to a sudden close.
His father called him and his brother back to Gouda, only to die
himself soon afterwards. He must have been a man of culture.
For he knew Greek, had heard the famous humanists in Italy,
had copied classic authors and left a library of some value.</p>

<p>Erasmus and his brother were now under the protection of
three guardians whose care and intentions he afterwards placed
in an unfavourable light. How far he exaggerated their treatment
of him it is difficult to decide. That the guardians, among<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span>
whom one Peter Winckel, schoolmaster at Gouda, occupied
the principal place, had little sympathy with the new classicism,
about which their ward already felt enthusiastic, need
not be doubted. 'If you should write again so elegantly, please
to add a commentary', the schoolmaster replied grumblingly
to an epistle on which Erasmus, then fourteen years old, had
expended much care. That the guardians sincerely considered
it a work pleasing to God to persuade the youths to enter a
monastery can no more be doubted than that this was for
them the easiest way to get rid of their task. For Erasmus this
pitiful business assumes the colour of a grossly selfish attempt
to cloak dishonest administration; an altogether reprehensible
abuse of power and authority. More than this: in later years it
obscured for him the image of his own brother, with whom
he had been on terms of cordial intimacy.</p>

<p>Winckel sent the two young fellows, twenty-one and
eighteen years old, to school again, this time at Bois-le-Duc.
There they lived in the Fraterhouse itself, to which the school
was attached. There was nothing here of the glory that had
shone about Deventer. The brethren, says Erasmus, knew of
no other purpose than that of destroying all natural gifts, with
blows, reprimands and severity, in order to fit the soul for the
monastery. This, he thought, was just what his guardians were
aiming at; although ripe for the university they were deliberately
kept away from it. In this way more than two years
were wasted.</p>

<p>One of his two masters, one Rombout, who liked young
Erasmus, tried hard to prevail on him to join the brethren of
the Common Life. In later years Erasmus occasionally regretted
that he had not yielded; for the brethren took no such
irrevocable vows as were now in store for him.</p>

<p>An epidemic of the plague became the occasion for the
brothers to leave Bois-le-Duc and return to Gouda. Erasmus
was attacked by a fever that sapped his power of resistance, of
which he now stood in such need. The guardians (one of the
three had died in the meantime) now did their utmost to make
the two young men enter a monastery. They had good cause<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span>
for it, as they had ill administered the slender fortune of their
wards, and, says Erasmus, refused to render an account. Later
he saw everything connected with this dark period of his life
in the most gloomy colours&mdash;except himself. Himself he sees
as a boy of not yet sixteen years (it is nearly certain that he
must have been twenty already) weakened by fever, but nevertheless
resolute and sensible in refusing. He has persuaded his
brother to fly with him and to go to a university. The one
guardian is a narrow-minded tyrant, the other, Winckel's
brother, a merchant, a frivolous coaxer. Peter, the elder of the
youths, yields first and enters the monastery of Sion, near
Delft (of the order of the regular Augustinian canons), where
the guardian had found a place for him. Erasmus resisted
longer. Only after a visit to the monastery of Steyn or Emmaus,
near Gouda, belonging to the same order, where he
found a schoolfellow from Deventer, who pointed out the
bright side of monastic life, did Erasmus yield and enter
Steyn, where soon after, probably in 1488, he took the vows.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span></p>




<h2><a name="chapter_ii" id="chapter_ii"></a>CHAPTER II</h2>

<h3>IN THE MONASTERY</h3>

<h3>1488-95</h3>

<div class="blockquot"><p>Erasmus as an Augustinian canon at Steyn&mdash;His friends&mdash;Letters to
Servatius&mdash;Humanism in the monasteries: Latin poetry&mdash;Aversion to
cloister-life&mdash;He leaves Steyn to enter the service of the Bishop of Cambray:
1493&mdash;James Batt&mdash;<i>Antibarbari</i>&mdash;He gets leave to study at Paris: 1495</p></div>


<p>In his later life&mdash;under the influence of the gnawing regret
which his monkhood and all the trouble he took to escape
from it caused him&mdash;the picture of all the events leading up
to his entering the convent became distorted in his mind.
Brother Peter, to whom he still wrote in a cordial vein
from Steyn, became a worthless fellow, even his evil spirit, a
Judas. The schoolfellow whose advice had been decisive now
appeared a traitor, prompted by self-interest, who himself had
chosen convent-life merely out of laziness and the love of good
cheer.</p>

<p>The letters that Erasmus wrote from Steyn betray no vestige
of his deep-seated aversion to monastic life, which afterwards
he asks us to believe he had felt from the outset. We may, of
course, assume that the supervision of his superiors prevented
him from writing all that was in his heart, and that in the
depths of his being there had always existed the craving for
freedom and for more civilized intercourse than Steyn could
offer. Still he must have found in the monastery some of the
good things that his schoolfellow had led him to expect. That
at this period he should have written a 'Praise of Monastic
Life', 'to please a friend who wanted to decoy a cousin', as he
himself says, is one of those na&iuml;ve assertions, invented afterwards,
of which Erasmus never saw the unreasonable quality.</p>

<p>He found at Steyn a fair degree of freedom, some food for
an intellect craving for classic antiquity, and friendships with
men of the same turn of mind. There were three who especially
attracted him. Of the schoolfellow who had induced<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span>
him to become a monk, we hear no more. His friends are
Servatius Roger of Rotterdam and William Hermans of
Gouda, both his companions at Steyn, and the older Cornelius
Gerard of Gouda, usually called Aurelius (a quasi-latinization
of Goudanus), who spent most of his time in the monastery of
Lopsen, near Leyden. With them he read and conversed
sociably and jestingly; with them he exchanged letters when
they were not together.</p>

<p>Out of the letters to Servatius there rises the picture of an
Erasmus whom we shall never find again&mdash;a young man of
more than feminine sensitiveness; of a languishing need for
sentimental friendship. In writing to Servatius, Erasmus runs
the whole gamut of an ardent lover. As often as the image of
his friend presents itself to his mind tears break from his eyes.
Weeping he re-reads his friend's letter every hour. But he is
mortally dejected and anxious, for the friend proves averse to
this excessive attachment. 'What do you want from me?' he
asks. 'What is wrong with you?' the other replies. Erasmus
cannot bear to find that this friendship is not fully returned.
'Do not be so reserved; do tell me what is wrong! I repose my
hope in you alone; I have become yours so completely that you
have left me naught of myself. You know my pusillanimity,
which when it has no one on whom to lean and rest, makes
me so desperate that life becomes a burden.'</p>

<p>Let us remember this. Erasmus never again expresses himself
so passionately. He has given us here the clue by which we
may understand much of what he becomes in his later years.</p>

<p>These letters have sometimes been taken as mere literary
exercises; the weakness they betray and the complete absence
of all reticence, seem to tally ill with his habit of cloaking his
most intimate feelings which, afterwards, Erasmus never quite
relinquishes. Dr. Allen, who leaves this question undecided,
nevertheless inclines to regard the letters as sincere effusions,
and to me they seem so, incontestably. This exuberant friendship
accords quite well with the times and the person.</p>

<p>Sentimental friendships were as much in vogue in secular
circles during the fifteenth century as towards the end of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span>
eighteenth century. Each court had its pairs of friends, who
dressed alike, and shared room, bed, and heart. Nor was this
cult of fervent friendship restricted to the sphere of aristocratic
life. It was among the specific characteristics of the <i>devotio
moderna</i>, as, for the rest, it seems from its very nature to be
inseparably bound up with pietism. To observe one another
with sympathy, to watch and note each other's inner life, was
a customary and approved occupation among the brethren of
the Common Life and the Windesheim monks. And though
Steyn and Sion were not of the Windesheim congregation, the
spirit of the <i>devotio moderna</i> was prevalent there.</p>

<p>As for Erasmus himself, he has rarely revealed the foundation
of his character more completely than when he declared
to Servatius: 'My mind is such that I think nothing can rank
higher than friendship in this life, nothing should be desired
more ardently, nothing should be treasured more jealously'.
A violent affection of a similar nature troubled him even at a
later date when the purity of his motives was questioned.
Afterwards he speaks of youth as being used to conceive a
fervent affection for certain comrades. Moreover, the classic
examples of friends, Orestes and Pylades, Damon and Pythias,
Theseus and Pirithous, as also David and Jonathan, were ever
present before his mind's eye. A young and very tender heart,
marked by many feminine traits, replete with all the sentiment
and with all the imaginings of classic literature, who was debarred
from love and found himself placed against his wish in a
coarse and frigid environment, was likely to become somewhat
excessive in his affections.</p>

<p>He was obliged to moderate them. Servatius would have
none of so jealous and exacting a friendship and, probably at
the cost of more humiliation and shame than appears in his
letters, young Erasmus resigns himself, to be more guarded in
expressing his feelings in the future. The sentimental Erasmus
disappears for good and presently makes room for the witty
latinist, who surpasses his older friends, and chats with them
about poetry and literature, advises them about their Latin
style, and lectures them if necessary.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span></p>

<p>The opportunities for acquiring the new taste for classic
antiquity cannot have been so scanty at Deventer, and in the
monastery itself, as Erasmus afterwards would have us believe,
considering the authors he already knew at this time.
We may conjecture, also, that the books left by his father,
possibly brought by him from Italy, contributed to Erasmus's
culture, though it would be strange that, prone as he was to
disparage his schools and his monastery, he should not have
mentioned the fact. Moreover, we know that the humanistic
knowledge of his youth was not exclusively his own, in spite
of all he afterwards said about Dutch ignorance and obscurantism.
Cornelius Aurelius and William Hermans likewise
possessed it.</p>

<p>In a letter to Cornelius he mentions the following authors
as his poetic models&mdash;Virgil, Horace, Ovid, Juvenal, Statius,
Martial, Claudian, Persius, Lucan, Tibullus, Propertius. In
prose he imitates Cicero, Quintilian, Sallust, and Terence,
whose metrical character had not yet been recognized. Among
Italian humanists he was especially acquainted with Lorenzo
Valla, who on account of his <i>Elegantiae</i> passed with him for
the pioneer of <i>bonae literae</i>; but Filelfo, Aeneas Sylvius,
Guarino, Poggio, and others, were also not unknown to him.
In ecclesiastical literature he was particularly well read in
Jerome. It remains remarkable that the education which
Erasmus received in the schools of the <i>devotio moderna</i> with
their ultra-puritanical object, their rigid discipline intent
on breaking the personality, could produce such a mind as he
manifests in his monastic period&mdash;the mind of an accomplished
humanist. He is only interested in writing Latin verses and in
the purity of his Latin style. We look almost in vain for piety in
the correspondence with Cornelius of Gouda and William
Hermans. They manipulate with ease the most difficult Latin
metres and the rarest terms of mythology. Their subject-matter
is bucolic or amatory, and, if devotional, their classicism deprives
it of the accent of piety. The prior of the neighbouring
monastery of Hem, at whose request Erasmus sang the
Archangel Michael, did not dare to paste up his Sapphic ode:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span>
it was so 'poetic', he thought, as to seem almost Greek. In
those days poetic meant classic. Erasmus himself thought he
had made it so bald that it was nearly prose&mdash;'the times were
so barren, then', he afterwards sighed.</p>

<p>These young poets felt themselves the guardians of a new
light amidst the dullness and barbarism which oppressed them.
They readily believed each other's productions to be immortal,
as every band of youthful poets does, and dreamt of a
future of poetic glory for Steyn by which it would vie with
Mantua. Their environment of clownish, narrow-minded
conventional divines&mdash;for as such they saw them&mdash;neither
acknowledged nor encouraged them. Erasmus's strong propensity
to fancy himself menaced and injured tinged this position
with the martyrdom of oppressed talent. To Cornelius
he complains in fine Horatian measure of the contempt in
which poetry was held; his fellow-monk orders him to let his
pen, accustomed to writing poetry, rest. Consuming envy
forces him to give up making verses. A horrid barbarism prevails,
the country laughs at the laurel-bringing art of high-seated
Apollo; the coarse peasant orders the learned poet to
write verses. 'Though I had mouths as many as the stars that
twinkle in the silent firmament on quiet nights, or as many as
the roses that the mild gale of spring strews on the ground, I
could not complain of all the evils by which the sacred art of
poetry is oppressed in these days. I am tired of writing poetry.'
Of this effusion Cornelius made a dialogue which highly
pleased Erasmus.</p>

<p>Though in this art nine-tenths may be rhetorical fiction and
sedulous imitation, we ought not, on that account, to undervalue
the enthusiasm inspiring the young poets. Let us, who
have mostly grown blunt to the charms of Latin, not think too
lightly of the elation felt by one who, after learning this language
out of the most absurd primers and according to the
most ridiculous methods, nevertheless discovered it in its
purity, and afterwards came to handle it in the charming
rhythm of some artful metre, in the glorious precision of its
structure and in all the melodiousness of its sound.</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;">
<a href="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:john-huizinga-erasmus-and-the-age-of-reformation-plate-i.png">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:john-huizinga-erasmus-and-the-age-of-reformation-plate-i.png" width="40%" alt="" title=""/>
</a></div>
<p class="center">Plate I. ERASMUS AT THE AGE OF 51</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;">
<a href="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:john-huizinga-erasmus-and-the-age-of-reformation-plate-ii.png">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:john-huizinga-erasmus-and-the-age-of-reformation-plate-ii-th.png" width="600" height="224" alt="" title=""/>
</a></div>
<p class="center">Plate II. VIEW OF ROTTERDAM, EARLY SIXTEENTH CENTURY<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span></p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Nec si quot placidis ignea noctibus<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Scintillant tacito sydera culmine,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Nec si quot tepidum flante Favonio<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Ver suffundit humo rosas,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Tot sint ora mihi...<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p>Was it strange that the youth who could say this felt himself
a poet?&mdash;or who, together with his friend, could sing of spring
in a Meliboean song of fifty distichs? Pedantic work, if you
like, laboured literary exercises, and yet full of the freshness
and the vigour which spring from the Latin itself.</p>

<p>Out of these moods was to come the first comprehensive
work that Erasmus was to undertake, the manuscript of which
he was afterwards to lose, to recover in part, and to publish
only after many years&mdash;the <i>Antibarbari</i>, which he commenced
at Steyn, according to Dr. Allen. In the version in which eventually
the first book of the <i>Antibarbari</i> appeared, it reflects, it is
true, a somewhat later phase of Erasmus's life, that which
began after he had left the monastery; neither is the comfortable
tone of his witty defence of profane literature any longer
that of the poet at Steyn. But the ideal of a free and noble life
of friendly intercourse and the uninterrupted study of the
Ancients had already occurred to him within the convent
walls.</p>

<p>In the course of years those walls probably hemmed him in
more and more closely. Neither learned and poetic correspondence
nor the art of painting with which he occupied himself,<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a>
together with one Sasboud, could sweeten the oppression of
monastic life and a narrow-minded, unfriendly environment.
Of the later period of his life in the monastery, no letters at all
have been preserved, according to Dr. Allen's carefully considered
dating. Had he dropped his correspondence out of
spleen, or had his superiors forbidden him to keep it up, or are
we merely left in the dark because of accidental loss? We<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span>
know nothing about the circumstances and the frame of mind
in which Erasmus was ordained on 25 April 1492, by the
Bishop of Utrecht, David of Burgundy. Perhaps his taking
holy orders was connected with his design to leave the monastery.
He himself afterwards declared that he had but rarely
read mass. He got his chance to leave the monastery when
offered the post of secretary to the Bishop of Cambray, Henry
of Bergen. Erasmus owed this preferment to his fame as a
Latinist and a man of letters; for it was with a view to a journey
to Rome, where the bishop hoped to obtain a cardinal's
hat, that Erasmus entered his service. The authorization of the
Bishop of Utrecht had been obtained, and also that of the prior
and the general of the order. Of course, there was no question
yet of taking leave for good, since, as the bishop's servant,
Erasmus continued to wear his canon's dress. He had prepared
for his departure in the deepest secrecy. There is something
touching in the glimpse we get of his friend and fellow-poet,
William Hermans, waiting in vain outside of Gouda to see his
friend just for a moment, when on his way south he would
pass the town. It seems there had been consultations between
them as to leaving Steyn together, and Erasmus, on his part,
had left him ignorant of his plans. William had to console himself
with the literature that might be had at Steyn.</p>

<hr style='width: 45%;' />

<p>Erasmus, then twenty-five years old&mdash;for in all probability
the year when he left the monastery was 1493&mdash;now set foot
on the path of a career that was very common and much
coveted at that time: that of an intellectual in the shadow of the
great. His patron belonged to one of the numerous Belgian
noble families, which had risen in the service of the Burgundians
and were interestedly devoted to the prosperity of that
house. The Glimes were lords of the important town of
Bergen-op-Zoom, which, situated between the River Scheldt
and the Meuse delta, was one of the links between the northern
and the southern Netherlands. Henry, the Bishop of
Cambray, had just been appointed chancellor of the Order of
the Golden Fleece, the most distinguished spiritual dignity at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span>
court, which although now Habsburg in fact, was still named
after Burgundy. The service of such an important personage
promised almost unbounded honour and profit. Many a man
would under the circumstances, at the cost of some patience,
some humiliation, and a certain laxity of principle, have risen
even to be a bishop. But Erasmus was never a man to make the
most of his situation.</p>

<p>Serving the bishop proved to be rather a disappointment.
Erasmus had to accompany him on his frequent migrations
from one residence to another in Bergen, Brussels, or Mechlin.
He was very busy, but the exact nature of his duties is unknown.
The journey to Rome, the acme of things desirable
to every divine or student, did not come off. The bishop,
although taking a cordial interest in him for some months, was
less accommodating than he had expected. And so we shortly
find Erasmus once more in anything but a cheerful frame of
mind. 'The hardest fate,' he calls his own, which robs him of
all his old sprightliness. Opportunities to study he has none.
He now envies his friend William, who at Steyn in the little
cell can write beautiful poetry, favoured by his 'lucky stars'.
It befits him, Erasmus, only to weep and sigh; it has already so
dulled his mind and withered his heart that his former studies
no longer appeal to him. There is rhetorical exaggeration in
this and we shall not take his pining for the monastery too
seriously, but still it is clear that deep dejection had mastered
him. Contact with the world of politics and ambition had
probably unsettled Erasmus. He never had any aptitude for it.
The hard realities of life frightened and distressed him. When
forced to occupy himself with them he saw nothing but bitterness
and confusion about him. 'Where is gladness or repose?
Wherever I turn my eyes I only see disaster and harshness.
And in such a bustle and clamour about me you wish me to
find leisure for the work of the Muses?'</p>

<p>Real leisure Erasmus was never to find during his life. All
his reading, all his writing, he did hastily, <i>tumultuarie</i>, as he
calls it repeatedly. Yet he must nevertheless have worked with
intensest concentration and an incredible power of assimilation.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span>
Whilst staying with the bishop he visited the monastery of
Groenendael near Brussels, where in former times Ruysbroeck
wrote. Possibly Erasmus did not hear the inmates speak of
Ruysbroeck and he would certainly have taken little pleasure
in the writings of the great mystic. But in the library he found
the works of St. Augustine and these he devoured. The monks
of Groenendael were surprised at his diligence. He took the
volumes with him even to his bedroom.</p>

<p>He occasionally found time to compose at this period. At
Halsteren, near Bergen-op-Zoom, where the bishop had a
country house, he revised the <i>Antibarbari</i>, begun at Steyn, and
elaborated it in the form of a dialogue. It would seem as if he
sought compensation for the agitation of his existence in an
atmosphere of idyllic repose and cultured conversation. He
conveys us to the scene (he will afterwards use it repeatedly)
which ever remained the ideal pleasure of life to him: a garden
or a garden house outside the town, where in the gladness of
a fine day a small number of friends meet to talk during a
simple meal or a quiet walk, in Platonic serenity, about things
of the mind. The personages whom he introduces, besides
himself, are his best friends. They are the valued and faithful
friend whom he got to know at Bergen, James Batt, schoolmaster
and afterwards also clerk of that town, and his old
friend William Hermans of Steyn, whose literary future he
continued somewhat to promote. William, arriving unexpectedly
from Holland, meets the others, who are later joined
by the Burgomaster of Bergen and the town physician. In a
lightly jesting, placid tone they engage in a discussion about
the appreciation of poetry and literature&mdash;Latin literature.
These are not incompatible with true devotion, as barbarous
dullness wants us to believe. A cloud of witnesses is there to
prove it, among them and above all St. Augustine, whom
Erasmus had studied recently, and St. Jerome, with whom
Erasmus had been longer acquainted and whose mind was,
indeed, more congenial to him. Solemnly, in ancient Roman
guise, war is declared on the enemies of classic culture. O ye
Goths, by what right do you occupy, not only the Latin<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span>
provinces (the <i>disciplinae liberales</i> are meant) but the capital,
that is Latinity itself?</p>

<p>It was Batt who, when his prospects with the Bishop of
Cambray ended in disappointment, helped to find a way out
for Erasmus. He himself had studied at Paris, and thither
Erasmus also hoped to go, now that Rome was denied him.
The bishop's consent and the promise of a stipend were obtained
and Erasmus departed for the most famous of all universities,
that of Paris, probably in the late summer of 1495.
Batt's influence and efforts had procured him this lucky chance.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span></p>

<h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Allen No. 16.12 cf. IV p. xx, and <i>vide</i> LB. IV 756, where surveying
the years of his youth he also writes 'Pingere dum meditor tenueis sine
corpore formas'.</p></div>




<h2><a name="chapter_iii" id="chapter_iii"></a>CHAPTER III</h2>

<h3>THE UNIVERSITY OF PARIS</h3>

<h3>1495-9</h3>


<div class="blockquot"><p>The University of Paris&mdash;Traditions and schools of Philosophy and
Theology&mdash;The College of Montaigu&mdash;Erasmus's dislike of scholasticism&mdash;Relations
with the humanist, Robert Gaguin, 1495&mdash;How to earn a living&mdash;First
drafts of several of his educational works&mdash;Travelling to Holland and
back&mdash;Batt and the Lady of Veere&mdash;To England with Lord Mountjoy: 1499</p></div>

<p>The University of Paris was, more than any other place in
Christendom, the scene of the collision and struggle of opinions
and parties. University life in the Middle Ages was in general
tumultuous and agitated. The forms of scientific intercourse
themselves entailed an element of irritability: never-ending
disputations, frequent elections and rowdyism of the students.
To those were added old and new quarrels of all sorts of orders,
schools and groups. The different colleges contended among
themselves, the secular clergy were at variance with the
regular. The Thomists and the Scotists, together called the
Ancients, had been disputing at Paris for half a century with
the Terminists, or Moderns, the followers of Ockam and
Buridan. In 1482 some sort of peace was concluded between
those two groups. Both schools were on their last legs, stuck
fast in sterile technical disputes, in systematizing and subdividing,
a method of terms and words by which science and
philosophy benefited no longer. The theological colleges of
the Dominicans and Franciscans at Paris were declining; theological
teaching was taken over by the secular colleges of
Navarre and Sorbonne, but in the old style.</p>

<p>The general traditionalism had not prevented humanism
from penetrating Paris also during the last quarter of the
fifteenth century. Refinement of Latin style and the taste for
classic poetry here, too, had their fervent champions, just as
revived Platonism, which had sprung up in Italy. The
Parisian humanists were partly Italians as Girolamo Balbi and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span>
Fausto Andrelini, but at that time a Frenchman was considered
to be their leader, Robert Gaguin, general of the order of the
Mathurins or Trinitarians, diplomatist, French poet and
humanist. Side by side with the new Platonism a clearer understanding
of Aristotle penetrated, which had also come from
Italy. Shortly before Erasmus's arrival Jacques Lef&egrave;vre d'&Eacute;taples
had returned from Italy, where he had visited the Platonists,
such as Marsilio Ficino, Pico della Mirandola, and Ermolao
Barbaro, the reviver of Aristotle. Though theoretical theology
and philosophy generally were conservative at Paris, yet here
as well as elsewhere movements to reform the Church were
not wanting. The authority of Jean Gerson, the University's
great chancellor (about 1400), had not yet been forgotten. But
reform by no means meant inclination to depart from the
doctrine of the Church; it aimed, in the first place, at restoration
and purification of the monastic orders and afterwards at
the extermination of abuses which the Church acknowledged
and lamented as existing within its fold. In that spirit of reformation
of spiritual life the Dutch movement of the <i>devotio
moderna</i> had recently begun to make itself felt, also, at Paris.
The chief of its promoters was John Standonck of Mechlin,
educated by the brethren of the Common Life at Gouda and
imbued with their spirit in its most rigorous form. He was an
ascetic more austere than the spirit of the Windesheimians,
strict indeed but yet moderate, required; far beyond ecclesiastical
circles his name was proverbial on account of his abstinence&mdash;he
had definitely denied himself the use of meat. As
provisor of the college of Montaigu he had instituted the most
stringent rules there, enforced by chastisement for the slightest
faults. To the college he had annexed a home for poor scholars,
where they lived in a semi-monastic community.</p>

<p>To this man Erasmus had been recommended by the Bishop
of Cambray. Though he did not join the community of poor
students&mdash;he was nearly thirty years old&mdash;he came to know all
the privations of the system. They embittered the earlier part
of his stay at Paris and instilled in him a deep, permanent
aversion to abstinence and austerity. Had he come to Paris for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span>
this&mdash;to experience the dismal and depressing influences of his
youth anew in a more stringent form?</p>

<p>The purpose for which Erasmus went to Paris was chiefly to
obtain the degree of doctor of theology. This was not too
difficult for him: as a regular he was exempt from previous
study in the faculty of arts, and his learning and astonishing
intelligence and energy enabled him to prepare in a short time
for the examinations and disputations required. Yet he did not
attain this object at Paris. His stay, which with interruptions
lasted, first till 1499, to be continued later, became to him a
period of difficulties and exasperations, of struggle to make his
way by all the humiliating means which at the time were indispensable
to that end; of dawning success, too, which, however,
failed to gratify him.</p>

<p>The first cause of his reverses was a physical one; he could
not endure the hard life in the college of Montaigu. The
addled eggs and squalid bedrooms stuck in his memory all his
life; there he thinks he contracted the beginnings of his later
infirmity. In the <i>Colloquia</i> he has commemorated with abhorrence
Standonck's system of abstinence, privation and
chastisement. For the rest his stay there lasted only until the
spring of 1496.</p>

<p>Meanwhile he had begun his theological studies. He attended
lectures on the Bible and on the Book of the Sentences, the
medieval handbook of theology and still the one most frequently
used. He was even allowed to give some lessons in the
college on Holy Scripture. He preached a few sermons in
honour of the Saints, probably in the neighbouring abbey of
St. Genevi&egrave;ve. But his heart was not in all this. The subtleties
of the schools could not please him. That aversion to all
scholasticism, which he rejected in one sweeping condemnation,
struck root in his mind, which, however broad, always
judged unjustly that for which it had no room. 'Those studies
can make a man opinionated and contentious; can they make
him wise? They exhaust the mind by a certain jejune and
barren subtlety, without fertilizing or inspiring it. By their
stammering and by the stains of their impure style they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span>
disfigure theology which had been enriched and adorned by
the eloquence of the ancients. They involve everything whilst
trying to resolve everything.' 'Scotist', with Erasmus, became
a handy epithet for all schoolmen, nay, for everything superannuated
and antiquated. He would rather lose the whole of
Scotus than Cicero's or Plutarch's works. These he feels the
better for reading, whereas he rises from the study of scholasticism
frigidly disposed towards true virtue, but irritated into
a disputatious mood.</p>

<p>It would, no doubt, have been difficult for Erasmus to find
in the arid traditionalism which prevailed in the University of
Paris the heyday of scholastic philosophy and theology. From
the disputations which he heard in the Sorbonne he brought
back nothing but the habit of scoffing at doctors of theology,
or as he always ironically calls them by their title of honour:
<i>Magistri nostri</i>. Yawning, he sat among 'those holy Scotists'
with their wrinkled brows, staring eyes, and puzzled faces, and
on his return home he writes a disrespectful fantasy to his
young friend Thomas Grey, telling him how he sleeps the
sleep of Epimenides with the divines of the Sorbonne. Epimenides
awoke after his forty-seven years of slumber, but the
majority of our present theologians will never wake up. What
may Epimenides have dreamt? What but subtleties of the
Scotists: quiddities, formalities, etc.! Epimenides himself was
reborn in Scotus, or rather, Epimenides was Scotus's prototype.
For did not he, too, write theological books, in which he tied
such syllogistic knots as he would never have been able to
loosen? The Sorbonne preserves Epimenides's skin written
over with mysterious letters, as an oracle which men may only
see after having borne the title of <i>Magister noster</i> for fifteen
years.</p>

<p>It is not a far cry from caricatures like these to the <i>Sorbonistres</i>
and the <i>Barbouillamenta Scoti</i> of Rabelais. 'It is said', thus
Erasmus concludes his <i>boutade</i>, 'that no one can understand
the mysteries of this science who has had the least intercourse
with the Muses or the Graces. All that you have learned in the
way of <i>bonae literae</i> has to be unlearned first; if you have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span>
drunk of Helicon you must first vomit the draught. I do my
utmost to say nothing according to the Latin taste, and nothing
graceful or witty; and I am already making progress, and there
is hope that one day they will acknowledge Erasmus.'</p>

<p>It was not only the dryness of the method and the barrenness
of the system which revolted Erasmus. It was also the
qualities of his own mind, which, in spite of all its breadth and
acuteness, did not tend to penetrate deeply into philosophical
or dogmatic speculations. For it was not only scholasticism
that repelled him; the youthful Platonism and the rejuvenated
Aristotelianism taught by Lef&egrave;vre d'&Eacute;taples also failed to
attract him. For the present he remained a humanist of
aesthetic bias, with the substratum of a biblical and moral disposition,
resting mainly on the study of his favourite Jerome.
For a long time to come Erasmus considered himself, and also
introduced himself, as a poet and an orator, by which latter
term he meant what we call a man of letters.</p>

<p>Immediately on arriving at Paris he must have sought contact
with the headquarters of literary humanism. The obscure
Dutch regular introduced himself in a long letter (not preserved)
full of eulogy, accompanied by a much-laboured
poem, to the general, not only of the Trinitarians but, at the
same time, of Parisian humanists, Robert Gaguin. The great
man answered very obligingly: 'From your lyrical specimen I
conclude that you are a scholar; my friendship is at your disposal;
do not be so profuse in your praise, that looks like
flattery'. The correspondence had hardly begun when Erasmus
found a splendid opportunity to render this illustrious personage
a service and, at the same time, in the shadow of his name,
make himself known to the reading public. The matter is also
of importance because it affords us an opportunity, for the first
time, to notice the connection that is always found between
Erasmus's career as a man of letters and a scholar and the
technical conditions of the youthful art of printing.</p>

<p>Gaguin was an all-round man and his Latin text-book of the
history of France, <i>De origine et gestis Francorum Compendium</i>,
was just being printed. It was the first specimen of humanistic<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span>
historiography in France. The printer had finished his work
on 30 September 1495, but of the 136 leaves, two remained
blank. This was not permissible according to the notions of
that time. Gaguin was ill and could not help matters. By
judicious spacing the compositor managed to fill up folio 135
with a poem by Gaguin, the colophon and two panegyrics by
Faustus Andrelinus and another humanist. Even then there
was need of matter, and Erasmus dashed into the breach and
furnished a long commendatory letter, completely filling the
superfluous blank space of folio 136.<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> In this way his name and
style suddenly became known to the numerous public which
was interested in Gaguin's historical work, and at the same
time he acquired another title to Gaguin's protection, on
whom the exceptional qualities of Erasmus's diction had evidently
not been lost. That his history would remain known
chiefly because it had been a stepping stone to Erasmus,
Gaguin could hardly have anticipated.</p>

<p>Although Erasmus had now, as a follower of Gaguin, been
introduced into the world of Parisian humanists, the road to
fame, which had latterly begun to lead through the printing
press, was not yet easy for him. He showed the <i>Antibarbari</i> to
Gaguin, who praised them, but no suggestion of publication
resulted. A slender volume of Latin poems by Erasmus was
published in Paris in 1496, dedicated to Hector Boys, a Scotchman,
with whom he had become acquainted at Montaigu.
But the more important writings at which he worked during
his stay in Paris all appeared in print much later.</p>

<p>While intercourse with men like Robert Gaguin and Faustus
Andrelinus might be honourable, it was not directly profitable.
The support of the Bishop of Cambray was scantier than
he wished. In the spring of 1496 he fell ill and left Paris. Going
first to Bergen, he had a kind welcome from his patron, the
bishop; and then, having recovered his health, he went on to
Holland to his friends. It was his intention to stay there, he says.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span>
The friends themselves, however, urged him to return to
Paris, which he did in the autumn of 1496. He carried poetry
by William Hermans and a letter from this poet to Gaguin. A
printer was found for the poems and Erasmus also brought his
friend and fellow-poet into contact with Faustus Andrelinus.</p>

<p>The position of a man who wished to live by intellectual
labour was far from easy at that time and not always dignified.
He had either to live on church prebends or on distinguished
patrons, or on both. But such a prebend was difficult to get
and patrons were uncertain and often disappointing. The publishers
paid considerable copy-fees only to famous authors. As
a rule the writer received a number of copies of his work and
that was all. His chief advantage came from a dedication to
some distinguished personage, who could compliment him
for it with a handsome gift. There were authors who made it a
practice to dedicate the same work repeatedly to different
persons. Erasmus has afterwards defended himself explicitly from
that suspicion and carefully noted how many of those whom
he honoured with a dedication gave nothing or very little.</p>

<p>The first need, therefore, to a man in Erasmus's circumstances
was to find a Maecenas. Maecenas with the humanists was
almost synonymous with paymaster. Under the adage <i>Ne
bos quidem pereat</i> Erasmus has given a description of the
decent way of obtaining a Maecenas. Consequently, when his
conduct in these years appears to us to be actuated, more than
once, by an undignified pushing spirit, we should not gauge it
by our present standards. These were his years of weakness.</p>

<p>On his return to Paris he did not again lodge in Montaigu.
He tried to make a living by giving lessons to young men of
fortune. A merchant's sons of L&uuml;beck, Christian and Henry
Northoff, who lodged with one Augustine Vincent, were his
pupils. He composed beautiful letters for them, witty, fluent
and a trifle scented. At the same time he taught two young
Englishmen, Thomas Grey and Robert Fisher, and conceived
such a doting affection for Grey as to lead to trouble with
the youth's guardian, a Scotchman, by whom Erasmus was
excessively vexed.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span></p>

<p>Paris did not fail to exercise its refining influence on Erasmus.
It made his style affectedly refined and sparkling&mdash;he pretends
to disdain the rustic products of his youth in Holland. In the
meantime, the works through which afterwards his influence
was to spread over the whole world began to grow, but only
to the benefit of a few readers. They remained unprinted as
yet. For the Northoffs was composed the little compendium
of polite conversation (in Latin), <i>Familiarium colloquiorum
formulae</i>, the nucleus of the world-famous <i>Colloquia</i>. For
Robert Fisher he wrote the first draft of <i>De conscribendis
epistolis</i>, the great dissertation on the art of letter-writing
(Latin letters), probably also the paraphrase of Valla's <i>Elegantiae</i>,
a treatise on pure Latin, which had been a beacon-light of
culture to Erasmus in his youth. <i>De copia verborum ac rerum</i> was
also such a help for beginners, to provide them with a vocabulary
and abundance of turns and expressions; and also the germs
of a larger work: <i>De ratione studii</i>, a manual for arranging
courses of study, lay in the same line.</p>

<p>It was a life of uncertainty and unrest. The bishop gave but
little support. Erasmus was not in good health and felt continually
depressed. He made plans for a journey to Italy, but
did not see much chance of effecting them. In the summer of
1498 he again travelled to Holland and to the bishop. In
Holland his friends were little pleased with his studies. It was
feared that he was contracting debts at Paris. Current reports
about him were not favourable. He found the bishop, in the
commotion of his departure for England on a mission, irritable
and full of complaints. It became more and more evident
that he would have to look out for another patron. Perhaps he
might turn to the Lady of Veere, Anna of Borselen, with
whom his faithful and helpful friend Batt had now taken
service, as a tutor to her son, in the castle of Tournehem,
between Calais and Saint Omer.</p>

<p>Upon his return to Paris, Erasmus resumed his old life, but
it was hateful slavery to him. Batt had an invitation for him
to come to Tournehem, but he could not yet bear to leave
Paris. Here he had now as a pupil the young Lord Mountjoy,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span>
William Blount. That meant two strings to his bow. Batt is
incited to prepare the ground for him with Anna of Veere;
William Hermans is charged with writing letters to Mountjoy,
in which he is to praise the latter's love of literature. 'You
should display an erudite integrity, commend me, and proffer
your services kindly. Believe me, William, your reputation,
too, will benefit by it. He is a young man of great authority
with his own folk; you will have some one to distribute your
writings in England. I pray you again and again, if you love
me, take this to heart.'</p>

<p>The visit to Tournehem took place at the beginning of
1499, followed by another journey to Holland. Henceforward
Anna of Veere passed for his patroness. In Holland he saw his
friend William Hermans and told him that he thought of
leaving for Bologna after Easter. The Dutch journey was one
of unrest and bustle; he was in a hurry to return to Paris, not to
miss any opportunity which Mountjoy's affection might offer
him. He worked hard at the various writings on which he was
engaged, as hard as his health permitted after the difficult
journey in winter. He was busily occupied in collecting the
money for travelling to Italy, now postponed until August.
But evidently Batt could not obtain as much for him as he had
hoped, and, in May, Erasmus suddenly gave up the Italian plan,
and left for England with Mountjoy at the latter's request.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span></p>

<p>FOOTNOTES:</p>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> Allen No. 43, p. 145, where the particulars of the case are expounded
with peculiar acuteness and conclusions drawn with regard to the
chronology of Erasmus's stay at Paris.</p></div>




<h2><a name="chapter_iv" id="chapter_iv"></a>CHAPTER IV</h2>

<h3>FIRST STAY IN ENGLAND</h3>

<h3>1499-1500</h3>

<div class="blockquot"><p>First stay in England: 1499-1500&mdash;Oxford: John Colet&mdash;Erasmus's
aspirations directed towards divinity&mdash;He is as yet mainly a literate&mdash;Fisher
and More&mdash;Mishap at Dover when leaving England: 1500&mdash;Back in France
he composes the <i>Adagia</i>&mdash;Years of trouble and penury</p></div>


<p>Erasmus's first stay in England, which lasted from the early
summer of 1499 till the beginning of 1500, was to become for
him a period of inward ripening. He came there as an erudite
poet, the prot&eacute;g&eacute; of a nobleman of rank, on the road to closer
contact with the great world which knew how to appreciate
and reward literary merit. He left the country with the fervent
desire in future to employ his gifts, in so far as circumstances
would permit, in more serious tasks. This change was brought
about by two new friends whom he found in England, whose
personalities were far above those who had hitherto crossed
his path: John Colet and Thomas More.</p>

<p>During all the time of his sojourn in England Erasmus is in
high spirits, for him. At first it is still the man of the world who
speaks, the refined man of letters, who must needs show his
brilliant genius. Aristocratic life, of which he evidently had
seen but little at the Bishop of Cambray's and the Lady of
Veere's at Tournehem, pleased him fairly well, it seems. 'Here
in England', he writes in a light vein to Faustus Andrelinus,
'we have, indeed, progressed somewhat. The Erasmus whom
you know is almost a good hunter already, not too bad a
horseman, a not unpractised courtier. He salutes a little more
courteously, he smiles more kindly. If you are wise, you also
will alight here.' And he teases the volatile poet by telling him
about the charming girls and the laudable custom, which he
found in England, of accompanying all compliments by kisses.<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a></p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span></p>
<p>It even fell to his lot to make the acquaintance of royalty.
From Mountjoy's estate at Greenwich, More, in the course of
a walk, took him to Eltham Palace, where the royal children
were educated. There he saw, surrounded by the whole royal
household, the youthful Henry, who was to be Henry VIII,
a boy of nine years, together with two little sisters and a young
prince, who was still an infant in arms. Erasmus was ashamed
that he had nothing to offer and, on returning home, he composed
(not without exertion, for he had not written poetry at
all for some time) a panegyric on England, which he presented
to the prince with a graceful dedication.</p>

<p>In October Erasmus was at Oxford which, at first, did not
please him, but whither Mountjoy was to follow him. He had
been recommended to John Colet, who declared that he
required no recommendations: he already knew Erasmus from
the letter to Gaguin in the latter's historical work and thought
very highly of his learning. There followed during the remainder
of Erasmus's stay at Oxford a lively intercourse, in
conversation and in correspondence, which definitely decided
the bent of Erasmus's many-sided mind.</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 300px;">
<a href="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:john-huizinga-erasmus-and-the-age-of-reformation-plate-iii.png">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:john-huizinga-erasmus-and-the-age-of-reformation-plate-iii-th.png" width="300" height="344" alt="" title=""/>
</a></div>
<p class="center">Plate III. JOHN COLET, DEAN OF ST. PAUL'S</p>

<p>John Colet, who did not differ much from Erasmus in
point of age, had found his intellectual path earlier and more
easily. Born of well-to-do parents (his father was a London
magistrate and twice lord mayor), he had been able leisurely
to prosecute his studies. Not seduced by quite such a brilliant
genius as Erasmus possessed into literary digressions, he had
from the beginning fixed his attention on theology. He knew
Plato and Plotinus, though not in Greek, was very well read
in the older Fathers and also respectably acquainted with
scholasticism, not to mention his knowledge of mathematics,
law, history and the English poets. In 1496 he had established
himself at Oxford. Without possessing a degree in divinity, he
expounded St. Paul's epistles. Although, owing to his
ignorance of Greek, he was restricted to the Vulgate, he tried
to penetrate to the original meaning of the sacred texts,
discarding the later commentaries.</p>

<p>Colet had a deeply serious nature, always warring against<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span>
the tendencies of his vigorous being, and he kept within
bounds his pride and the love of pleasure. He had a keen
sense of humour, which, without doubt, endeared him to
Erasmus. He was an enthusiast. When defending a point in
theology his ardour changed the sound of his voice, the look
in his eyes, and a lofty spirit permeated his whole person.</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100%;">
<a href="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:john-huizinga-erasmus-and-the-age-of-reformation-plate-iv.png">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:john-huizinga-erasmus-and-the-age-of-reformation-plate-iv.png" width="40%" alt="" title=""/>
</a></div>
<p class="center">Plate IV. SIR THOMAS MORE, 1527</p>

<p>Out of his intercourse with Colet came the first of Erasmus's
theological writings. At the end of a discussion regarding
Christ's agony in the garden of Gethsemane, in which Erasmus
had defended the usual view that Christ's fear of suffering
proceeded from his human nature, Colet had exhorted him to
think further about the matter. They exchanged letters about
it and finally Erasmus committed both their opinions to paper
in the form of a 'Little disputation concerning the anguish,
fear and sadness of Jesus', <i>Disputatiuncula de tedio, pavore,
tristicia Jesu</i>, etc., being an elaboration of these letters.</p>

<p>While the tone of this pamphlet is earnest and pious, it is
not truly fervent. The man of letters is not at once and completely
superseded. 'See, Colet,' thus Erasmus ends his first
letter, referring half ironically to himself, 'how I can observe
the rules of propriety in concluding such a theologic disputation
with poetic fables (he had made use of a few mythologic
metaphors). But as Horace says, <i>Naturam expellas furca, tamen
usque recurret</i>.'</p>

<p>This ambiguous position which Erasmus still occupied, also
in things of the mind, appears still more clearly from the
report which he sent to his new friend, the Frisian John Sixtin,
a Latin poet like himself, of another disputation with Colet,
at a repast, probably in the hall of Magdalen College, where
Wolsey, too, was perhaps present. To his fellow-poet, Erasmus
writes as a poet, loosely and with some affectation. It was a
meal such as he liked, and afterwards frequently pictured in
his <i>Colloquies</i>: cultured company, good food, moderate
drinking, noble conversation. Colet presided. On his right
hand sat the prior Charnock of St. Mary's College, where
Erasmus resided (he had also been present at the disputation
about Christ's agony). On his left was a divine whose name<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span>
is not mentioned, an advocate of scholasticism; next to him
came Erasmus, 'that the poet should not be wanting at the
banquet'. The discussion was about Cain's guilt by which he
displeased the Lord. Colet defended the opinion that Cain had
injured God by doubting the Creator's goodness, and, in
reliance on his own industry, tilling the earth, whereas Abel
tended the sheep and was content with what grew of itself.
The divine contended with syllogisms, Erasmus with arguments
of 'rhetoric'. But Colet kindled, and got the better of
both. After a while, when the dispute had lasted long enough
and had become more serious than was suitable for table-talk&mdash;'then
I said, in order to play my part, the part of the poet
that is&mdash;to abate the contention and at the same time cheer the
meal with a pleasant tale: "it is a very old story, it has to be
unearthed from the very oldest authors. I will tell you what I
found about it in literature, if you will promise me first that
you will not look upon it as a fable."'</p>

<p>And now he relates a witty story of some very ancient
codex in which he had read how Cain, who had often heard
his parents speak of the glorious vegetation of Paradise, where
the ears of corn were as high as the alders with us, had prevailed
upon the angel who guarded it, to give him some
Paradisal grains. God would not mind it, if only he left the
apples alone. The speech by which the angel is incited to disobey
the Almighty is a masterpiece of Erasmian wit. 'Do you
find it pleasant to stand there by the gate with a big sword?
We have just begun to use dogs for that sort of work. It is not
so bad on earth and it will be better still; we shall learn, no
doubt, to cure diseases. What that forbidden knowledge
matters I do not see very clearly. Though, in that matter,
too, unwearied industry surmounts all obstacles.' In this
way the guardian is seduced. But when God beholds the
miraculous effect of Cain's agricultural management, punishment
does not fail to ensue. A more delicate way of combining
Genesis and the Prometheus myth no humanist had
yet invented.</p>

<p>But still, though Erasmus went on conducting himself as a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span>
man of letters among his fellow-poets, his heart was no longer
in those literary exercises. It is one of the peculiarities of
Erasmus's mental growth that it records no violent crises. We
never find him engaged in those bitter inward struggles which
are in the experience of so many great minds. His transition
from interest in literary matters to interest in religious matters
is not in the nature of a process of conversion. There is no
Tarsus in Erasmus's life. The transition takes place gradually
and is never complete. For many years to come Erasmus can,
without suspicion of hypocrisy, at pleasure, as his interests or
his moods require, play the man of letters or the theologian.
He is a man with whom the deeper currents of the soul
gradually rise to the surface; who raises himself to the height
of his ethical consciousness under the stress of circumstances,
rather than at the spur of some irresistible impulse.</p>

<p>The desire to turn only to matters of faith he shows early.
'I have resolved', he writes in his monastic period to Cornelius
of Gouda, 'to write no more poems in the future, except such
as savour of praise of the saints, or of sanctity itself.' But that
was the youthful pious resolve of a moment. During all the
years previous to the first voyage to England, Erasmus's writings,
and especially his letters, betray a worldly disposition. It
only leaves him in moments of illness and weariness. Then
the world displeases him and he despises his own ambition; he
desires to live in holy quiet, musing on Scripture and shedding
tears over his old errors. But these are utterances inspired by
the occasion, which one should not take too seriously.</p>

<p>It was Colet's word and example which first changed
Erasmus's desultory occupation with theological studies into a
firm and lasting resolve to make their pursuit the object of his
life. Colet urged him to expound the Pentateuch or the prophet
Isaiah at Oxford, just as he himself treated of Paul's
epistles. Erasmus declined; he could not do it. This bespoke
insight and self-knowledge, by which he surpassed Colet. The
latter's intuitive Scripture interpretation without knowledge
of the original language failed to satisfy Erasmus. 'You are
acting imprudently, my dear Colet, in trying to obtain water<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span>
from a pumice-stone (in the words of Plautus). How shall I
be so impudent as to teach that which I have not learned myself?
How shall I warm others while shivering and trembling
with cold?... You complain that you find yourself deceived
in your expectations regarding me. But I have never promised
you such a thing; you have deceived yourself by refusing to
believe me when I was telling you the truth regarding myself.
Neither did I come here to teach poetics or rhetoric (Colet had
hinted at that); these have ceased to be sweet to me, since they
ceased to be necessary to me. I decline the one task because it
does not come up to my aim in life; the other because it is
beyond my strength ... But when, one day, I shall be conscious
that the necessary power is in me, I, too, shall choose
your part and devote to the assertion of divinity, if no excellent,
yet sincere labour.'</p>

<p>The inference which Erasmus drew first of all was that he
should know Greek better than he had thus far been able to
learn it.</p>

<p>Meanwhile his stay in England was rapidly drawing to a
close; he had to return to Paris. Towards the end of his sojourn
he wrote to his former pupil, Robert Fisher, who was in Italy,
in a high-pitched tone about the satisfaction which he experienced
in England. A most pleasant and wholesome climate
(he was most sensitive to it); so much humanity and erudition&mdash;not
of the worn-out and trivial sort, but of the recondite,
genuine, ancient, Latin and Greek stamp&mdash;that he need hardly
any more long to go to Italy. In Colet he thought he heard
Plato himself. Grocyn, the Grecian scholar; Linacre, the
learned physician, who would not admire them! And whose
spirit was ever softer, sweeter or happier than that of Thomas
More!</p>

<p>A disagreeable incident occurred as Erasmus was leaving
English soil in January 1500. Unfortunately it not only obscured
his pleasant memories of the happy island, but also
placed another obstacle in the path of his career, and left in
his supersensitive soul a sting which vexed him for years
afterwards.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span></p>

<p>The livelihood which he had been gaining at Paris of late
years was precarious. The support from the bishop had
probably been withdrawn; that of Anna of Veere had trickled
but languidly; he could not too firmly rely on Mountjoy.
Under these circumstances a modest fund, some provision
against a rainy day, was of the highest consequence. Such
savings he brought from England, twenty pounds. An act of
Edward III, re-enacted by Henry VII not long before, prohibited
the export of gold and silver, but More and Mountjoy
had assured Erasmus that he could safely take his money with
him, if only it was not in English coin. At Dover he learned
that the custom-house officers were of a different opinion. He
might only keep six 'angels'&mdash;the rest was left behind in the
hands of the officials and was evidently confiscated.</p>

<p>The shock which this incident gave him perhaps contributed
to his fancying himself threatened by robbers and murderers
on the road from Calais to Paris. The loss of his money
plunged him afresh into perplexity as to his support from day
to day. It forced him to resume the profession of a <i>bel esprit</i>,
which he already began to loathe, and to take all the humiliating
steps to get what was due to it from patrons. And, above
all, it affected his mental balance and his dignity. Yet this mishap
had its great advantage for the world, and for Erasmus,
too, after all. To it the world owes the <i>Adagia</i>; and he the
fame, which began with this work.</p>

<p>The feelings with which his misfortune at Dover inspired
Erasmus were bitter anger and thirst for revenge. A few
months later he writes to Batt: 'Things with me are as they
are wont to be in such cases: the wound received in England
begins to smart only now that it has become inveterate, and
that the more as I cannot have my revenge in any way'. And
six months later, 'I shall swallow it. An occasion may offer
itself, no doubt, to be even with them.' Yet meanwhile true
insight told this man, whose strength did not always attain to
his ideals, that the English, whom he had just seen in such a
favourable light, let alone his special friends among them,
were not accessories to the misfortune. He never reproached<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span>
More and Mountjoy, whose inaccurate information, he tells
us, had done the harm. At the same time his interest, which he
always saw in the garb of virtue, told him that now especially
it would be essential not to break off his relations with
England, and that this gave him a splendid chance of strengthening
them. Afterwards he explained this with a na&iuml;vet&eacute; which
often causes his writings, especially where he tries to suppress
or cloak matters, to read like confessions.</p>

<p>'Returning to Paris a poor man, I understood that many
would expect I should take revenge with my pen for this
mishap, after the fashion of men of letters, by writing something
venomous against the king or against England. At the
same time I was afraid that William Mountjoy, having indirectly
caused my loss of money, would be apprehensive of
losing my affection. In order, therefore, both to put the expectations
of those people to shame, and to make known that I
was not so unfair as to blame the country for a private wrong,
or so inconsiderate as, because of a small loss, to risk making
the king displeased with myself or with my friends in England,
and at the same time to give my friend Mountjoy a proof that
I was no less kindly disposed towards him than before, I
resolved to publish something as quickly as possible. As I had
nothing ready, I hastily brought together, by a few days'
reading, a collection of Adagia, in the supposition that such a
booklet, however it might turn out, by its mere usefulness
would get into the hands of students. In this way I demonstrated
that my friendship had not cooled off at all. Next, in a
poem I subjoined, I protested that I was not angry with the
king or with the country at being deprived of my money. And
my scheme was not ill received. That moderation and candour
procured me a good many friends in England at the time&mdash;erudite,
upright and influential men.'</p>

<p>This is a characteristic specimen of semi-ethical conduct. In
this way Erasmus succeeded in dealing with his indignation,
so that later on he could declare, when the recollection came
up occasionally, 'At one blow I had lost all my fortune, but I
was so unconcerned that I returned to my books all the more<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span>
cheerfully and ardently'. But his friends knew how deep the
wound had been. 'Now (on hearing that Henry VIII had
ascended the throne) surely all bitterness must have suddenly
left your soul,' Mountjoy writes to him in 1509, possibly
through the pen of Ammonius.</p>

<p>The years after his return to France were difficult ones. He
was in great need of money and was forced to do what he
could, as a man of letters, with his talents and knowledge.
He had again to be the <i>homo poeticus</i> or <i>rhetoricus</i>. He writes
polished letters full of mythology and modest mendicity. As a
poet he had a reputation; as a poet he could expect support.
Meanwhile the elevating picture of his theological activities
remained present before his mind's eye. It nerves him to
energy and perseverance. 'It is incredible', he writes to Batt,
'how my soul yearns to finish all my works, at the same time
becoming somewhat proficient in Greek, and afterwards to
devote myself entirely to the sacred learning after which my
soul has been hankering for a long time. I am in fairly good
health, so I shall have to strain every nerve this year (1501) to
get the work we gave the printer published, and by dealing
with theological problems, to expose our cavillers, who are
very numerous, as they deserve. If three more years of life are
granted me, I shall be beyond the reach of envy.'</p>

<p>Here we see him in a frame of mind to accomplish great
things, though not merely under the impulse of true devotion.
Already he sees the restoration of genuine divinity as his task;
unfortunately the effusion is contained in a letter in which he
instructs the faithful Batt as to how he should handle the Lady
of Veere in order to wheedle money out of her.</p>

<p>For years to come the efforts to make a living were to cause
him almost constant tribulations and petty cares. He had had
more than enough of France and desired nothing better than
to leave it. Part of the year 1500 he spent at Orl&eacute;ans. Adversity
made him narrow. There is the story of his relations with
Augustine Vincent Caminade, a humanist of lesser rank (he
ended as syndic of Middelburg), who took young men as
lodgers. It is too long to detail here, but remarkable enough as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span>
revealing Erasmus's psychology, for it shows how deeply he
mistrusted his friends. There are also his relations with
Jacobus Voecht, in whose house he evidently lived gratuitously
and for whom he managed to procure a rich lodger in the
person of an illegitimate brother of the Bishop of Cambray.
At this time, Erasmus asserts, the bishop (Antimaecenas he
now calls him) set Standonck to dog him in Paris.</p>

<p>Much bitterness there is in the letters of this period. Erasmus
is suspicious, irritable, exacting, sometimes rude in writing to
his friends. He cannot bear William Hermans any longer
because of his epicureanism and his lack of energy, to which
he, Erasmus, certainly was a stranger. But what grieves us
most is the way he speaks to honest Batt. He is highly praised,
certainly. Erasmus promises to make him immortal, too. But
how offended he is, when Batt cannot at once comply with his
imperious demands. How almost shameless are his instructions
as to what Batt is to tell the Lady of Veere, in order to solicit
her favour for Erasmus. And how meagre the expressions of
his sorrow, when the faithful Batt is taken from him by death
in the first half of 1502.</p>

<p>It is as if Erasmus had revenged himself on Batt for having
been obliged to reveal himself to his true friend in need more
completely than he cared to appear to anyone; or for having
disavowed to Anna of Borselen his fundamental convictions,
his most refined taste, for the sake of a meagre gratuity. He has
paid homage to her in that ponderous Burgundian style with
which dynasties in the Netherlands were familiar, and which
must have been hateful to him. He has flattered her formal
piety. 'I send you a few prayers, by means of which you could,
as by incantations, call down, even against her will, from
Heaven, so to say, not the moon, but her who gave birth to
the sun of justice.'</p>

<p>Did you smile your delicate smile, O author of the <i>Colloquies</i>,
while writing this? So much the worse for you.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span></p>

<p>FOOTNOTES:</p>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> Allen No. 103.17. Cf. <i>Chr. Matrim. inst.</i> LB. V. 678 and <i>Cent
nouvelles</i> 2.63, 'ung baiser, dont les dames et demoiselles du dit pays
d'Angleterre sont assez lib&eacute;rales de l'accorder'.</p></div>




<h2><a name="chapter_v" id="chapter_v"></a>CHAPTER V</h2>

<h3>ERASMUS AS A HUMANIST</h3>

<div class="blockquot"><p>Significance of the <i>Adagia</i> and similar works of later years&mdash;Erasmus as a
divulger of classical culture&mdash;Latin&mdash;Estrangement from Holland&mdash;Erasmus
as a Netherlander</p></div>


<p>Meanwhile renown came to Erasmus as the fruit of those
literary studies which, as he said, had ceased to be dear to him.
In 1500 that work appeared which Erasmus had written after
his misfortune at Dover, and had dedicated to Mountjoy, the
<i>Adagiorum Collectanea</i>. It was a collection of about eight
hundred proverbial sayings drawn from the Latin authors of
antiquity and elucidated for the use of those who aspired to
write an elegant Latin style. In the dedication Erasmus pointed
out the profit an author may derive, both in ornamenting his
style and in strengthening his argumentation, from having at
his disposal a good supply of sentences hallowed by their
antiquity. He proposes to offer such a help to his readers.
What he actually gave was much more. He familiarized a much
wider circle than the earlier humanists had reached with the
spirit of antiquity.</p>

<p>Until this time the humanists had, to some extent, monopolized
the treasures of classic culture, in order to parade their
knowledge of which the multitude remained destitute, and so
to become strange prodigies of learning and elegance. With
his irresistible need of teaching and his sincere love for
humanity and its general culture, Erasmus introduced the
classic spirit, in so far as it could be reflected in the soul of a
sixteenth-century Christian, among the people. Not he alone;
but none more extensively and more effectively. Not among
all the people, it is true, for by writing in Latin he limited his
direct influence to the educated classes, which in those days
were the upper classes.</p>

<p>Erasmus made current the classic spirit. Humanism ceased
to be the exclusive privilege of a few. According to Beatus
Rhenanus he had been reproached by some humanists, when<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span>
about to publish the <i>Adagia</i>, for divulging the mysteries of
their craft. But he desired that the book of antiquity should
be open to all.</p>

<p>The literary and educational works of Erasmus, the chief of
which were begun in his Parisian period, though most of them
appeared much later, have, in truth, brought about a transmutation
of the general modes of expression and of argumentation.
It should be repeated over and over again that this was
not achieved by him single-handed; countless others at that
time were similarly engaged. But we have only to cast an eye
on the broad current of editions of the <i>Adagia</i>, of the <i>Colloquia</i>,
etc., to realize of how much greater consequence he was in
this respect than all the others. 'Erasmus' is the only name in
all the host of humanists which has remained a household
word all over the globe.</p>

<p>Here we will anticipate the course of Erasmus's life for a
moment, to enumerate the principal works of this sort. Some
years later the <i>Adagia</i> increased from hundreds to thousands,
through which not only Latin, but also Greek, wisdom spoke.
In 1514 he published in the same manner a collection of
similitudes, <i>Parabolae</i>. It was a partial realization of what he
had conceived to supplement the <i>Adagia</i>&mdash;metaphors, saws,
allusions, poetical and scriptural allegories, all to be dealt with
in a similar way. Towards the end of his life he published a
similar thesaurus of the witty anecdotes and the striking words
or deeds of wisdom of antiquity, the <i>Apophthegmata</i>. In addition
to these collections, we find manuals of a more grammatical
nature, also piled up treasury-like: 'On the stock of
expressions', <i>De copia verborum et rerum</i>, 'On letter-writing',
<i>De conscribendis epistolis</i>, not to mention works of less importance.
By a number of Latin translations of Greek authors
Erasmus had rendered a point of prospect accessible to those
who did not wish to climb the whole mountain. And, finally,
as inimitable models of the manner in which to apply all
that knowledge, there were the <i>Colloquia</i> and that almost
countless multitude of letters which have flowed from
Erasmus's pen.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span></p>

<p>All this collectively made up antiquity (in such quantity and
quality as it was obtainable in the sixteenth century) exhibited
in an emporium where it might be had at retail. Each
student could get what was to his taste; everything was to be
had there in a great variety of designs. 'You may read my
<i>Adagia</i> in such a manner', says Erasmus (of the later augmented
edition), 'that as soon as you have finished one, you
may imagine you have finished the whole book.' He himself
made indices to facilitate its use.</p>

<p>In the world of scholasticism he alone had up to now been
considered an authority who had mastered the technicalities
of its system of thought and its mode of expression in all its
details and was versed in biblical knowledge, logic and philosophy.
Between scholastic parlance and the spontaneously
written popular languages, there yawned a wide gulf. Humanism
since Petrarch had substituted for the rigidly syllogistic
structure of an argument the loose style of the antique, free,
suggestive phrase. In this way the language of the learned
approached the natural manner of expression of daily life and
raised the popular languages, even where it continued to use
Latin, to its own level.</p>

<p>The wealth of subject-matter was found with no one in
greater abundance than with Erasmus. What knowledge of
life, what ethics, all supported by the indisputable authority of
the Ancients, all expressed in that fine, airy form for which he
was admired. And such knowledge of antiquities in addition
to all this! Illimitable was the craving for and illimitable the
power to absorb what is extraordinary in real life. This was
one of the principal characteristics of the spirit of the Renaissance.
These minds never had their desired share of striking
incidents, curious details, rarities and anomalies. There was, as
yet, no symptom of that mental dyspepsia of later periods,
which can no longer digest reality and relishes it no more.
Men revelled in plenty.</p>

<p>And yet, were not Erasmus and his fellow-workers as
leaders of civilization on a wrong track? Was it true reality<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span>
they were aiming at? Was their proud Latinity not a fatal
error? There is one of the crucial points of history.</p>

<p>A present-day reader who should take up the <i>Adagia</i> or the
<i>Apophthegmata</i> with a view to enriching his own life (for they
were meant for this purpose and it is what gave them value),
would soon ask himself: 'What matter to us, apart from strictly
philological or historical considerations, those endless details
concerning obscure personages of antique society, of Phrygians,
of Thessalians? They are nothing to me.' And&mdash;he will
continue&mdash;they really mattered nothing to Erasmus's contemporaries
either. The stupendous history of the sixteenth
century was not enacted in classic phrases or turns; it was not
based on classic interests or views of life. There were no
Phrygians and Thessalians, no Agesilauses or Dionysiuses. The
humanists created out of all this a mental realm, emancipated
from the limitations of time.</p>

<p>And did their own times pass without being influenced by
them? That is the question, and we shall not attempt to answer
it: to what extent did humanism influence the course of events?</p>

<p>In any case Erasmus and his coadjutors greatly heightened
the international character of civilization which had existed
throughout the Middle Ages because of Latin and of the
Church. If they thought they were really making Latin a
vehicle for daily international use, they overrated their power.
It was, no doubt, an amusing fancy and a witty exercise to
plan, in such an international <i>milieu</i> as the Parisian student
world, such models of sports and games in Latin as the <i>Colloquiorum
formulae</i> offered. But can Erasmus have seriously
thought that the next generation would play at marbles in
Latin?</p>

<p>Still, intellectual intercourse undoubtedly became very
easy in so wide a circle as had not been within reach in Europe
since the fall of the Roman Empire. Henceforth it was no
longer the clergy alone, and an occasional literate, but a
numerous multitude of sons of burghers and nobles, qualifying
for some magisterial office, who passed through a
grammar-school and found Erasmus in their path.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span></p>

<p>Erasmus could not have attained to his world-wide celebrity
if it had not been for Latin. To make his native tongue a universal
language was beyond him. It may well puzzle a fellow-countryman
of Erasmus to guess what a talent like his, with
his power of observation, his delicacy of expression, his gusto
and wealth, might have meant to Dutch literature. Just imagine
the <i>Colloquia</i> written in the racy Dutch of the sixteenth
century! What could he not have produced if, instead of gleaning
and commenting upon classic Adagia, he had, for his
themes, availed himself of the proverbs of the vernacular?
To us such a proverb is perhaps even more sapid than the
sometimes slightly finical turns praised by Erasmus.</p>

<p>This, however, is to reason unhistorically; this was not what
the times required and what Erasmus could give. It is quite
clear why Erasmus could only write in Latin. Moreover, in
the vernacular everything would have appeared too direct,
too personal, too real, for his taste. He could not do without
that thin veil of vagueness, of remoteness, in which everything
is wrapped when expressed in Latin. His fastidious mind would
have shrunk from the pithy coarseness of a Rabelais, or the
rustic violence of Luther's German.</p>

<p>Estrangement from his native tongue had begun for Erasmus
as early as the days when he learned reading and writing.
Estrangement from the land of his birth set in when he left the
monastery of Steyn. It was furthered not a little by the ease
with which he handled Latin. Erasmus, who could express
himself as well in Latin as in his mother tongue, and even
better, consequently lacked the experience of, after all, feeling
thoroughly at home and of being able to express himself fully,
only among his compatriots. There was, however, another
psychological influence which acted to alienate him from
Holland. After he had seen at Paris the perspectives of his own
capacities, he became confirmed in the conviction that
Holland failed to appreciate him, that it distrusted and slandered
him. Perhaps there was indeed some ground for this
conviction. But, partly, it was also a reaction of injured self-love.
In Holland people knew too much about him. They had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span>
seen him in his smallnesses and feebleness. There he had been
obliged to obey others&mdash;he who, above all things, wanted to
be free. Distaste of the narrow-mindedness, the coarseness and
intemperance which he knew to prevail there, were summed
up, within him, in a general condemnatory judgement of the
Dutch character.</p>

<p>Henceforth he spoke as a rule about Holland with a sort of
apologetic contempt. 'I see that you are content with Dutch
fame,' he writes to his old friend William Hermans, who like
Cornelius Aurelius had begun to devote his best forces to the
history of his native country. 'In Holland the air is good for
me,' he writes elsewhere, 'but the extravagant carousals annoy
me; add to this the vulgar uncultured character of the people,
the violent contempt of study, no fruit of learning, the most
egregious envy.' And excusing the imperfection of his juvenilia,
he says: 'At that time I wrote not for Italians, but for
Hollanders, that is to say, for the dullest ears'. And, in another
place, 'eloquence is demanded from a Dutchman, that is, from
a more hopeless person than a B[oe]otian'. And again, 'If the
story is not very witty, remember it is a Dutch story'. No
doubt, false modesty had its share in such sayings.</p>

<p>After 1496 he visited Holland only on hasty journeys. There
is no evidence that after 1501 he ever set foot on Dutch soil.
He dissuaded his own compatriots abroad from returning to
Holland.</p>

<p>Still, now and again, a cordial feeling of sympathy for his
native country stirred within him. Just where he would have
had an opportunity, in explaining Martial's <i>Auris Batava</i> in the
<i>Adagia</i>, for venting his spleen, he availed himself of the chance
of writing an eloquent panegyric on what was dearest to him
in Holland, 'a country that I am always bound to honour and
revere, as that which gave me birth. Would I might be a
credit to it, just as, on the other hand, I need not be ashamed
of it.' Their reputed boorishness rather redounds to their
honour. 'If a "Batavian ear" means a horror of Martial's
obscene jokes, I could wish that all Christians might have
Dutch ears. When we consider their morals, no nation is more<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span>
inclined to humanity and benevolence, less savage or cruel.
Their mind is upright and void of cunning and all humbug.
If they are somewhat sensual and excessive at meals, it results
partly from their plentiful supply: nowhere is import so easy
and fertility so great. What an extent of lush meadows, how
many navigable rivers! Nowhere are so many towns crowded
together within so small an area; not large towns, indeed, but
excellently governed. Their cleanliness is praised by everybody.
Nowhere are such large numbers of moderately learned
persons found, though extraordinary and exquisite erudition
is rather rare.'</p>

<p>They were Erasmus's own most cherished ideals which he
here ascribes to his compatriots&mdash;gentleness, sincerity, simplicity,
purity. He sounds that note of love for Holland on
other occasions. When speaking of lazy women, he adds: 'In
France there are large numbers of them, but in Holland we
find countless wives who by their industry support their idling
and revelling husbands'. And in the colloquy entitled 'The
Shipwreck', the people who charitably take in the castaways
are Hollanders. 'There is no more humane people than this,
though surrounded by violent nations.'</p>

<p>In addressing English readers it is perhaps not superfluous
to point out once again that Erasmus when speaking of
Holland, or using the epithet 'Batavian', refers to the county
of Holland, which at present forms the provinces of North
and South Holland of the kingdom of the Netherlands, and
stretches from the Wadden islands to the estuaries of the
Meuse. Even the nearest neighbours, such as Zealanders and
Frisians, are not included in this appellation.</p>

<p>But it is a different matter when Erasmus speaks of <i>patria</i>,
the fatherland, or of <i>nostras</i>, a compatriot. In those days a
national consciousness was just budding all over the Netherlands.
A man still felt himself a Hollander, a Frisian, a Fleming,
a Brabantine in the first place; but the community of language
and customs, and still more the strong political influence which
for nearly a century had been exercised by the Burgundian
dynasty, which had united most of these low countries under<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span>
its sway, had cemented a feeling of solidarity which did not
even halt at the linguistic frontier in Belgium. It was still
rather a strong Burgundian patriotism (even after Habsburg
had <i>de facto</i> occupied the place of Burgundy) than a strictly
Netherlandish feeling of nationality. People liked, by using
a heraldic symbol, to designate the Netherlander as 'the
Lions'. Erasmus, too, employs the term. In his works we
gradually see the narrower Hollandish patriotism gliding into
the Burgundian Netherlandish. In the beginning, <i>patria</i> with
him still means Holland proper, but soon it meant the Netherlands.
It is curious to trace how by degrees his feelings regarding
Holland, made up of disgust and attachment, are transferred
to the Low Countries in general. 'In my youth', he says
in 1535, repeating himself, 'I did not write for Italians but
for Hollanders, the people of Brabant and Flemings.' So they
now all share the reputation of bluntness. To Louvain is applied
what formerly was said of Holland: there are too many compotations;
nothing can be done without a drinking bout. Nowhere,
he repeatedly complains, is there so little sense of the
<i>bonae literae</i>, nowhere is study so despised as in the Netherlands,
and nowhere are there more cavillers and slanderers.
But also his affection has expanded. When Longolius of
Brabant plays the Frenchman, Erasmus is vexed: 'I devoted
nearly three days to Longolius; he was uncommonly pleasing,
except only that he is too French, whereas it is well known
that he is one of us'.<a name="FNanchor_4_4" id="FNanchor_4_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> When Charles V has obtained the crown
of Spain, Erasmus notes: 'a singular stroke of luck, but I pray
that it may also prove a blessing to the fatherland, and not only
to the prince'. When his strength was beginning to fail he
began to think more and more of returning to his native
country. 'King Ferdinand invites me, with large promises, to
come to Vienna,' he writes from Basle, 1 October 1528, 'but
nowhere would it please me better to rest than in Brabant.'</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 300px;">
<a href="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:john-huizinga-erasmus-and-the-age-of-reformation-plate-v.png">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:john-huizinga-erasmus-and-the-age-of-reformation-plate-v-th.png" width="300" height="379" alt="" title=""/>
</a></div>
<p class="center">Plate V. Doodles by Erasmus in the margin of one of his manuscripts.</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 250px;">
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<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:john-huizinga-erasmus-and-the-age-of-reformation-plate-vi-th.png" width="250" height="293" alt="" title=""/>
</a></div>
<p class="center">Plate VI. A manuscript page of Erasmus<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span></p>

<p>FOOTNOTES:</p>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_4_4" id="Footnote_4_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_4"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> Allen No. 1026.4, cf. 914, intr. p. 473. Later Erasmus was made to
believe that Longolius was a Hollander, cf. LBE. 1507 A.</p></div>




<h2><a name="chapter_vi" id="chapter_vi"></a>CHAPTER VI</h2>

<h3>THEOLOGICAL ASPIRATIONS</h3>

<h3>1501</h3>

<div class="blockquot"><p>At Tournehem: 1501&mdash;The restoration of theology now the aim of his
life&mdash;He learns Greek&mdash;John Vitrier&mdash;<i>Enchiridion Militis Christiani</i></p></div>


<p>The lean years continued with Erasmus. His livelihood remained
uncertain, and he had no fixed abode. It is remarkable
that, in spite of his precarious means of support, his movements
were ever guided rather by the care for his health than for his
sustenance, and his studies rather by his burning desire to
penetrate to the purest sources of knowledge than by his
advantage. Repeatedly the fear of the plague drives him on:
in 1500 from Paris to Orl&eacute;ans, where he first lodges with
Augustine Caminade; but when one of the latter's boarders
falls ill, Erasmus moves. Perhaps it was the impressions dating
from his youth at Deventer that made him so excessively
afraid of the plague, which in those days raged practically
without intermission. Faustus Andrelinus sent a servant to
upbraid him in his name with cowardice: 'That would be an
intolerable insult', Erasmus answers, 'if I were a Swiss soldier,
but a poet's soul, loving peace and shady places, is proof against
it'. In the spring of 1501 he leaves Paris once more for fear of
the plague: 'the frequent burials frighten me', he writes to
Augustine.</p>

<p>He travelled first to Holland, where, at Steyn, he obtained
leave to spend another year outside the monastery, for the sake
of study; his friends would be ashamed if he returned, after
so many years of study, without having acquired some
authority. At Haarlem he visited his friend William Hermans,
then turned to the south, once again to pay his respects to the
Bishop of Cambray, probably at Brussels. Thence he went to
Veere, but found no opportunity to talk to his patroness. In
July 1501, he subsided into quietness at the castle of Tournehem
with his faithful friend Batt.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span></p>

<p>In all his comings and goings he does not for a moment lose
sight of his ideals of study. Since his return from England he is
mastered by two desires: to edit Jerome, the great Father of
the Church, and, especially, to learn Greek thoroughly. 'You
understand how much all this matters to my fame, nay, to my
preservation,' he writes (from Orl&eacute;ans towards the end of
1500) to Batt. But, indeed, had Erasmus been an ordinary
fame and success hunter he might have had recourse to plenty
of other expedients. It was the ardent desire to penetrate to the
source and to make others understand that impelled him, even
when he availed himself of these projects of study to raise a
little money. 'Listen,' he writes to Batt, 'to what more I desire
from you. You must wrest a gift from the abbot (of Saint
Bertin). You know the man's disposition; invent some modest
and plausible reason for begging. Tell him that I purpose
something grand, viz., to restore the whole of Jerome, however
comprehensive he may be, and spoiled, mutilated, entangled
by the ignorance of divines; and to re-insert the Greek
passages. I venture to say, I shall be able to lay open the antiquities
and the style of Jerome, understood by no one as yet.
Tell him that I shall want not a few books for the purpose, and
moreover the help of Greeks, and that therefore I require
support. In saying this, Battus, you will be telling no lies. For
I really mean to do all this.'</p>

<p>He was, indeed, in a serious mood on this point, as he was
soon to prove to the world. His conquest of Greek was a
veritable feat of heroism. He had learned the simplest rudiments
at Deventer, but these evidently amounted to very
little. In March, 1500, he writes to Batt: 'Greek is nearly killing
me, but I have no time and I have no money to buy books
or to take a master'. When Augustine Caminade wants his
Homer back which he had lent to him, Erasmus complains:
'You deprive me of my sole consolation in my tedium. For I
so burn with love for this author, though I cannot understand
him, that I feast my eyes and re-create my mind by looking at
him.' Was Erasmus aware that in saying this he almost literally
reproduced feelings which Petrarch had expressed a hundred<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span>
and fifty years before? But he had already begun to study.
Whether he had a master is not quite clear, but it is probable.
He finds the language difficult at first. Then gradually he ventures
to call himself 'a candidate in this language', and he
begins with more confidence to scatter Greek quotations
through his letters. It occupies him night and day and he urges
all his friends to procure Greek books for him. In the autumn
of 1502 he declares that he can properly write all he wants in
Greek, and that extempore. He was not deceived in his expectation
that Greek would open his eyes to the right understanding
of Holy Scripture. Three years of nearly uninterrupted study
amply rewarded him for his trouble. Hebrew, which he had
also taken up, he abandoned. At that time (1504) he made
translations from the Greek, he employed it critically in his
theological studies, he taught it, amongst others, to William
Cop, the French physician-humanist. A few years later he
was to find little in Italy to improve his proficiency in Greek;
he was afterwards inclined to believe that he carried more of
the two ancient languages to that country than he brought back.</p>

<p>Nothing testifies more to the enthusiasm with which
Erasmus applied himself to Greek than his zeal to make his
best friends share in its blessings. Batt, he decided, should learn
Greek. But Batt had no time, and Latin appealed more to him.
When Erasmus goes to Haarlem to visit William Hermans, it
is to make him a Greek scholar too; he has brought a handbag
full of books. But he had only his trouble for his pains.
William did not take at all kindly to this study and Erasmus
was so disappointed that he not only considered his money and
trouble thrown away, but also thought he had lost a friend.</p>

<p>Meanwhile he was still undecided where he should go in the
near future. To England, to Italy, or back to Paris? In the end
he made a fairly long stay as a guest, from the autumn of 1501
till the following summer, first at Saint Omer, with the prior
of Saint Bertin, and afterwards at the castle of Courtebourne,
not far off.</p>

<p>At Saint Omer, Erasmus became acquainted with a man
whose image he was afterwards to place beside that of Colet as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span>
that of a true divine, and of a good monk at the same time:
Jean Vitrier, the warden of the Franciscan monastery at Saint
Omer. Erasmus must have felt attracted to a man who was
burdened with a condemnation pronounced by the Sorbonne
on account of his too frank expressions regarding the abuses
of monastic life. Vitrier had not given up the life on that
account, but he devoted himself to reforming monasteries and
convents. Having progressed from scholasticism to Saint Paul,
he had formed a very liberal conception of Christian life,
strongly opposed to practices and ceremonies. This man,
without doubt, considerably influenced the origin of one of
Erasmus's most celebrated and influential works, the <i>Enchiridion
militis Christiani</i>.</p>

<p>Erasmus himself afterwards confessed that the <i>Enchiridion</i>
was born by chance. He did not reflect that some outward
circumstance is often made to serve an inward impulse. The
outward circumstance was that the castle of Tournehem was
frequented by a soldier, a friend of Batt, a man of very dissolute
conduct, who behaved very badly towards his pious wife,
and who was, moreover, an uncultured and violent hater of
priests.<a name="FNanchor_5_5" id="FNanchor_5_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a> For the rest he was of a kindly disposition and excepted
Erasmus from his hatred of divines. The wife used her
influence with Batt to get Erasmus to write something which
might bring her husband to take an interest in religion. Erasmus
complied with the request and Jean Vitrier concurred so
cordially with the views expressed in these notes that Erasmus
afterwards elaborated them at Louvain; in 1504 they were
published at Antwerp by Dirck Maertensz.</p>

<p>This is the outward genesis of the <i>Enchiridion</i>. But the inward
cause was that sooner or later Erasmus was bound to
formulate his attitude towards the religious conduct of the
life of his day and towards ceremonial and soulless conceptions
of Christian duty, which were an eyesore to him.</p>

<p>In point of form the <i>Enchiridion</i> is a manual for an illiterate<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span>
soldier to attain to an attitude of mind worthy of Christ; as
with a finger he will point out to him the shortest path to
Christ. He assumes the friend to be weary of life at court&mdash;a
common theme of contemporary literature. Only for a few
days does Erasmus interrupt the work of his life, the purification
of theology, to comply with his friend's request for
instruction. To keep up a soldierly style he chooses the title,
<i>Enchiridion</i>, the Greek word that even in antiquity meant both
a poniard and a manual:<a name="FNanchor_6_6" id="FNanchor_6_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a> 'The poniard of the militant Christian'.<a name="FNanchor_7_7" id="FNanchor_7_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_7_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a>
He reminds him of the duty of watchfulness and enumerates
the weapons of Christ's militia. Self-knowledge is the
beginning of wisdom. The general rules of the Christian
conduct of life are followed by a number of remedies for
particular sins and faults.</p>

<p>Such is the outward frame. But within this scope Erasmus
finds an opportunity, for the first time, to develop his theological
programme. This programme calls upon us to return
to Scripture. It should be the endeavour of every Christian to
understand Scripture in its purity and original meaning. To
that end he should prepare himself by the study of the
Ancients, orators, poets, philosophers; Plato especially. Also
the great Fathers of the Church, Jerome, Ambrose, Augustine
will be found useful, but not the large crowd of subsequent
exegetists. The argument chiefly aims at subverting the conception
of religion as a continual observance of ceremonies.
This is Judaic ritualism and of no value. It is better to understand
a single verse of the psalms well, by this means to deepen
one's understanding of God and of oneself, and to draw a
moral and line of conduct from it, than to read the whole
psalter without attention. If the ceremonies do not renew the
soul they are valueless and hurtful. 'Many are wont to count<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span>
how many masses they have heard every day, and referring to
them as to something very important, as though they owed
Christ nothing else, they return to their former habits after
leaving church.' 'Perhaps you sacrifice every day and yet you
live for yourself. You worship the saints, you like to touch
their relics; do you want to earn Peter and Paul? Then copy
the faith of the one and the charity of the other and you will
have done more than if you had walked to Rome ten times.'
He does not reject formulae and practices; he does not want to
shake the faith of the humble but he cannot suffer that Christ
is offered a cult made up of practices only. And why is it the
monks, above all, who contribute to the deterioration of
faith? 'I am ashamed to tell how superstitiously most of them
observe certain petty ceremonies, invented by puny human
minds (and not even for this purpose), how hatefully they
want to force others to conform to them, how implicitly they
trust them, how boldly they condemn others.'</p>

<p>Let Paul teach them true Christianity. 'Stand fast therefore
in the liberty wherewith Christ hath made us free, and be not
entangled again with the yoke of bondage.' This word to the
Galatians contains the doctrine of Christian liberty, which
soon at the Reformation was to resound so loudly. Erasmus
did not apply it here in a sense derogatory to the dogmatics of
the Catholic Church; but still it is a fact that the <i>Enchiridion</i>
prepared many minds to give up much that he still wanted to
keep.</p>

<p>The note of the <i>Enchiridion</i> is already what was to remain
the note of Erasmus's life-work: how revolting it is that in this
world the substance and the shadow differ so and that the
world reverences those whom it should not reverence; that a
hedge of infatuation, routine and thoughtlessness prevents
mankind from seeing things in their true proportions. He
expresses it later in the <i>Praise of Folly</i> and in the <i>Colloquies</i>.
It is not merely religious feeling, it is equally social feeling that
inspired him. Under the heading: Opinions worthy of a
Christian, he laments the extremes of pride of class, national
hostility, professional envy, and rivalry between religious<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span>
orders, which keep men apart. Let everybody sincerely concern
himself about his brother. 'Throwing dice cost you a
thousand gold pieces in one night, and meanwhile some
wretched girl, compelled by poverty, sold her modesty; and a
soul is lost for which Christ gave his own. You say, what is
that to me? I mind my own business, according to my lights.
And yet you, holding such opinions, consider yourself a Christian,
who are not even a man!'</p>

<p>In the <i>Enchiridion</i> of the militant Christian, Erasmus had for
the first time said the things which he had most at heart, with
fervour and indignation, with sincerity and courage. And yet
one would hardly say that this booklet was born of an irresistible
impulse of ardent piety. Erasmus treats it, as we have
seen, as a trifle, composed at the request of a friend in a couple
of days stolen from his studies (though, strictly speaking, this
only holds good of the first draft, which he elaborated afterwards).
The chief object of his studies he had already conceived
to be the restoration of theology. One day he will
expound Paul, 'that the slanderers who consider it the height
of piety to know nothing of <i>bonae literae</i>, may understand that
we in our youth embraced the cultured literature of the
Ancients, and that we acquired a correct knowledge of the
two languages, Greek and Latin&mdash;not without many vigils&mdash;not
for the purpose of vainglory or childish satisfaction, but
because, long before, we premeditated adorning the temple of
the Lord (which some have too much desecrated by their
ignorance and barbarism) according to our strength, with
help from foreign parts, so that also in noble minds the love of
Holy Scripture may be kindled'. Is it not still the Humanist
who speaks?</p>

<p>We hear, moreover, the note of personal justification. It is
sounded also in a letter to Colet written towards the close of
1504, accompanying the edition of the <i>Lucubrationes</i> in which
the <i>Enchiridion</i> was first published. 'I did not write the
<i>Enchiridion</i> to parade my invention or eloquence, but only
that I might correct the error of those whose religion is usually
composed of more than Judaic ceremonies and observances of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span>
a material sort, and who neglect the things that conduce to
piety.' He adds, and this is typically humanistic, 'I have tried
to give the reader a sort of art of piety, as others have written
the theory of certain sciences'.</p>

<p>The art of piety! Erasmus might have been surprised had he
known that another treatise, written more than sixty years
before, by another canon of the Low Countries would continue
to appeal much longer and much more urgently to the
world than his manual: the <i>Imitatio Christi</i> by Thomas &agrave;
Kempis.</p>

<p>The <i>Enchiridion</i>, collected with some other pieces into a
volume of <i>Lucubrationes</i>, did not meet with such a great and
speedy success as had been bestowed upon the <i>Adagia</i>. That
Erasmus's speculations on true piety were considered too bold
was certainly not the cause. They contained nothing antagonistic
to the teachings of the Church, so that even at the
time of the Counter-Reformation, when the Church had
become highly suspicious of everything that Erasmus had
written, the divines who drew up the <i>index expurgatorius</i> of
his work found only a few passages in the <i>Enchiridion</i> to expunge.
Moreover, Erasmus had inserted in the volume some
writings of unsuspected Catholic tenor. For a long time it was
in great repute, especially with theologians and monks. A
famous preacher at Antwerp used to say that a sermon might
be found in every page of the <i>Enchiridion</i>. But the book only
obtained its great influence in wide cultured circles when,
upheld by Erasmus's world-wide reputation, it was available
in a number of translations, English, Czech, German, Dutch,
Spanish, and French. But then it began to fall under suspicion,
for that was the time when Luther had unchained the great
struggle. 'Now they have begun to nibble at the <i>Enchiridion</i>
also, that used to be so popular with divines,' Erasmus writes
in 1526. For the rest it was only two passages to which the
orthodox critics objected.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span></p>

<p>FOOTNOTES:</p>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_5_5" id="Footnote_5_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_5"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> That this man should have been John of Trazegnies as Allen thinks
possible and Renaudet accepts, is still all too uncertain; A. 164 t. I. p.
373; Renaudet, Pr&eacute;r&eacute;forme 428.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_6_6" id="Footnote_6_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_6"><span class="label">[6]</span></a> In 1500 (A. 123.21) Erasmus speaks of the <i>Enchiridion</i> of the Father
Augustine, cf. 135, 138; in 1501, A. 152.33, he calls the <i>Officia</i> of Cicero
a 'pugiunculus'&mdash;a dagger. So the appellation had been in his mind for
some time.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_7_7" id="Footnote_7_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor_7_7"><span class="label">[7]</span></a> <i>Miles</i> with Erasmus has no longer the meaning of 'knight' which it
had in medieval Latin.</p></div>




<h2><a name="chapter_vii" id="chapter_vii"></a>CHAPTER VII</h2>

<h3>YEARS OF TROUBLE&mdash;LOUVAIN, PARIS, ENGLAND</h3>

<h3>1502-6</h3>

<div class="blockquot"><p>Death of Batt: 1502&mdash;First stay at Louvain: 1502-4&mdash;Translations from the
Greek&mdash;At Paris again&mdash;Valla's <i>Annotationes</i> on the New Testament&mdash;Second
stay in England: 1505-6&mdash;More patrons and friends&mdash;Departure for
Italy: 1506&mdash;<i>Carmen Alpestre</i></p></div>


<p>Circumstances continued to remain unfavourable for
Erasmus. 'This year fortune has truly been raging violently
against me,' he writes in the autumn of 1502. In the spring his
good friend Batt had died. It is a pity that no letters written by
Erasmus directly after his bereavement have come down to us.
We should be glad to have for that faithful helper a monument
in addition to that which Erasmus erected to his memory
in the <i>Antibarbari</i>. Anna of Veere had remarried and, as a
patroness, might henceforth be left out of account. In October
1502, Henry of Bergen passed away. 'I have commemorated
the Bishop of Cambray in three Latin epitaphs and a Greek
one; they sent me but six guilders, that also in death he should
remain true to himself.' In Francis of Busleiden, Archbishop of
Besan&ccedil;on, he lost at about the same time a prospective new
patron. He still felt shut out from Paris, Cologne and England
by the danger of the plague.</p>

<p>In the late summer of 1502 he went to Louvain, 'flung
thither by the plague,' he says. The university of Louvain,
established in 1425 to wean the Netherlands in spiritual
matters from Paris, was, at the beginning of the sixteenth
century, one of the strongholds of theological tradition, which,
however, did not prevent the progress of classical studies. How
else should Adrian of Utrecht, later pope but at that time Dean
of Saint Peter's and professor of theology, have forthwith
undertaken to get him a professorship? Erasmus declined the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span>
offer, however, 'for certain reasons,' he says. Considering his
great distress, the reasons must have been cogent indeed. One
of them which he mentioned is not very clear to us: 'I am here
so near to Dutch tongues which know how to hurt much, it is
true, but have not learned to profit any one'. His spirit of
liberty and his ardent love of the studies to which he wanted
to devote himself entirely, were, no doubt, his chief reasons
for declining.</p>

<p>But he had to make a living. Life at Louvain was expensive
and he had no regular earnings. He wrote some prefaces and
dedicated to the Bishop of Arras, Chancellor of the University,
the first translation from the Greek: some <i>Declamationes</i> by
Libanius. When in the autumn of 1503 Philip le Beau was
expected back in the Netherlands from his journey to Spain
Erasmus wrote, with sighs of distaste, a panegyric to celebrate
the safe return of the prince. It cost him much trouble. 'It
occupies me day and night,' says the man who composed with
such incredible facility, when his heart was in the work.
'What is harder than to write with aversion; what is more useless
than to write something by which we unlearn good
writing?' It must be acknowledged that he really flattered as
sparingly as possible; the practice was so repulsive to him that
in his preface he roundly owned that, to tell the truth, this
whole class of composition was not to his taste.</p>

<p>At the end of 1504 Erasmus was back at Paris, at last.
Probably he had always meant to return and looked upon his
stay at Louvain as a temporary exile. The circumstances under
which he left Louvain are unknown to us, because of the
almost total lack of letters of the year 1504. In any case, he
hoped that at Paris he would sooner be able to attain his great
end of devoting himself entirely to the study of theology. 'I
cannot tell you, dear Colet,' he writes towards the end of
1504, 'how I hurry on, with all sails set, to holy literature; how
I dislike everything that keeps me back, or retards me. But the
disfavour of Fortune, who always looks at me with the same
face, has been the reason why I have not been able to get clear
of those vexations. So I returned to France with the purpose,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span>
if I cannot solve them, at any rate of ridding myself of them in
one way or another. After that I shall devote myself, with all
my heart, to the <i>divinae literae</i>, to give up the remainder of my
life to them.' If only he can find the means to work for some
months entirely for himself and disentangle himself from profane
literature. Can Colet not find out for him how matters
stand with regard to the proceeds of the hundred copies of the
<i>Adagia</i> which, at one time, he sent to England at his own
expense? The liberty of a few months may be bought for little
money.</p>

<p>There is something heroic in Erasmus scorning to make
money out of his facile talents and enviable knowledge of the
humanities, daring indigence so as to be able to realize his
shining ideal of restoring theology.</p>

<p>It is remarkable that the same Italian humanist who in his
youth had been his guide and example on the road to pure
Latinity and classic antiquity, Lorenzo Valla, by chance became
his leader and an outpost in the field of critical theology.
In the summer of 1504, hunting in the old library of the
Premonstratensian monastery of Parc, near Louvain ('in no
preserves is hunting a greater delight'), he found a manuscript
of Valla's <i>Annotationes</i> on the New Testament. It was a
collection of critical notes on the text of the Gospels, the
Epistles and Revelation. That the text of the Vulgate was not
stainless had been acknowledged by Rome itself as early as the
thirteenth century. Monastic orders and individual divines had
set themselves to correct it, but that purification had not
amounted to much, in spite of Nicholas of Lyra's work in the
fourteenth century.</p>

<p>It was probably the falling in with Valla's <i>Annotationes</i> which
led Erasmus, who was formerly more inspired with the resolution
to edit Jerome and to comment upon Paul (he was to do
both at a later date), to turn to the task of taking up the New
Testament as a whole, in order to restore it in its purity. In
March 1505 already Josse Badius at Paris printed Valla's
<i>Annotationes</i> for Erasmus, as a sort of advertisement of what he
himself one day hoped to achieve. It was a feat of courage.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span>
Erasmus did not conceal from himself that Valla, the humanist,
had an ill name with divines, and that there would be an outcry
about 'the intolerable temerity of the <i>homo grammaticus</i>, who
after having harassed all the <i>disciplinae</i>, did not scruple to assail
holy literature with his petulant pen'. It was another programme
much more explicit and defiant than the <i>Enchiridion</i> had been.</p>

<p>Once more it is not clear why and how Erasmus left Paris
again for England in the autumn of 1505. He speaks of serious
reasons and the advice of sensible people. He mentions one
reason: lack of money. The reprint of the <i>Adagia</i>, published by
John Philippi at Paris in 1505, had probably helped him
through, for the time being; the edition cannot have been to
his taste, for he had been dissatisfied with his work and wanted
to extend it by weaving his new Greek knowledge into it.
From Holland a warning voice had sounded, the voice of his
superior and friend Servatius, demanding an account of his
departure from Paris. Evidently his Dutch friends had still no
confidence in Erasmus, his work, and his future.</p>

<p>In many respects that future appeared more favourable to
him in England than it had seemed anywhere, thus far. There
he found the old friends, men of consideration and importance:
Mountjoy, with whom, on his arrival, he stayed some months,
Colet, and More. There he found some excellent Greek
scholars, whose conversation promised to be profitable and
amusing; not Colet, who knew little Greek, but More,
Linacre, Grocyn, Latimer, and Tunstall. He soon came in
contact with some high ecclesiastics who were to be his
friends and patrons: Richard Foxe, Bishop of Winchester,
John Fisher, Bishop of Rochester and William Warham,
Archbishop of Canterbury. Soon he would also find a friend
whose congenial spirit and interests, to some extent, made up
for the loss of Batt: the Italian Andrew Ammonius, of Lucca.
And lastly, the king promised him an ecclesiastical benefice. It
was not long before Erasmus was armed with a dispensation
from Pope Julius II, dated 4 January 1506, cancelling the
obstacles in the way of accepting an English benefice.</p>

<p>Translations from Greek into Latin were for him an easy<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span>
and speedy means to obtain favour and support: a dialogue by
Lucian, followed by others, for Foxe; the <i>Hecuba</i> and the
<i>Iphigenia</i> of Euripides for Warham. He now also thought of
publishing his letters.</p>

<p>Clearly his relations with Holland were not yet satisfactory.
Servatius did not reply to his letters. Erasmus ever felt hanging
over him a menace to his career and his liberty embodied in
the figure of that friend, to whom he was linked by so many
silken ties, yonder in the monastery of Steyn, where his return
was looked forward to, sooner or later, as a beacon-light of
Christendom. Did the prior know of the papal dispensation
exempting Erasmus from the 'statutes and customs of the
monastery of Steyn in Holland, of the order of Saint Augustine?'
Probably he did. On 1 April 1506, Erasmus writes to
him: 'Here in London I am, it seems, greatly esteemed by
the most eminent and erudite men of all England. The king
has promised me a curacy: the visit of the prince necessitated
a postponement of this business.'<a name="FNanchor_8_8" id="FNanchor_8_8"></a><a href="#Footnote_8_8" class="fnanchor">[8]</a></p>

<p>He immediately adds: 'I am deliberating again how best to
devote the remainder of my life (how much that will be, I do
not know) entirely to piety, to Christ. I see life, even when it
is long, as evanescent and dwindling; I know that I am of a
delicate constitution and that my strength has been encroached
upon, not a little, by study and also, somewhat, by misfortune.
I see that no deliverance can be hoped from study,
and that it seems as if we had to begin over again, day after
day. Therefore I have resolved, content with my mediocrity
(especially now that I have learned as much Greek as suffices
me), to apply myself to meditation about death and the training
of my soul. I should have done so before and have husbanded
the precious years when they were at their best. But
though it is a tardy husbandry that people practise when only
little remains at the bottom, we should be the more economical
accordingly as the quantity and quality of what is left
diminishes.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span></p>

<p>Was it a fit of melancholy which made Erasmus write those
words of repentance and renunciation? Was he surprised in
the middle of the pursuit of his life's aim by the consciousness
of the vanity of his endeavours, the consciousness, too, of a
great fatigue? Is this the deepest foundation of Erasmus's being,
which he reveals for a moment to his old and intimate friend?
It may be doubted. The passage tallies very ill with the first
sentences of the letter, which are altogether concerned with
success and prospects. In a letter he wrote the next day, also
to Gouda and to a trusted friend, there is no trace of the mood:
he is again thinking of his future. We do not notice that the
tremendous zeal with which he continues his studies is relaxed
for a moment. And there are other indications that towards
Servatius, who knew him better than he could wish, and who,
moreover, as prior of Steyn, had a threatening power over
him, he purposely demeaned himself as though he despised
the world.</p>

<p>Meanwhile nothing came of the English prebend. But suddenly
the occasion offered to which Erasmus had so often
looked forward: the journey to Italy. The court-physician of
Henry VII, Giovanni Battista Boerio, of Genoa, was looking
for a master to accompany his sons in their journey to the
universities of Italy. Erasmus accepted the post, which charged
him neither with the duties of tuition nor with attending to
the young fellows, but only with supervising and guiding
their studies. In the beginning of June 1506, he found himself
on French soil once more. For two summer months the party
of travellers stayed at Paris and Erasmus availed himself of the
opportunity to have several of his works, which he had
brought from England, printed at Paris. He was by now a
well-known and favourite author, gladly welcomed by the
old friends (he had been reputed dead) and made much of.
Josse Badius printed all Erasmus offered him: the translations
of Euripides and Lucian, a collection of <i>Epigrammata</i>, a new
but still unaltered edition of the <i>Adagia</i>.</p>

<p>In August the journey was continued. As he rode on horseback
along the Alpine roads the most important poem Erasmus<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span>
has written, the echo of an abandoned pursuit, originated.
He had been vexed about his travelling company, had abstained
from conversing with them, and sought consolation in
composing poetry. The result was the ode which he called
<i>Carmen equestre vel potius alpestre</i>, about the inconveniences of
old age, dedicated to his friend William Cop.</p>

<p>Erasmus was one of those who early feel old. He was not
forty and yet fancied himself across the threshold of old age.
How quickly it had come! He looks back on the course of his
life: he sees himself playing with nuts as a child, as a boy eager
for study, as a youth engrossed in poetry and scholasticism,
also in painting. He surveys his enormous erudition, his study
of Greek, his aspiration to scholarly fame. In the midst of all
this, old age has suddenly come. What remains to him? And
again we hear the note of renunciation of the world and of
devotion to Christ. Farewell jests and trifles, farewell philosophy
and poetry, a pure heart full of Christ is all he desires
henceforward.</p>

<p>Here, in the stillness of the Alpine landscape, there arose
something more of Erasmus's deepest aspirations than in the
lament to Servatius. But in this case, too, it is a stray element
of his soul, not the strong impulse that gave direction and fullness
to his life and with irresistible pressure urged him on to
ever new studies.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span></p>

<p>FOOTNOTES:</p>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_8_8" id="Footnote_8_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor_8_8"><span class="label">[8]</span></a> A. 189, Philip le Beau, who had unexpectedly come to England
because of a storm, which obliged Mountjoy to do court-service.</p></div>




<h2><a name="chapter_viii" id="chapter_viii"></a>CHAPTER VIII</h2>

<h3>IN ITALY</h3>

<h3>1506-9</h3>

<div class="blockquot"><p>Erasmus in Italy: 1506-9&mdash;He takes his degree at Turin&mdash;Bologna and
Pope Julius II&mdash;Erasmus in Venice with Aldus: 1507-8&mdash;The art of
printing&mdash;Alexander Stewart&mdash;To Rome: 1509&mdash;News of Henry VIII's
accession&mdash;Erasmus leaves Italy</p></div>


<p>At Turin Erasmus received, directly upon his arrival, on
4 September 1506, the degree of doctor of theology. That he
did not attach much value to the degree is easy to understand.
He regarded it, however, as an official warrant of his competence
as a writer on theological subjects, which would
strengthen his position when assailed by the suspicion of
his critics. He writes disdainfully about the title, even to his
Dutch friends who in former days had helped him on in his
studies for the express purpose of obtaining the doctor's
degree. As early as 1501, to Anna of Borselen he writes, 'Go
to Italy and obtain the doctor's degree? Foolish projects, both
of them. But one should conform to the customs of the times.'
Again to Servatius and Johannes Obrecht, half apologetically,
he says: 'I have obtained the doctor's degree in theology, and
that quite contrary to my intention, only because I was overcome
by the prayers of friends.'</p>

<p>Bologna was now the destination of his journey. But when
Erasmus arrived there, a war was in progress which forced
him to retire to Florence for a time. Pope Julius II, allied with
the French, at the head of an army, marched on Bologna to
conquer it from the Bentivogli. This purpose was soon
attained, and Bologna was a safe place to return to. On
11 November 1506, Erasmus witnessed the triumphal entry of
the martial pope.</p>

<p>Of these days nothing but short, hasty letters of his have
come down to us. They speak of unrest and rumours of war.
There is nothing to show that he was impressed by the beauty
of the Italy of the Renaissance. The scanty correspondence<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span>
dating from his stay in Italy mentions neither architecture, nor
sculpture, nor pictures. When much later he happened to
remember his visit to the Chartreuse of Pavia, it is only to give
an instance of useless waste and magnificence. Books alone
seemed to occupy and attract Erasmus in Italy.</p>

<p>At Bologna, Erasmus served as a mentor to the young
Boerios to the end of the year for which he had bound himself.
It seemed a very long time to him. He could not stand
any encroachment upon his liberty. He felt caught in the contract
as in a net. The boys, it seems, were intelligent enough, if
not so brilliant as Erasmus had seen them in his first joy; but
with their private tutor Clyfton, whom he at first extolled to the
sky, he was soon at loggerheads. At Bologna he experienced
many vexations for which his new relations with Paul
Bombasius could only in part indemnify him. He worked
there at an enlarged edition of his <i>Adagia</i>, which now, by the
addition of the Greek ones, increased from eight hundred to
some thousands of items.</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 250px;">
<a href="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:john-huizinga-erasmus-and-the-age-of-reformation-plate-vii.png">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:john-huizinga-erasmus-and-the-age-of-reformation-plate-vii-th.png" width="250" height="323" alt="" title=""/>
</a></div>
<p class="center">Plate VII. Title-page of the <i>Adagia</i>, printed by Aldus Manutius in 1508</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
<a href="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:john-huizinga-erasmus-and-the-age-of-reformation-plate-viii-1.png">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:john-huizinga-erasmus-and-the-age-of-reformation-plate-viii-1-th.png" width="400" height="306" alt="" title=""/>
</a></div>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
<a href="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:john-huizinga-erasmus-and-the-age-of-reformation-plate-viii-2.png">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:john-huizinga-erasmus-and-the-age-of-reformation-plate-viii-2-th.png" width="400" height="293" alt="" title=""/>
</a></div>
<p class="center">Plate VIII. VIEW OF VENICE, 1493</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 336px;">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:john-huizinga-erasmus-and-the-age-of-reformation-plate-ix-1.png" width="336" height="324" alt="" title=""/>
</div>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 342px;">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:john-huizinga-erasmus-and-the-age-of-reformation-plate-ix-2.png" width="342" height="316" alt="" title=""/>
</div>
<p class="center">Plate IX. PORTRAIT MEDAL OF ALDUS MANUTIUS.
On the reverse the Aldine emblem</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 250px;">
<a href="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:john-huizinga-erasmus-and-the-age-of-reformation-plate-x.png">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:john-huizinga-erasmus-and-the-age-of-reformation-plate-x-th.png" width="250" height="334" alt="" title=""/>
</a></div>
<p class="center">Plate X. A page from the <i>Praise of Folly</i> with a drawing
by Holbein of Erasmus at his desk.</p>

<p>From Bologna, in October 1507, Erasmus addressed a letter
to the famous Venetian printer, Aldus Manutius, in which he
requested him to publish, anew, the two translated dramas of
Euripides, as the edition of Badius was out of print and too
defective for his taste. What made Aldus attractive in his eyes
was, no doubt, besides the fame of the business, though it was
languishing at the time, the printer's beautiful type&mdash;'those
most magnificent letters, especially those very small ones'.
Erasmus was one of those true book-lovers who pledge their
heart to a type or a size of a book, not because of any artistic
preference, but because of readableness and handiness, which
to them are of the very greatest importance. What he asked of
Aldus was a small book at a low price. Towards the end of the
year their relations had gone so far that Erasmus gave up his
projected journey to Rome, for the time, to remove to Venice,
there personally to superintend the publication of his works.
Now there was no longer merely the question of a little book
of translations, but Aldus had declared himself willing to print
the enormously increased collection of the <i>Adagia</i>.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span></p>

<p>Beatus Rhenanus tells a story which, no doubt, he had heard
from Erasmus himself: how Erasmus on his arrival at Venice
had gone straight to the printing-office and was kept waiting
there for a long time. Aldus was correcting proofs and thought
his visitor was one of those inquisitive people by whom he
used to be pestered. When he turned out to be Erasmus, he
welcomed him cordially and procured him board and lodging
in the house of his father-in-law, Andrea Asolani. Fully eight
months did Erasmus live there, in the environment which, in
future, was to be his true element: the printing-office. He was
in a fever of hurried work, about which he would often sigh,
but which, after all, was congenial to him. The augmented
collection of the <i>Adagia</i> had not yet been made ready for the
press at Bologna. 'With great temerity on my part,' Erasmus
himself testifies, 'we began to work at the same time, I to
write, Aldus to print.' Meanwhile the literary friends of the
New Academy whom he got to know at Venice, Johannes
Lascaris, Baptista Egnatius, Marcus Musurus and the young
Jerome Aleander, with whom, at Asolani's, he shared room
and bed, brought him new Greek authors, unprinted as yet,
furnishing fresh material for augmenting the <i>Adagia</i>. These
were no inconsiderable additions: Plato in the original,
Plutarch's <i>Lives</i> and <i>Moralia</i>, Pindar, Pausanias, and others.
Even people whom he did not know and who took an interest
in his work, brought new material to him. Amid the noise of
the press-room, Erasmus, to the surprise of his publisher, sat
and wrote, usually from memory, so busily occupied that, as
he picturesquely expressed it, he had no time to scratch his
ears. He was lord and master of the printing-office. A special
corrector had been assigned to him; he made his textual
changes in the last impression. Aldus also read the proofs.
'Why?' asked Erasmus. 'Because I am studying at the same
time,' was the reply. Meanwhile Erasmus suffered from the
first attack of his tormenting nephrolithic malady; he ascribed
it to the food he got at Asolani's and later took revenge by
painting that boarding-house and its landlord in very spiteful
colours in the <i>Colloquies</i>.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span></p>

<p>When in September 1508, the edition of the <i>Adagia</i> was
ready, Aldus wanted Erasmus to remain in order to write more
for him. Till December he continued to work at Venice on
editions of Plautus, Terence, and Seneca's tragedies. Visions of
joint labour to publish all that classic antiquity still held in the
way of hidden treasures, together with Hebrew and Chaldean
stores, floated before his mind.</p>

<p>Erasmus belonged to the generation which had grown up
together with the youthful art of printing. To the world of
those days it was still like a newly acquired organ; people felt
rich, powerful, happy in the possession of this 'almost divine
implement'. The figure of Erasmus and his <i>[oe]uvre</i> were only
rendered possible by the art of printing. He was its glorious
triumph and, equally, in a sense, its victim. What would
Erasmus have been without the printing-press? To broadcast
the ancient documents, to purify and restore them was his life's
passion. The certainty that the printed book places exactly the
same text in the hands of thousands of readers, was to him a
consolation that former generations had lacked.</p>

<p>Erasmus is one of the first who, after his name as an author
was established, worked directly and continually for the press.
It was his strength, but also his weakness. It enabled him to
exercise an immediate influence on the reading public of Europe
such as had emanated from none before him; to become
a focus of culture in the full sense of the word, an intellectual
central station, a touchstone of the spirit of the time. Imagine
for a moment what it would have meant if a still greater
mind than his, say Cardinal Nicholas of Cusa, that universal
spirit who had helped in nursing the art of printing in its
earliest infancy, could have availed himself of the art as it
was placed at the disposal of Erasmus!</p>

<p>The dangerous aspect of this situation was that printing
enabled Erasmus, having once become a centre and an
authority, to address the world at large immediately about all
that occurred to him. Much of his later mental labour is, after
all, really but repetition, ruminating digression, unnecessary
vindication from assaults to which his greatness alone would<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span>
have been a sufficient answer, futilities which he might have
better left alone. Much of this work written directly for the
press is journalism at bottom, and we do Erasmus an injustice
by applying to it the tests of lasting excellence. The consciousness
that we can reach the whole world at once with our
writings is a stimulant which unwittingly influences our mode
of expression, a luxury that only the highest spirits can bear
with impunity.</p>

<p>The link between Erasmus and book-printing was Latin.
Without his incomparable Latinity his position as an author
would have been impossible. The art of printing undoubtedly
furthered the use of Latin. It was the Latin publications which
in those days promised success and a large sale for a publisher,
and established his reputation, for they were broadcast all over
the world. The leading publishers were themselves scholars
filled with enthusiasm for humanism. Cultured and well-to-do
people acted as proof-readers to printers; such as Peter Gilles,
the friend of Erasmus and More, the town clerk of Antwerp,
who corrected proof-sheets for Dirck Maertensz. The great
printing-offices were, in a local sense, too, the foci of intellectual
intercourse. The fact that England had lagged behind, thus far,
in the evolution of the art of printing, contributed not a little,
no doubt, to prevent Erasmus from settling there, where so
many ties held and so many advantages allured him.</p>

<p>To find a permanent place of residence was, indeed, and
apart from this fact, very hard for him. Towards the end of
1508 he accepted the post of tutor in rhetorics to the young
Alexander Stewart, a natural son of James IV of Scotland, and
already, in spite of his youth, Archbishop of Saint Andrews,
now a student at Padua. The danger of war soon drove them
from upper Italy to Siena. Here Erasmus obtained leave to
visit Rome. He arrived there early in 1509, no longer an unknown
canon from the northern regions but a celebrated and
honoured author. All the charms of the Eternal City lay open
to him and he must have felt keenly gratified by the consideration
and courtesy with which cardinals and prelates, such
as Giovanni de' Medici, afterwards Leo X, Domenico Grimani,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span>
Riario and others, treated him. It seems that he was even
offered some post in the curia. But he had to return to his
youthful archbishop with whom he thereupon visited Rome
again, incognito, and afterwards travelled in the neighbourhood
of Naples. He inspected the cave of the Sibylla of
Cumae, but what it meant to him we do not know. This entire
period following his departure from Padua and all that follows
till the spring of 1511&mdash;in certain respects the most important
part of his life&mdash;remains unrecorded in a single letter
that has come down to us. Here and there he has occasionally,
and at a much later date, touched upon some impressions of
Rome,<a name="FNanchor_9_9" id="FNanchor_9_9"></a><a href="#Footnote_9_9" class="fnanchor">[9]</a> but the whole remains vague and dim. It is the incubation
period of the <i>Praise of Folly</i> that is thus obscured from
view.</p>

<p>On 21 April 1509, King Henry VII of England died. His
successor was the young prince whom Erasmus had saluted at
Eltham in 1499, to whom he had dedicated his poem in praise
of Great Britain, and who, during his stay at Bologna, had
distinguished him by a Latin letter as creditable to Erasmus as
to the fifteen-year-old royal latinist.<a name="FNanchor_10_10" id="FNanchor_10_10"></a><a href="#Footnote_10_10" class="fnanchor">[10]</a> If ever the chance of
obtaining a patron seemed favourable, it was now, when this
promising lover of letters ascended the throne as Henry VIII.
Lord Mountjoy, Erasmus's most faithful Maecenas, thought so,
too, and pointed out the fact to him in a letter of 27 May 1509.
It was a pleasure to see, he wrote, how vigorous, how upright
and just, how zealous in the cause of literature and men of
letters was the conduct of the youthful prince. Mountjoy&mdash;or
Ammonius, who probably drew up the flowery document for
him&mdash;was exultant. A laughing sky and tears of joy are the
themes of the letter. Evidently, however, Erasmus himself
had, on his side, already sounded Mountjoy as to his chances,
as soon as the tidings of Henry VII's death became known at
Rome; not without lamentations about cares and weakened<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span>
health. 'The Archbishop of Canterbury', Mountjoy was able
to apprise Erasmus, 'is not only continually engrossed in your
<i>Adagia</i> and praises you to the skies, but he also promises you
a benefice on your return and sends you five pounds for
travelling expenses,' which sum was doubled by Mountjoy.</p>

<p>We do not know whether Erasmus really hesitated before
he reached his decision. Cardinal Grimani, he asserts, tried to
hold him back, but in vain, for in July, 1509, he left Rome and
Italy, never to return.</p>

<p>As he crossed the Alps for the second time, not on the
French side now, but across the Spl&uuml;gen, through Switzerland,
his genius touched him again, as had happened in those high
regions three years before on the road to Italy. But this time
it was not in the guise of the Latin Muse, who then drew from
him such artful and pathetic poetical meditations about his
past life and pious vows for the future;&mdash;it was something
much more subtle and grand: the <i>Praise of Folly</i>.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span></p>

<p>FOOTNOTES:</p>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_9_9" id="Footnote_9_9"></a><a href="#FNanchor_9_9"><span class="label">[9]</span></a> LBE. No. 1175 <i>c.</i> 1375, visit to Grimani.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_10_10" id="Footnote_10_10"></a><a href="#FNanchor_10_10"><span class="label">[10]</span></a> A. 206, where from Allen's introduction one can form an opinion
about the prince's share in the composition.</p></div>




<h2><a name="chapter_ix" id="chapter_ix"></a>CHAPTER IX</h2>

<h3>THE PRAISE OF FOLLY</h3>

<div class="blockquot"><p><i>Moriae Encomium, The Praise of Folly</i>: 1509, as a work of art&mdash;Folly,
the motor of all life: Indispensable, salutary, cause and support of states and
of heroism&mdash;Folly keeps the world going&mdash;Vital energy incorporated with
folly&mdash;Lack of folly makes unfit for life&mdash;Need of self-complacency&mdash;Humbug
beats truth&mdash;Knowledge a plague&mdash;Satire of all secular and
ecclesiastical vocations&mdash;Two themes throughout the work&mdash;The highest
folly: Ecstasy&mdash;The <i>Moria</i> to be taken as a gay jest&mdash;Confusion of fools
and lunatics&mdash;Erasmus treats his <i>Moria</i> slightingly&mdash;Its value</p></div>


<p>While he rode over the mountain passes,<a name="FNanchor_11_11" id="FNanchor_11_11"></a><a href="#Footnote_11_11" class="fnanchor">[11]</a> Erasmus's restless
spirit, now unfettered for some days by set tasks, occupied
itself with everything he had studied and read in the last few
years, and with everything he had seen. What ambition, what
self-deception, what pride and conceit filled the world! He
thought of Thomas More, whom he was now to see again&mdash;that
most witty and wise of all his friends, with that curious
name <i>Moros</i>, the Greek word for a fool, which so ill became his
personality. Anticipating the gay jests which More's conversation
promised, there grew in his mind that masterpiece of
humour and wise irony, <i>Moriae Encomium</i>, the <i>Praise of Folly</i>.
The world as the scene of universal folly; folly as the indispensable
element making life and society possible and all this
put into the mouth of Stultitia&mdash;Folly&mdash;itself (true antitype of
Minerva), who in a panegyric on her own power and usefulness,
praises herself. As to form it is a <i>Declamatio</i>, such as he
had translated from the Greek of Libanius. As to the spirit,
a revival of Lucian, whose <i>Gallus</i>, translated by him three
years before, may have suggested the theme. It must have been
in the incomparably lucid moments of that brilliant intellect.
All the particulars of classic reading which the year before he
worked up in the new edition of the <i>Adagia</i> were still at his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span>
immediate disposal in that retentive and capacious memory.
Reflecting at his ease on all that wisdom of the ancients, he
secreted the juices required for his expostulation.</p>

<p>He arrived in London, took up his abode in More's house
in Bucklersbury, and there, tortured by nephritic pains, he
wrote down in a few days, without having his books with
him, the perfect work of art that must have been ready in his
mind. Stultitia was truly born in the manner of her serious
sister Pallas.</p>

<p>As to form and imagery the <i>Moria</i> is faultless, the product of
the inspired moments of creative impulse. The figure of an
orator confronting her public is sustained to the last in a
masterly way. We see the faces of the auditors light up with
glee when Folly appears in the pulpit; we hear the applause
interrupting her words. There is a wealth of fancy, coupled
with so much soberness of line and colour, such reserve, that
the whole presents a perfect instance of that harmony which
is the essence of Renaissance expression. There is no exuberance,
in spite of the multiplicity of matter and thought, but a
temperateness, a smoothness, an airiness and clearness which
are as gladdening as they are relaxing. In order perfectly to
realize the artistic perfection of Erasmus's book we should
compare it with Rabelais.</p>

<p>'Without me', says Folly, 'the world cannot exist for a
moment. For is not all that is done at all among mortals, full of
folly; is it not performed by fools and for fools?' 'No society,
no cohabitation can be pleasant or lasting without folly; so
much so, that a people could not stand its prince, nor the
master his man, nor the maid her mistress, nor the tutor his
pupil, nor the friend his friend, nor the wife her husband for a
moment longer, if they did not now and then err together,
now flatter each other; now sensibly conniving at things, now
smearing themselves with some honey of folly.' In that sentence
the summary of the <i>Laus</i> is contained. Folly here is
worldly wisdom, resignation and lenient judgement.</p>

<p>He who pulls off the masks in the comedy of life is ejected.
What is the whole life of mortals but a sort of play in which<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span>
each actor appears on the boards in his specific mask and acts
his part till the stage-manager calls him off? He acts wrongly
who does not adapt himself to existing conditions, and demands
that the game shall be a game no longer. It is the part
of the truly sensible to mix with all people, either conniving
readily at their folly, or affably erring like themselves.</p>

<p>And the necessary driving power of all human action is
'Philautia', Folly's own sister: self-love. He who does not
please himself effects little. Take away that condiment of life
and the word of the orator cools, the poet is laughed at, the
artist perishes with his art.</p>

<p>Folly in the garb of pride, of vanity, of vainglory, is the
hidden spring of all that is considered high and great in this
world. The state with its posts of honour, patriotism and
national pride; the stateliness of ceremonies, the delusion of
caste and nobility&mdash;what is it but folly? War, the most foolish
thing of all, is the origin of all heroism. What prompted the
Deciuses, what Curtius, to sacrifice themselves? Vainglory. It
is this folly which produces states; through her, empires,
religion, law-courts, exist.</p>

<p>This is bolder and more chilling than Machiavelli, more
detached than Montaigne. But Erasmus will not have it
credited to him: it is Folly who speaks. He purposely makes us
tread the round of the <i>circulus vitiosus</i>, as in the old saw: A
Cretan said, all Cretans are liars.</p>

<p>Wisdom is to folly as reason is to passion. And there is much
more passion than reason in the world. That which keeps the
world going, the fount of life, is folly. For what else is love?
Why do people marry, if not out of folly, which sees no objections?
All enjoyment and amusement is only a condiment of
folly. When a wise man wishes to become a father, he has first
to play the fool. For what is more foolish than the game of
procreation?</p>

<p>Unperceived the orator has incorporated here with folly
all that is vitality and the courage of life. Folly is spontaneous
energy that no one can do without. He who is perfectly
sensible and serious cannot live. The more people get away<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span>
from me, Stultitia, the less they live. Why do we kiss and
cuddle little children, if not because they are still so delightfully
foolish. And what else makes youth so elegant?</p>

<p>Now look at the truly serious and sensible. They are awkward
at everything, at meal-time, at a dance, in playing, in
social intercourse. If they have to buy, or to contract, things
are sure to go wrong. Quintilian says that stage fright bespeaks
the intelligent orator, who knows his faults. Right! But does
not, then, Quintilian confess openly that wisdom is an impediment
to good execution? And has not Stultitia the right
to claim prudence for herself, if the wise, out of shame, out of
bashfulness, undertake nothing in circumstances where fools
pluckily set to work?</p>

<p>Here Erasmus goes to the root of the matter in a psychological
sense. Indeed the consciousness of falling short in
achievement is the brake clogging action, is the great inertia
retarding the progress of the world. Did he know himself for
one who is awkward when not bending over his books, but
confronting men and affairs?</p>

<p>Folly is gaiety and lightheartedness, indispensable to happiness.
The man of mere reason without passion is a stone
image, blunt and without any human feeling, a spectre or
monster, from whom all fly, deaf to all natural emotions,
susceptible neither to love nor compassion. Nothing escapes
him, in nothing he errs; he sees through everything, he weighs
everything accurately, he forgives nothing, he is only satisfied
with himself; he alone is healthy; he alone is king, he alone is
free. It is the hideous figure of the doctrinaire which Erasmus
is thinking of. Which state, he exclaims, would desire such an
absolutely wise man for a magistrate?</p>

<p>He who devotes himself to tasting all the bitterness of life
with wise insight would forthwith deprive himself of life.
Only folly is a remedy: to err, to be mistaken, to be ignorant
is to be human. How much better it is in marriage to be blind
to a wife's shortcomings than to make away with oneself out
of jealousy and to fill the world with tragedy! Adulation is
virtue. There is no cordial devotion without a little adulation.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span>
It is the soul of eloquence, of medicine and poetry; it is the
honey and the sweetness of all human customs.</p>

<p>Again a series of valuable social qualities is slyly incorporated
with folly: benevolence, kindness, inclination to
approve and to admire.</p>

<p>But especially to approve of oneself. There is no pleasing
others without beginning by flattering ourselves a little and
approving of ourselves. What would the world be if everyone
was not proud of his standing, his calling, so that no
person would change places with another in point of good
appearance, of fancy, of good family, of landed property?</p>

<p>Humbug is the right thing. Why should any one desire true
erudition? The more incompetent a man, the pleasanter his
life is and the more he is admired. Look at professors, poets,
orators. Man's mind is so made that he is more impressed by
lies than by the truth. Go to church: if the priest deals with
serious subjects the whole congregation is dozing, yawning,
feeling bored. But when he begins to tell some cock-and-bull
story, they awake, sit up, and hang on his lips.</p>

<p>To be deceived, philosophers say, is a misfortune, but not
to be deceived is a superlative misfortune. If it is human to err,
why should a man be called unhappy because he errs, since he
was so born and made, and it is the fate of all? Do we pity a
man because he cannot fly or does not walk on four legs? We
might as well call the horse unhappy because it does not learn
grammar or eat cakes. No creature is unhappy, if it lives
according to its nature. The sciences were invented to our
utmost destruction; far from conducing to our happiness, they
are even in its way, though for its sake they are supposed to
have been invented. By the agency of evil demons they have
stolen into human life with the other pests. For did not the
simple-minded people of the Golden Age live happily, unprovided
with any science, only led by nature and instinct?
What did they want grammar for, when all spoke the same
language? Why have dialectics, when there were no quarrels
and no differences of opinion? Why jurisprudence, when there
were no bad morals from which good laws sprang? They<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span>
were too religious to investigate with impious curiosity the
secrets of nature, the size, motions, influence of the stars, the
hidden cause of things.</p>

<p>It is the old idea, which germinated in antiquity, here lightly
touched upon by Erasmus, afterwards proclaimed by Rousseau
in bitter earnest: civilization is a plague.</p>

<p>Wisdom is misfortune, but self-conceit is happiness. Grammarians,
who wield the sceptre of wisdom&mdash;schoolmasters,
that is&mdash;would be the most wretched of all people if I, Folly,
did not mitigate the discomforts of their miserable calling by a
sort of sweet frenzy. But what holds good of schoolmasters,
also holds good of poets, orators, authors. For them, too, all
happiness merely consists in vanity and delusion. The lawyers are
no better off and after them come the philosophers. Next there
is a numerous procession of clergy: divines, monks, bishops,
cardinals, popes, only interrupted by princes and courtiers.</p>

<p>In the chapters<a name="FNanchor_12_12" id="FNanchor_12_12"></a><a href="#Footnote_12_12" class="fnanchor">[12]</a> which review these offices and callings, satire
has shifted its ground a little. Throughout the work two themes
are intertwined: that of salutary folly, which is true wisdom,
and that of deluded wisdom, which is pure folly. As they are
both put into the mouth of Folly, we should have to invert
them both to get truth, if Folly ... were not wisdom. Now
it is clear that the first is the principal theme. Erasmus starts
from it; and he returns to it. Only in the middle, as he reviews
human accomplishments and dignities in their universal
foolishness, the second theme predominates and the book
becomes an ordinary satire on human folly, of which there
are many though few are so delicate. But in the other parts it
is something far deeper.</p>

<p>Occasionally the satire runs somewhat off the line, when
Stultitia directly censures what Erasmus wishes to censure; for
instance, indulgences, silly belief in wonders, selfish worship
of the saints; or gamblers whom she, Folly, ought to praise; or
the spirit of systematizing and levelling, and the jealousy of
the monks.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span></p>

<p>For contemporary readers the importance of the <i>Laus
Stultitiae</i> was, to a great extent, in the direct satire. Its lasting
value is in those passages where we truly grant that folly is
wisdom and the reverse. Erasmus knows the aloofness of the
ground of all things: all consistent thinking out of the dogmas
of faith leads to absurdity. Only look at the theological quiddities
of effete scholasticism. The apostles would not have
understood them: in the eyes of latter-day divines they would
have been fools. Holy Scripture itself sides with folly. 'The
foolishness of God is wiser than men,' says Saint Paul. 'But
God hath chosen the foolish things of the world.' 'It pleased
God by the foolishness (of preaching) to save them that
believe.' Christ loved the simple-minded and the ignorant:
children, women, poor fishermen, nay, even such animals as
are farthest removed from vulpine cunning: the ass which he
wished to ride, the dove, the lamb, the sheep.</p>

<p>Here there is a great deal behind the seemingly light jest:
'Christian religion seems in general to have some affinity
with a certain sort of folly'. Was it not thought the apostles
were full of new wine? And did not the judge say: 'Paul, thou
art beside thyself'? When are we beside ourselves? When the
spirit breaks its fetters and tries to escape from its prison and
aspires to liberty. That is madness, but it is also other-worldliness
and the highest wisdom. True happiness is in selflessness,
in the furore of lovers, whom Plato calls happiest of all.
The more absolute love is, the greater and more rapturous
is the frenzy. Heavenly bliss itself is the greatest insanity;
truly pious people enjoy its shadow on earth already in their
meditations.</p>

<p>Here Stultitia breaks off her discourse, apologizing in a few
words in case she may have been too petulant or talkative, and
leaves the pulpit. 'So farewell, applaud, live happily, and drink,
Moria's illustrious initiates.'</p>

<p>It was an unrivalled feat of art even in these last chapters
neither to lose the light comical touch, nor to lapse into undisguised
profanation. It was only feasible by veritable dancing
on the tight-rope of sophistry. In the <i>Moria</i> Erasmus is all<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span>
the time hovering on the brink of profound truths. But what a
boon it was&mdash;still granted to those times&mdash;to be able to treat
of all this in a vein of pleasantry. For this should be impressed
upon our minds: that the <i>Moriae Encomium</i> is a true, gay jest.
The laugh is more delicate, but no less hearty than Rabelais's.
'Valete, plaudite, vivite, bibite.' 'All common people abound
to such a degree, and everywhere, in so many forms of folly
that a thousand Democrituses would be insufficient to laugh at
them all (and they would require another Democritus to laugh
at them).'</p>

<p>How could one take the <i>Moria</i> too seriously, when even
More's <i>Utopia</i>, which is a true companion-piece to it and makes
such a grave impression on us, is treated by its author and
Erasmus as a mere jest? There is a place where the <i>Laus</i> seems
to touch both More and Rabelais; the place where Stultitia
speaks of her father, Plutus, the god of wealth, at whose beck
all things are turned topsy-turvy, according to whose will all
human affairs are regulated&mdash;war and peace, government and
counsel, justice and treaties. He has begotten her on the
nymph Youth, not a senile, purblind Plutus, but a fresh god,
warm with youth and nectar, like another Gargantua.</p>

<p>The figure of Folly, of gigantic size, looms large in the
period of the Renaissance. She wears a fool's cap and bells.
People laughed loudly and with unconcern at all that was
foolish, without discriminating between species of folly. It is
remarkable that even in the <i>Laus</i>, delicate as it is, the author
does not distinguish between the unwise or the silly, between
fools and lunatics. Holbein, illustrating Erasmus, knows but of
one representation of a fool: with a staff and ass's ears. Erasmus
speaks without clear transition, now of foolish persons and
now of real lunatics. They are happiest of all, he makes Stultitia
say: they are not frightened by spectres and apparitions;
they are not tortured by the fear of impending calamities;
everywhere they bring mirth, jests, frolic and laughter. Evidently
he here means harmless imbeciles, who, indeed, were
often used as jesters. This identification of denseness and
insanity is kept up, however, like the confusion of the comic<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span>
and the simply ridiculous, and all this is well calculated to
make us feel how wide the gap has already become that
separates us from Erasmus.</p>

<hr style='width: 45%;' />

<p>In later years he always spoke slightingly of his <i>Moria</i>. He
considered it so unimportant, he says, as to be unworthy of
publication, yet no work of his had been received with such
applause. It was a trifle and not at all in keeping with his
character. More had made him write it, as if a camel were
made to dance. But these disparaging utterances were not
without a secondary purpose. The <i>Moria</i> had not brought him
only success and pleasure. The exceedingly susceptible age in
which he lived had taken the satire in very bad part, where it
seemed to glance at offices and orders, although in his preface
he had tried to safeguard himself from the reproach of
irreverence. His airy play with the texts of Holy Scripture had
been too venturesome for many. His friend Martin van Dorp
upbraided him with having made a mock of eternal life.
Erasmus did what he could to convince evil-thinkers that the
purpose of the <i>Moria</i> was no other than to exhort people to be
virtuous. In affirming this he did his work injustice: it was
much more than that. But in 1515 he was no longer what he
had been in 1509. Repeatedly he had been obliged to defend
his most witty work. Had he known that it would offend, he
might have kept it back, he writes in 1517 to an acquaintance
at Louvain. Even towards the end of his life, he warded off the
insinuations of Alberto Pio of Carpi in a lengthy expostulation.</p>

<p>Erasmus made no further ventures in the genre of the
<i>Praise of Folly</i>. One might consider the treatise <i>Lingua</i>, which
he published in 1525, as an attempt to make a companion-piece
to the <i>Moria</i>. The book is called <i>Of the Use and Abuse
of the Tongue</i>. In the opening pages there is something that
reminds us of the style of the <i>Laus</i>, but it lacks all the charm
both of form and of thought.</p>

<p>Should one pity Erasmus because, of all his publications,
collected in ten folio volumes, only the <i>Praise of Folly</i> has
remained a really popular book? It is, apart from the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span>
<i>Colloquies</i>, perhaps the only one of his works that is still
read for its own sake. The rest is now only studied from a
historical point of view, for the sake of becoming acquainted
with his person or his times. It seems to me that perfect justice
has been done in this case. The <i>Praise of Folly</i> is his best
work. He wrote other books, more erudite, some more pious&mdash;some
perhaps of equal or greater influence on his time.
But each has had its day. <i>Moriae Encomium</i> alone was to be
immortal. For only when humour illuminated that mind did it
become truly profound. In the <i>Praise of Folly</i> Erasmus gave
something that no one else could have given to the world.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 225px;">
<a href="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:john-huizinga-erasmus-and-the-age-of-reformation-plate-xi.png">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:john-huizinga-erasmus-and-the-age-of-reformation-plate-xi-th.png" width="225" height="343" alt="" title=""/>
</a></div>
<p class="center">Plate XI. The last page of the <i>Praise of Folly</i>, with
Holbein's drawing of Folly descending from the pulpit</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 250px;">
<a href="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:john-huizinga-erasmus-and-the-age-of-reformation-plate-xii.png">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:john-huizinga-erasmus-and-the-age-of-reformation-plate-xii-th.png" width="250" height="376" alt="" title=""/>
</a></div>
<p class="center">Plate XII. THE PRINTING PRESS OF JOSSE BADIUS</p>

<h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_11_11" id="Footnote_11_11"></a><a href="#FNanchor_11_11"><span class="label">[11]</span></a> That he conceived the work in the Alps follows from the fact that
he tells us explicitly that it happened while riding, whereas, after passing
through Switzerland, he travelled by boat. A. 1, IV 216.62.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_12_12" id="Footnote_12_12"></a><a href="#FNanchor_12_12"><span class="label">[12]</span></a> Erasmus did not divide the book into chapters. It was done by an
editor as late as 1765.</p></div>




<h2><a name="chapter_x" id="chapter_x"></a>CHAPTER X</h2>

<h3>THIRD STAY IN ENGLAND</h3>

<h3>1509-14</h3>

<div class="blockquot"><p>Third stay in England: 1509-14&mdash;No information about two years of
Erasmus's life: 1509 summer, till 1511 spring&mdash;Poverty&mdash;Erasmus at
Cambridge&mdash;Relations with Badius, the Paris publisher&mdash;A mistake profitable
to Johannes Froben at Basle&mdash;Erasmus leaves England: 1514&mdash;<i>Julius
Exclusus</i>&mdash;Epistle against war</p></div>


<p>From the moment when Erasmus, back from Italy in the
early summer of 1509, is hidden from view in the house of
More, to write the <i>Praise of Folly</i>, until nearly two years
later when he comes to view again on the road to Paris to have
the book printed by Gilles Gourmont, every trace of his life
has been obliterated. Of the letters which during that period
he wrote and received, not a single one has been preserved.
Perhaps it was the happiest time of his life, for it was partly
spent with his tried patron, Mountjoy, and also in the house
of More in that noble and witty circle which to Erasmus
appeared ideal. That house was also frequented by the friend
whom Erasmus had made during his former sojourn in
England, and whose mind was perhaps more congenial to
him than any other, Andrew Ammonius. It is not improbable
that during these months he was able to work without interruption
at the studies to which he was irresistibly attracted,
without cares as to the immediate future, and not yet burdened
by excessive renown, which afterwards was to cause
him as much trouble and loss as joy.</p>

<p>That future was still uncertain. As soon as he no longer
enjoys More's hospitality, the difficulties and complaints
recommence. Continual poverty, uncertainty and dependence
were extraordinarily galling to a mind requiring above all
things liberty. At Paris he charged Badius with a new, revised
edition of the <i>Adagia</i>, though the Aldine might still be had
there at a moderate price. The <i>Laus</i>, which had just appeared<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span>
at Gourmont's, was reprinted at Strassburg as early as 1511,
with a courteous letter by Jacob Wimpfeling to Erasmus, but
evidently without his being consulted in the matter. By that
time he was back in England, had been laid up in London with
a bad attack of the sweating sickness, and thence had gone to
Queens' College, Cambridge, where he had resided before.
From Cambridge he writes to Colet, 24 August 1511, in a vein
of comical despair. The journey from London had been disastrous:
a lame horse, no victuals for the road, rain and thunder.
'But I am almost pleased at this, I see the track of Christian
poverty.' A chance to make some money he does not see; he
will be obliged to spend everything he can wrest from his
Maecenases&mdash;he, born under a wrathful Mercury.</p>

<p>This may sound somewhat gloomier than it was meant, but
a few weeks later he writes again: 'Oh, this begging; you laugh
at me, I know. But I hate myself for it and am fully determined,
either to obtain some fortune, which will relieve me
from cringing, or to imitate Diogenes altogether.' This refers
to a dedication of a translation of Basilius's Commentaries on
Isaiah to John Fisher, the Bishop of Rochester.</p>

<p>Colet, who had never known pecuniary cares himself, did
not well understand these sallies of Erasmus. He replies to
them with delicate irony and covert rebuke, which Erasmus,
in his turn, pretends not to understand. He was now 'in want
in the midst of plenty', <i>simul et in media copia et in summa inopia</i>.
That is to say, he was engaged in preparing for Badius's press
the <i>De copia verborum ac rerum</i>, formerly begun at Paris; it was
dedicated to Colet. 'I ask you, who can be more impudent or
abject than I, who for such a long time already have been
openly begging in England?'</p>

<p>Writing to Ammonius he bitterly regrets having left Rome
and Italy; how prosperity had smiled upon him there! In the
same way he would afterwards lament that he had not
permanently established himself in England. If he had only
embraced the opportunity! he thinks. Was not Erasmus rather
one of those people whom good fortune cannot help?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span>
He remained in trouble and his tone grows more bitter. 'I
am preparing some bait against the 1st of January, though it is
pretty sure to be in vain,' he writes to Ammonius, referring to
new translations of Lucian and Plutarch.</p>

<p>At Cambridge Erasmus lectured on divinity and Greek, but
it brought him little success and still less profit. The long-wished-for
prebend, indeed, had at last been given him, in the
form of the rectory of Aldington, in Kent, to which Archbishop
William Warham, his patron, appointed him in 1512.
Instead of residing he was allowed to draw a pension of
twenty pounds a year. The archbishop affirms explicitly that,
contrary to his custom, he had granted this favour to Erasmus,
because he, 'a light of learning in Latin and Greek literature,
had, out of love for England, disdained to live in Italy,
France, or Germany, in order to pass the rest of his life here,
with his friends'. We see how nations already begin to vie
with each other for the honour of sheltering Erasmus.</p>

<p>Relief from all cares the post did not bring. Intercourse and
correspondence with Colet was a little soured under the light
veil of jests and kindness by his constant need of money. Seeking
new resources by undertaking new labours, or preparing
new editions of his old books, remained a hard necessity for
Erasmus. The great works upon which he had set his heart,
and to which he had given all his energies at Cambridge, held
out no promise of immediate profit. His serious theological
labours ranked above all others; and in these hard years, he
devoted his best strength to preparation for the great edition
of Jerome's works and emendation of the text of the New
Testament, a task inspired, encouraged and promoted by Colet.</p>

<p>For his living other books had to serve. He had a sufficient
number now, and the printers were eager enough about them,
though the profit which the author made by them was not
large. After leaving Aldus at Venice, Erasmus had returned to
the publisher who had printed for him as early as 1505&mdash;Josse
Badius, of Brabant, who, at Paris, had established the Ascensian
Press (called after his native place, Assche) and who, a scholar
himself, rivalled Aldus in point of the accuracy of his editions<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span>
of the classics. At the time when Erasmus took the <i>Moria</i> to
Gourmont, at Paris, he had charged Badius with a new edition,
still to be revised, of the <i>Adagia</i>. Why the <i>Moria</i> was published
by another, we cannot tell; perhaps Badius did not like it at
first. From the <i>Adagia</i> he promised himself the more profit,
but that was a long work, the alterations and preface of which
he was still waiting for Erasmus to send. He felt very sure of
his ground, for everyone knew that he, Badius, was preparing
the new edition. Yet a rumour reached him that in Germany
the Aldine edition was being reprinted. So there was some
hurry to finish it, he wrote to Erasmus in May 1512.</p>

<p>Badius, meanwhile, had much more work of Erasmus in
hand, or on approval: the <i>Copia</i>, which, shortly afterwards,
was published by him; the <i>Moria</i>, of which, at the same time,
a new edition, the fifth, already had appeared; the dialogues by
Lucian; the Euripides and Seneca translations, which were to
follow. He hoped to add Jerome's letters to these. For the
<i>Adagia</i> they had agreed upon a copy-fee of fifteen guilders; for
Jerome's letters Badius was willing to give the same sum and
as much again for the rest of the consignment. 'Ah, you will
say, what a very small sum! I own that by no remuneration
could your genius, industry, knowledge and labour be requited,
but the gods will requite you and your own virtue will
be the finest reward. You have already deserved exceedingly
well of Greek and Roman literature; you will in this same way
deserve well of sacred and divine, and you will help your little
Badius, who has a numerous family and no earnings besides
his daily trade.'</p>

<p>Erasmus must have smiled ruefully on receiving Badius's
letter. But he accepted the proposal readily. He promised to
prepare everything for the press and, on 5 January 1513, he
finished, in London, the preface to the revised <i>Adagia</i>, for
which Badius was waiting. But then something happened. An
agent who acted as a mediator with authors for several publishers
in Germany and France, one Francis Berckman, of
Cologne, took the revised copy of the <i>Adagia</i> with the preface
entrusted to him by Erasmus to hand over to Badius, not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span>
to Paris, but to Basle, to Johannes Froben, who had just, without
Erasmus's leave, reprinted the Venetian edition! Erasmus
pretended to be indignant at this mistake or perfidy, but it is
only too clear that he did not regret it. Six months later he
betook himself with bag and baggage to Basle, to enter with
that same Froben into those most cordial relations by which
their names are united. Beatus Rhenanus, afterwards, made no
secret of the fact that a connection with the house of Froben,
then still called Amerbach and Froben, had seemed attractive
to Erasmus ever since he had heard of the <i>Adagia</i> being
reprinted.</p>

<p>Without conclusive proofs of his complicity, we do not like
to accuse Erasmus of perfidy towards Badius, though his attitude
is curious, to say the least. But we do want to commemorate
the dignified tone in which Badius, who held strict
notions, as those times went, about copyright, replied, when
Berckman afterwards had come to offer him a sort of explanation
of the case. He declares himself satisfied, though Erasmus
had, since that time, caused him losses in more ways, amongst
others by printing a new edition of the <i>Copia</i> at Strassburg.
'If, however, it is agreeable to your interests and honour, I
shall suffer it, and that with equanimity.' Their relations were
not broken off. In all this we should not lose sight of the fact
that publishing at that time was yet a quite new commercial
phenomenon and that new commercial forms and relations of
trade are wont to be characterized by uncertainty, confusion
and lack of established business morals.</p>

<p>The stay at Cambridge gradually became irksome to
Erasmus. 'For some months already', he writes to Ammonius
in November 1513, 'we have been leading a true snail's life,
staying at home and plodding. It is very lonely here; most
people have gone for fear of the plague, but even when they
are all here, it is lonely.' The cost of sustenance is unbearable
and he makes no money at all. If he does not succeed, that
winter, in making a nest for himself, he is resolved to fly
away, he does not know where. 'If to no other end, to die
elsewhere.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span></p>

<p>Added to the stress of circumstances, the plague, reappearing
again and again, and attacks of his kidney-trouble, there
came the state of war, which depressed and alarmed Erasmus.
In the spring of 1513 the English raid on France, long prepared,
took place. In co-operation with Maximilian's army
the English had beaten the French near Guinegate and compelled
Therouanne to surrender, and afterwards Tournay.
Meanwhile the Scotch invaded England, to be decisively
beaten near Flodden. Their king, James IV, perished together
with his natural son, Erasmus's pupil and travelling companion
in Italy, Alexander, Archbishop of Saint Andrews.</p>

<p>Crowned with martial fame, Henry VIII returned in
November to meet his parliament. Erasmus did not share the
universal joy and enthusiastic admiration. 'We are circumscribed
here by the plague, threatened by robbers; we drink
wine of the worst (because there is no import from France),
but, <i>io triumphe!</i> we are the conquerors of the world!'</p>

<p>His deep aversion to the clamour of war, and all it represented,
stimulated Erasmus's satirical faculties. It is true that he
flattered the English national pride by an epigram on the rout
of the French near Guinegate, but soon he went deeper. He
remembered how war had impeded his movements in Italy;
how the entry of the pope-conqueror, Julius II, into Bologna
had outraged his feelings. 'The high priest Julius wages
war, conquers, triumphs and truly plays the part of Julius
(Caesar)' he had written then. Pope Julius, he thought,
had been the cause of all the wars spreading more and more
over Europe. Now the Pope had died in the beginning of the
year 1513.</p>

<p>And in the deepest secrecy, between his work on the New
Testament and Jerome, Erasmus took revenge on the martial
Pope, for the misery of the times, by writing the masterly
satire, entitled <i>Julius exclusus</i>, in which the Pope appears in all
his glory before the gate of the Heavenly Paradise to plead his
cause and find himself excluded. The theme was not new to
him; for had he not made something similar in the witty Cain
fable, by which, at one time, he had cheered a dinner-party at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span>
Oxford? But that was an innocent jest to which his pious
fellow-guests had listened with pleasure. To the satire about
the defunct Pope many would, no doubt, also gladly listen,
but Erasmus had to be careful about it. The folly of all the
world might be ridiculed, but not the worldly propensities of
the recently deceased Pope. Therefore, though he helped in
circulating copies of the manuscript, Erasmus did his utmost,
for the rest of his life, to preserve its anonymity, and when it
was universally known and had appeared in print, and he was
presumed to be the author, he always cautiously denied the
fact; although he was careful to use such terms as to avoid a
formal denial. The first edition of the <i>Julius</i> was published at
Basle, not by Froben, Erasmus's ordinary publisher, but by
Cratander, probably in the year 1518.</p>

<p>Erasmus's need of protesting against warfare had not been
satisfied by writing the <i>Julius</i>. In March 1514, no longer at
Cambridge, but in London, he wrote a letter to his former
patron, the Abbot of Saint Bertin, Anthony of Bergen, in
which he enlarges upon the folly of waging war. Would that
a Christian peace were concluded between Christian princes!
Perhaps the abbot might contribute to that consummation
through his influence with the youthful Charles V and especially
with his grandfather Maximilian. Erasmus states quite
frankly that the war has suddenly changed the spirit of
England. He would like to return to his native country if the
prince would procure him the means to live there in peace. It
is a remarkable fact and of true Erasmian na&iuml;vet&eacute; that he cannot
help mixing up his personal interests with his sincere
indignation at the atrocities disgracing a man and a Christian.
'The war has suddenly altered the spirit of this island. The cost
of living rises every day and generosity decreases. Through
lack of wine I nearly perished by gravel, contracted by taking
bad stuff. We are confined in this island, more than ever, so
that even letters are not carried abroad.'</p>

<p>This was the first of Erasmus's anti-war writings. He expanded
it into the adage <i>Dulce bellum inexpertis</i>, which was
inserted into the <i>Adagia</i> edition of 1515, published by Froben<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span>
and afterwards also printed separately. Hereafter we shall
follow up this line of Erasmus's ideas as a whole.</p>

<p>Though the summer of 1514 was to bring peace between
England and France, Erasmus had now definitely made up his
mind to leave England. He sent his trunks to Antwerp, to his
friend Peter Gilles and prepared to go to the Netherlands, after
a short visit to Mountjoy at the castle of Hammes near Calais.
Shortly before his departure from London he had a curious
interview with a papal diplomat, working in the cause of peace,
Count Canossa, at Ammonius's house on the Thames.
Ammonius passed him off on Erasmus as a merchant. After
the meal the Italian sounded him as to a possible return to
Rome, where he might be the first in place instead of living
alone among a barbarous nation. Erasmus replied that he lived
in a land that contained the greatest number of excellent
scholars, among whom he would be content with the humblest
place. This compliment was his farewell to England, which
had favoured him so. Some days later, in the first half of
July 1514, he was on the other side of the Channel. On three
more occasions he paid short visits to England, but he lived
there no more.</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 325px;">
<a href="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:john-huizinga-erasmus-and-the-age-of-reformation-plate-xiii.png">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:john-huizinga-erasmus-and-the-age-of-reformation-plate-xiii-th.png" width="325" height="512" alt="" title=""/>
</a></div>
<p class="center">Plate XIII. JOHANNES FROBEN, 1522-3.
Reproduced by gracious permission of H.M. The Queen</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 325px;">
<a href="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:john-huizinga-erasmus-and-the-age-of-reformation-plate-xiv.png">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:john-huizinga-erasmus-and-the-age-of-reformation-plate-xiv-th.png" width="325" height="481" alt="" title=""/>
</a></div>
<p class="center">Plate XIV. THE PRINTER'S EMBLEM OF JOHANNES FROBEN<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span></p>




<h2><a name="chapter_xi" id="chapter_xi"></a>CHAPTER XI</h2>

<h3>A LIGHT OF THEOLOGY</h3>

<h3>1514-16</h3>

<div class="blockquot"><p>On the way to success and satisfaction&mdash;His Prior calls him back to Steyn&mdash;He
refuses to comply&mdash;First journey to Basle: 1514-16&mdash;Cordial welcome in
Germany&mdash;Johannes Froben&mdash;Editions of Jerome and the New Testament&mdash;A
Councillor to Prince Charles: <i>Institutio Principis Christiani</i>, 1515&mdash;Definitive
dispensation from Monastic Vows: 1517&mdash;Fame&mdash;Erasmus as
a spiritual centre&mdash;His correspondence&mdash;Letter-writing as an art&mdash;Its
dangers&mdash;A glorious age at hand</p></div>


<p>Erasmus had, as was usual with him, enveloped his departure
from England with mystery. It was given out that he was
going to Rome to redeem a pledge. Probably he had already
determined to try his fortune in the Netherlands; not in
Holland, but in the neighbourhood of the princely court in
Brabant. The chief object of his journey, however, was to visit
Froben's printing-office at Basle, personally to supervise the
publication of the numerous works, old and new, which he
brought with him, among them the material for his chosen
task, the New Testament and Jerome, by which he hoped to
effect the restoration of theology, which he had long felt to be
his life-work. It is easy thus to imagine his anxiety when during
the crossing he discovered that his hand-bag, containing the
manuscripts, was found to have been taken on board another
ship. He felt bereft, having lost the labour of so many years; a
sorrow so great, he writes, as only parents can feel at the loss of
their children.</p>

<p>To his joy, however, he found his manuscripts safe on the
other side. At the castle of Hammes near Calais, he stayed for
some days, the guest of Mountjoy. There, on 7 July, a letter
found him, written on 18 April by his superior, the prior of
Steyn, his old friend Servatius Rogerus, recalling him to the
monastery after so many years of absence. The letter had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span>
already been in the hands of more than one prying person,
before it reached him by mere chance.</p>

<p>It was a terrific blow, which struck him in the midst of his
course to his highest aspirations. Erasmus took counsel for a
day and then sent a refusal. To his old friend, in addressing
whom he always found the most serious accents of his being,
he wrote a letter which he meant to be a justification and which
was self-contemplation, much deeper and more sincere than
the one which, at a momentous turning-point of his life, had
drawn from him his <i>Carmen Alpestre</i>.</p>

<p>He calls upon God to be his witness that he would follow
the purest inspiration of his life. But to return to the monastery!
He reminds Servatius of the circumstances under which he
entered it, as they lived in his memory: the pressure of his
relations, his false modesty. He points out to him how ill
monastic life had suited his constitution, how it outraged his
love of freedom, how detrimental it would be to his delicate
health, if now resumed. Had he, then, lived a worse life in the
world? Literature had kept him from many vices. His restless
life could not redound to his dishonour, though only with
diffidence did he dare to appeal to the examples of Solon,
Pythagoras, St. Paul and his favourite Jerome. Had he not
everywhere won recognition from friends and patrons? He
enumerates them: cardinals, archbishops, bishops, Mountjoy, the
Universities of Oxford and Cambridge, and, lastly, John Colet.
Was there, then, any objection to his works: the <i>Enchiridion</i>,
the <i>Adagia</i>? (He did not mention the <i>Moria</i>.) The best was still
to follow: Jerome and the New Testament. The fact that,
since his stay in Italy, he had laid aside the habit of his order
and wore a common clerical dress, he could excuse on a
number of grounds.</p>

<p>The conclusion was: I shall not return to Holland. 'I know
that I shall not be able to stand the air and the food there; all
eyes will be directed to me. I shall return to the country, an
old and grey man, who left it as a youth; I shall return a
valetudinarian; I shall be exposed to the contempt even of the
lowest, I, who am accustomed to be honoured even by the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span>
greatest.' 'It is not possible', he concludes, 'to speak out
frankly in a letter. I am now going to Basle and thence to
Rome, perhaps, but on my return I shall try to visit you ... I
have heard of the deaths of William, Francis and Andrew (his
old Dutch friends). Remember me to Master Henry and the
others who live with you; I am disposed towards them as
befits me. For those old tragedies I ascribe to my errors, or if
you like to my fate. Do not omit to commend me to Christ in
your prayers. If I knew for sure that it would be pleasing to
Him that I should return to live with you, I should prepare
for the journey this very day. Farewell, my former sweetest
companion, now my venerable father.'</p>

<p>Underlying the immediate motives of his high theological
aspirations, this refusal was doubtless actuated by his ancient,
inveterate, psychological incentives of disgust and shame.<a name="FNanchor_13_13" id="FNanchor_13_13"></a><a href="#Footnote_13_13" class="fnanchor">[13]</a></p>

<hr style='width: 45%;' />

<p>Through the southern Netherlands, where he visited several
friends and patrons and renewed his acquaintance with the
University of Louvain, Erasmus turned to the Rhine and
reached Basle in the second half of August 1514. There such
pleasures of fame awaited him as he had never yet tasted.
The German humanists hailed him as the light of the world&mdash;in
letters, receptions and banquets. They were more solemn
and enthusiastic than Erasmus had found the scholars of
France, England and Italy, to say nothing of his compatriots;
and they applauded him emphatically as being a German himself
and an ornament of Germany. At his first meeting with
Froben, Erasmus permitted himself the pleasure of a jocular
deception: he pretended to be a friend and agent of himself, to
enjoy to the full the joy of being recognized. The German
environment was rather to his mind: '<i>My</i> Germany, which to
my regret and shame I got to know so late'.</p>

<p>Soon the work for which he had come was in full swing. He
was in his element once more, as he had been at Venice six
years before: working hard in a large printing-office, surrounded
by scholars, who heaped upon him homage and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span>
kindness in those rare moments of leisure which he permitted
himself. 'I move in a most agreeable Museon: so many men of
learning, and of such exceptional learning!'</p>

<p>Some translations of the lesser works of Plutarch were published
by Froben in August. The <i>Adagia</i> was passing through
the press again with corrections and additions, and the preface
which was originally destined for Badius. At the same time
Dirck Maertensz, at Louvain, was also at work for Erasmus,
who had, on passing through the town, entrusted him with a
collection of easy Latin texts; also M. Sch&uuml;rer at Strassburg,
who prepared the <i>Parabolae sive similia</i> for him. For Froben,
too, Erasmus was engaged on a Seneca, which appeared in
1515, together with a work on Latin construction. But Jerome
and the New Testament remained his chief occupation.</p>

<p>Jerome's works had been Erasmus's love in early youth,
especially his letters. The plan of preparing a correct edition of
the great Father of the Church was conceived in 1500, if not
earlier, and he had worked at it ever since, at intervals. In 1513
he writes to Ammonius: 'My enthusiasm for emending and
annotating Jerome is such that I feel as though inspired by
some god. I have almost completely emended him already by
collating many old manuscripts. And this I do at incredibly
great expense.' In 1512 he negotiated with Badius about an
edition of the letters. Froben's partner, Johannes Amerbach,
who died before Erasmus's arrival, had been engaged for years
on an edition of Jerome. Several scholars, Reuchlin among
others, had assisted in the undertaking when Erasmus offered
himself and all his material. He became the actual editor. Of
the nine volumes, in which Froben published the work in
1516, the first four contained Erasmus's edition of Jerome's
letters; the others had been corrected by him and provided
with forewords.</p>

<p>His work upon the New Testament was, if possible, still
nearer his heart. By its growth it had gradually changed its
nature. Since the time when Valla's <i>Annotationes</i> had directed
his attention to textual criticism of the Vulgate, Erasmus had,
probably during his second stay in England from 1505 to 1506,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span>
at the instance of Colet, made a new translation of the New
Testament from the Greek original, which translation differed
greatly from the Vulgate. Besides Colet, few had seen it. Later,
Erasmus understood it was necessary to publish also a new
edition of the Greek text, with his notes. As to this he had
made a provisional arrangement with Froben, shortly after
his arrival at Basle. Afterwards he considered that it would be
better to have it printed in Italy, and was on the point of going
there when, possibly persuaded by new offers from Froben, he
suddenly changed his plan of travel and in the spring of 1515
made a short trip to England&mdash;probably, among other reasons,
for the purpose of securing a copy of his translation of the New
Testament, which he had left behind there. In the summer he
was back at Basle and resumed the work in Froben's printing-office.
In the beginning of 1516 the <i>Novum Instrumentum</i>
appeared, containing the purified Greek text with notes,
together with a Latin translation in which Erasmus had altered
too great deviations from the Vulgate.</p>

<p>From the moment of the appearance of two such important
and, as regards the second, such daring theological
works by Erasmus as Jerome and the New Testament, we
may say that he had made himself the centre of the scientific
study of divinity, as he was at the same time the centre and
touchstone of classic erudition and literary taste. His authority
constantly increased in all countries, his correspondence was
prodigiously augmented.</p>

<p>But while his mental growth was accomplished, his financial
position was not assured. The years 1515 to 1517 are
among the most restless of his life; he is still looking out for
every chance which presents itself, a canonry at Tournay, a
prebend in England, a bishopric in Sicily, always half jocularly
regretting the good chances he missed in former times,
jesting about his pursuit of fortune, lamenting about his
'spouse, execrable poverty, which even yet I have not succeeded
in shaking off my shoulders'. And, after all, ever more
the victim of his own restlessness than of the disfavour of fate.
He is now fifty years old and still he is, as he says, 'sowing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span>
without knowing what I shall reap'. This, however, only refers
to his career, not to his life-work.</p>

<p>In the course of 1515 a new and promising patron, John
le Sauvage, Chancellor of Brabant, had succeeded in procuring
for him the title of councillor of the prince, the youthful
Charles V. In the beginning of 1516 he was nominated: it was
a mere title of honour, promising a yearly pension of 200
florins, which, however, was paid but irregularly. To habilitate
himself as a councillor of the prince, Erasmus wrote the
<i>Institutio Principis Christiani</i>, a treatise about the education of
a prince, which in accordance with Erasmus's nature and
inclination deals rather with moral than with political matters,
and is in striking contrast with that other work, written some
years earlier, <i>il Principe</i> by Machiavelli.</p>

<p>When his work at Basle ceased for the time being, in the
spring of 1516, Erasmus journeyed to the Netherlands. At
Brussels he met the chancellor, who, in addition to the prince's
pension, procured him a prebend at Courtray, which, like the
English benefice mentioned above, was compounded for by
money payments. At Antwerp lived one of the great friends
who helped in his support all his life: Peter Gilles, the young
town clerk, in whose house he stayed as often as he came to
Antwerp. Peter Gilles is the man who figures in More's
<i>Utopia</i> as the person in whose garden the sailor tells his
experiences; it was in these days that Gilles helped Dirck
Maertensz, at Louvain, to pass the first edition of the <i>Utopia</i>
through the press. Later Quentin Metsys was to paint him and
Erasmus, joined in a diptych; a present for Thomas More and
for us a vivid memorial of one of the best things Erasmus ever
knew: this triple friendship.</p>

<p>In the summer of 1516 Erasmus made another short trip to
England. He stayed with More, saw Colet again, also Warham,
Fisher, and the other friends. But it was not to visit old
friends that he went there. A pressing and delicate matter impelled
him. Now that prebends and church dignities began to
be presented to him, it was more urgent than ever that the
impediments in the way of a free ecclesiastical career should be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span>
permanently obviated. He was provided with a dispensation
of Pope Julius II, authorizing him to accept English prebends,
and another exempting him from the obligation of wearing
the habit of his order. But both were of limited scope, and
insufficient. The fervent impatience with which he conducted
this matter of his definite discharge from the order makes it
probable that, as Dr. Allen presumes, the threat of his recall to
Steyn had, since his refusal to Servatius in 1514, hung over his
head. There was nothing he feared and detested so much.</p>

<p>With his friend Ammonius he drew up, in London, a very
elaborate paper, addressed to the apostolic chancery, in which
he recounts the story of his own life as that of one Florentius:
his half-enforced entrance to the monastery, the troubles
which monastic life had brought him, the circumstances which
had induced him to lay his monk's dress aside. It is a passionate
apology, pathetic and ornate. The letter, as we know it,
does not contain a direct request. In an appendix at the end,
written in cipher, of which he sent the key in sympathetic ink
in another letter, the chancery was requested to obviate the
impediments which Erasmus's illegitimate birth placed in the
way of his promotion. The addressee, Lambertus Grunnius,
apostolic secretary, was most probably an imaginary personage.<a name="FNanchor_14_14" id="FNanchor_14_14"></a><a href="#Footnote_14_14" class="fnanchor">[14]</a>
So much mystery did Erasmus use when his vital
interests were at stake.</p>

<p>The Bishop of Worcester, Silvestro Gigli, who was setting
out to the Lateran Council, as the envoy of England, took
upon himself to deliver the letter and to plead Erasmus's cause.
Erasmus, having meanwhile at the end of August returned to
the Netherlands, awaited the upshot of his kind offices in the
greatest suspense. The matter was finally settled in January
1517. In two letters bearing the signature of Sadolet, Leo X
condoned Erasmus's transgressions of ecclesiastical law,
relieved him of the obligation to wear the dress of his order,
allowed him to live in the world and authorized him to hold<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span>
church benefices in spite of any disqualifications arising from
illegitimacy of birth.</p>

<p>So much his great fame had now achieved. The Pope had
moreover accepted the dedication of the edition of the New
Testament, and had, through Sadolet, expressed himself in
very gracious terms about Erasmus's work in general. Rome
itself seemed to further his endeavours in all respects.</p>

<p>Erasmus now thought of establishing himself permanently
in the Netherlands, to which everything pointed. Louvain
seemed to be the most suitable abode, the centre of studies,
where he had already spent two years in former times. But
Louvain did not attract him. It was the stronghold of conservative
theology. Martin van Dorp, a Dutchman like
Erasmus, and professor of divinity at Louvain, had, in 1514,
in the name of his faculty, rebuked Erasmus in a letter for the
audacity of the <i>Praise of Folly</i>, his derision of divines and
also his temerity in correcting the text of the New Testament.
Erasmus had defended himself elaborately. At present war was
being waged in a much wider field: for or against Reuchlin,
the great Hebrew scholar, for whom the authors of the
<i>Epistolae obscurorum virorum</i> had so sensationally taken up the
cudgels. At Louvain Erasmus was regarded with the same
suspicion with which he distrusted Dorp and the other Louvain
divines. He stayed during the remainder of 1516 and the
first half of 1517 at Antwerp, Brussels and Ghent, often in the
house of Peter Gilles. In February 1517, there came tempting
offers from France. Budaeus, Cop, &Eacute;tienne Poncher, Bishop of
Paris, wrote to him that the king, the youthful Francis I,
would present him with a generous prebend if he would come
to Paris. Erasmus, always shy of being tied down, only wrote
polite, evasive answers, and did not go.</p>

<hr style='width: 45%;' />

<p>In the meantime he received the news of the papal absolution.
In connection with this he had, once more, to visit
England, little dreaming that it would be the last time he should
set foot on British soil. In Ammonius's house of Saint Stephen's
Chapel at Westminster on 9 April 1517, the ceremony of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span>
absolution took place, ridding Erasmus for good of the nightmare
which had oppressed him since his youth. At last he
was free!</p>

<p>Invitations and specious promises now came to him from all
sides. Mountjoy and Wolsey spoke of high ecclesiastical
honours which awaited him in England. Budaeus kept pressing
him to remove to France. Cardinal Ximenes wanted to
attach him to the University of Alcal&aacute;, in Spain. The Duke of
Saxony offered him a chair at Leipzig. Pirckheimer boasted of
the perfections of the free imperial city of Nuremberg.
Erasmus, meanwhile, overwhelmed again with the labour of
writing and editing, according to his wont, did not definitely
decline any of these offers; neither did he accept any. He
always wanted to keep all his strings on his bow at the same
time. In the early summer of 1517 he was asked to accompany
the court of the youthful Charles, who was on the point of
leaving the Netherlands for Spain. But he declined. His
departure to Spain would have meant a long interruption of
immediate contact with the great publishing centres, Basle,
Louvain, Strassburg, Paris, and that, in turn, would have
meant postponement of his life-work. When, in the beginning
of July, the prince set out for Middelburg, there to take ship
for Spain, Erasmus started for Louvain.</p>

<p>He was thus destined to go to this university environment,
although it displeased him in so many respects. There he
would have academic duties, young latinists would follow him
about to get their poems and letters corrected by him and all
those divines, whom he distrusted, would watch him at close
quarters. But it was only to be for a few months. 'I have
removed to Louvain', he writes to the Archbishop of Canterbury,
'till I shall decide which residence is best suited to old
age, which is already knocking at the gate importunately.'</p>

<p>As it turned out, he was to spend four years (1517-21) at
Louvain. His life was now becoming more stationary, but
because of outward circumstances rather than of inward quiet.
He kept deliberating all those years whether he should go to
England, Germany or France, hoping at last to find the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span>
brilliant position which he had always coveted and never had
been able or willing to grasp.</p>

<p>The years 1516-18 may be called the culmination of
Erasmus's career. Applauding crowds surrounded him more
and more. The minds of men were seemingly prepared for
something great to happen and they looked to Erasmus as the
man! At Brussels, he was continually bothered with visits from
Spaniards, Italians and Germans who wanted to boast of
their interviews with him. The Spaniards, with their verbose
solemnity, particularly bored him. Most exuberant of all were
the eulogies with which the German humanists greeted him in
their letters. This had begun already on his first journey to
Basle in 1514. 'Great Rotterdamer', 'ornament of Germany',
'ornament of the world' were some of the simplest effusions.
Town councils waited upon him, presents of wine and public
banquets were of common occurrence. No one expresses himself
so hyperbolically as the jurist Ulrich Zasius of Freiburg. 'I
am pointed out in public', he asserts, 'as the man who has
received a letter from Erasmus.' 'Thrice greatest hero, you
great Jove' is a moderate apostrophe for him. 'The Swiss',
Zwingli writes in 1516, 'account it a great glory to have seen
Erasmus.' 'I know and I teach nothing but Erasmus now,'
writes Wolfgang Capito. Ulrich von Hutten and Henry
Glareanus both imagine themselves placed beside Erasmus,
as Alcibiades stood beside Socrates. And Beatus Rhenanus
devotes to him a life of earnest admiration and helpfulness that
was to prove of much more value than these exuberant
panegyrics. There is an element of national exaltation in this
German enthusiasm for Erasmus: it is the violently stimulated
mood into which Luther's word will fall anon.</p>

<p>The other nations also chimed in with praise, though a little
later and a little more soberly. Colet and Tunstall promise him
immortality, &Eacute;tienne Poncher exalts him above the celebrated
Italian humanists, Germain de Brie declares that French
scholars have ceased reading any authors but Erasmus, and
Budaeus announces that all Western Christendom resounds
with his name.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span></p>

<p>This increase of glory manifested itself in different ways.
Almost every year the rumour of his death was spread abroad,
malignantly, as he himself thinks. Again, all sorts of writings
were ascribed to him in which he had no share whatever,
amongst others the <i>Epistolae obscurorum virorum</i>.</p>

<p>But, above all, his correspondence increased immensely. The
time was long since past when he asked More to procure him
more correspondents. Letters now kept pouring in to him,
from all sides, beseeching him to reply. A former pupil
laments with tears that he cannot show a single note written
by Erasmus. Scholars respectfully sought an introduction from
one of his friends, before venturing to address him. In this
respect Erasmus was a man of heroic benevolence, and tried to
answer what he could, although so overwhelmed by letters
every day that he hardly found time to read them. 'If I do not
answer, I seem unkind,' says Erasmus, and that thought was
intolerable.</p>

<p>We should bear in mind that letter-writing, at that time,
occupied more or less the place of the newspaper at present, or
rather of the literary monthly, which arose fairly directly out
of erudite correspondence. It was, as in antiquity&mdash;which in
this respect was imitated better and more profitably, perhaps,
than in any other sphere&mdash;an art. Even before 1500 Erasmus
had, at Paris, described that art in the treatise, <i>De conscribendis
epistolis</i>, which was to appear in print in 1522. People wrote,
as a rule, with a view to later publication, for a wider circle, or
at any rate, with the certainty that the recipient would show
the letter to others. A fine Latin letter was a gem, which a man
envied his neighbour. Erasmus writes to Budaeus: 'Tunstall
has devoured your letter to me and re-read it as many as three
or four times; I had literally to tear it from his hands.'</p>

<p>Unfortunately fate did not always take into consideration
the author's intentions as to publicity, semi-publicity or strict
secrecy. Often letters passed through many hands before
reaching their destination, as did Servatius's letter to Erasmus
in 1514. 'Do be careful about letters,' he writes more than
once; 'waylayers are on the lookout to intercept them.' Yet,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span>
with the curious precipitation that characterizes him, Erasmus
was often very careless as to what he wrote. From an early age
he preserved and cared for his letters, yet nevertheless, through
his itinerant life, many were lost. He could not control their
publication. As early as 1509 a friend sent him a manuscript
volume of his own (Erasmus's) letters, that he had picked up
for sale at Rome. Erasmus had it burnt at once. Since 1515 he
himself superintended the publication of his letters; at first
only a few important ones; afterwards in 1516 a selection of
letters from friends to him, and after that ever larger collections
till, at the end of his life, there appeared a new collection
almost every year. No article was so much in demand on
the book market as letters by Erasmus, and no wonder. They
were models of excellent style, tasteful Latin, witty expression
and elegant erudition.</p>

<p>The semi-private, semi-public character of the letters often
made them compromising. What one could say to a friend in
confidence might possibly injure when many read it. Erasmus,
who never was aware how injuriously he expressed himself,
repeatedly gave rise to misunderstanding and estrangement.
Manners, so to say, had not yet adapted themselves to the new
art of printing, which increased the publicity of the written
word a thousandfold. Only gradually under this new influence
was the separation effected between the public word, intended
for the press, and the private communication, which remains
in writing and is read only by the recipient.</p>

<p>Meanwhile, with the growth of Erasmus's fame, his earlier
writings, too, had risen in the public estimation. The great
success of the <i>Enchiridion militis christiani</i> had begun about
1515, when the times were much riper for it than eleven years
before. 'The <i>Moria</i> is embraced as the highest wisdom,' writes
John Watson to him in 1516. In the same year we find a word
used, for the first time, which expresses better than anything
else how much Erasmus had become a centre of authority:
<i>Erasmiani</i>. So his German friends called themselves, according
to Johannes Sapidus. More than a year later Dr. Johannes Eck
employs the word still in a rather friendly sense, as a generally<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span>
current term: 'all scholars in Germany are Erasmians,' he says.
But Erasmus did not like the word. 'I find nothing in myself',
he replies, 'why anyone should wish to be an Erasmicus, and,
altogether, I hate those party names. We are all followers of
Christ, and to His glory we all drudge, each for his part.' But
he knows that now the question is: for or against him! From
the brilliant latinist and the man of wit of his prime he had
become the international pivot on which the civilization of his
age hinged. He could not help beginning to feel himself the
brain, the heart and the conscience of his times. It might even
appear to him that he was called to speak the great redeeming
word or, perhaps, that he had already spoken it. The faith in
an easy triumph of pure knowledge and Christian meekness in
a near future speaks from the preface of Erasmus's edition of
the New Testament.</p>

<p>How clear did the future look in those years! In this period
Erasmus repeatedly reverts to the glad motif of a golden age,
which is on the point of dawning. Perennial peace is before
the door. The highest princes of the world, Francis I of France,
Charles, King of Spain, Henry VIII of England, and the emperor
Maximilian have ensured peace by the strongest ties.
Uprightness and Christian piety will flourish together with
the revival of letters and the sciences. As at a given signal the
mightiest minds conspire to restore a high standard of culture.
We may congratulate the age, it will be a golden one.</p>

<p>But Erasmus does not sound this note long. It is heard for
the last time in 1519; after which the dream of universal happiness
about to dawn gives place to the usual complaint about
the badness of the times everywhere.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span></p>

<h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_13_13" id="Footnote_13_13"></a><a href="#FNanchor_13_13"><span class="label">[13]</span></a> For a full translation of this important letter see pp. <a href="#Page_212">212-18</a>.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_14_14" id="Footnote_14_14"></a><a href="#FNanchor_14_14"><span class="label">[14]</span></a> The name Grunnius may have been taken from Jerome's epistles,
where it is a nickname for a certain Ruffinus, whom Jerome disliked
very much. It appears again in a letter of 5 March 1531, LB. X 1590 A.</p></div>




<h2><a name="chapter_xii" id="chapter_xii"></a>CHAPTER XII</h2>

<h3>ERASMUS'S MIND</h3>

<div class="blockquot"><p>Erasmus's mind: Ethical and aesthetic tendencies, aversion to all that is
unreasonable, silly and cumbrous&mdash;His vision of antiquity pervaded by
Christian faith&mdash;Renascence of good learning&mdash;The ideal life of serene
harmony and happy wisdom&mdash;Love of the decorous and smooth&mdash;His mind
neither philosophic nor historical, but strongly philological and moralistic&mdash;Freedom,
clearness, purity, simplicity&mdash;Faith in nature&mdash;Educational
and social ideas</p></div>


<p>What made Erasmus the man from whom his contemporaries
expected their salvation, on whose lips they hung to
catch the word of deliverance? He seemed to them the bearer
of a new liberty of the mind, a new clearness, purity and simplicity
of knowledge, a new harmony of healthy and right
living. He was to them as the possessor of newly discovered,
untold wealth which he had only to distribute.</p>

<p>What was there in the mind of the great Rotterdamer which
promised so much to the world?</p>

<p>The negative aspect of Erasmus's mind may be defined as a
heartfelt aversion to everything unreasonable, insipid, purely
formal, with which the undisturbed growth of medieval
culture had overburdened and overcrowded the world of
thought. As often as he thinks of the ridiculous text-books out
of which Latin was taught in his youth, disgust rises in his
mind, and he execrates them&mdash;Mammetrectus, Brachylogus,
Ebrardus and all the rest&mdash;as a heap of rubbish which ought to
be cleared away. But this aversion to the superannuated,
which had become useless and soulless, extended much
farther. He found society, and especially religious life, full of
practices, ceremonies, traditions and conceptions, from which
the spirit seemed to have departed. He does not reject them offhand
and altogether: what revolts him is that they are so often
performed without understanding and right feeling. But to his
mind, highly susceptible to the foolish and ridiculous things,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span>
and with a delicate need of high decorum and inward dignity,
all that sphere of ceremony and tradition displays itself as a
useless, nay, a hurtful scene of human stupidity and selfishness.
And, intellectualist as he is, with his contempt for ignorance,
he seems unaware that those religious observances, after all, may
contain valuable sentiments of unexpressed and unformulated
piety.</p>

<p>Through his treatises, his letters, his <i>Colloquies</i> especially,
there always passes&mdash;as if one was looking at a gallery of
Brueghel's pictures&mdash;a procession of ignorant and covetous
monks who by their sanctimony and humbug impose upon
the trustful multitude and fare sumptuously themselves. As
a fixed motif (such motifs are numerous with Erasmus)
there always recurs his gibe about the superstition that a
person was saved by dying in the gown of a Franciscan or a
Dominican.</p>

<p>Fasting, prescribed prayers, the observance of holy days,
should not be altogether neglected, but they become displeasing
to God when we repose our trust in them and forget
charity. The same holds good of confession, indulgence, all
sorts of blessings. Pilgrimages are worthless. The veneration
of the Saints and of their relics is full of superstition and foolishness.
The people think they will be preserved from disasters
during the day if only they have looked at the painted image of
Saint Christopher in the morning. 'We kiss the shoes of the
saints and their dirty handkerchiefs and we leave their books,
their most holy and efficacious relics, neglected.'</p>

<p>Erasmus's dislike of what seemed antiquated and worn out
in his days, went farther still. It comprised the whole intellectual
scheme of medieval theology and philosophy. In the
syllogistic system he found only subtlety and arid ingenuity.
All symbolism and allegory were fundamentally alien to him
and indifferent, though he occasionally tried his hand at an
allegory; and he never was mystically inclined.</p>

<p>Now here it is just as much the deficiencies of his own mind
as the qualities of the system which made him unable to
appreciate it. While he struck at the abuse of ceremonies and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span>
of Church practices both with noble indignation and well-aimed
mockery, a proud irony to which he was not fully
entitled preponderates in his condemnation of scholastic
theology which he could not quite understand. It was easy
always to talk with a sneer of the conservative divines of his
time as <i>magistri nostri</i>.</p>

<p>His noble indignation hurt only those who deserved castigation
and strengthened what was valuable, but his mockery
hurt the good as well as the bad in spite of him, assailed both
the institution and persons, and injured without elevating
them. The individualist Erasmus never understood what it
meant to offend the honour of an office, an order, or an establishment,
especially when that institution is the most sacred of
all, the Church itself.</p>

<p>Erasmus's conception of the Church was no longer purely
Catholic. Of that glorious structure of medieval-Christian
civilization with its mystic foundation, its strict hierarchic
construction, its splendidly fitting symmetry he saw hardly
anything but its load of outward details and ornament. Instead
of the world which Thomas Aquinas and Dante had described,
according to their vision, Erasmus saw another world, full
of charm and elevated feeling, and this he held up before his
compatriots.</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 250px;">
<a href="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:john-huizinga-erasmus-and-the-age-of-reformation-plate-xv.png">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:john-huizinga-erasmus-and-the-age-of-reformation-plate-xv-th.png" width="250" height="340" alt="" title=""/>
</a></div>
<p class="center">Plate XV. THE HANDS OF ERASMUS</p>

<p>It was the world of Antiquity, but illuminated throughout
by Christian faith. It was a world that had never existed as
such. For with the historical reality which the times of Constantine
and the great fathers of the Church had manifested&mdash;that
of declining Latinity and deteriorating Hellenism, the
oncoming barbarism and the oncoming Byzantinism&mdash;it had
nothing in common. Erasmus's imagined world was an amalgamation
of pure classicism (this meant for him, Cicero,
Horace, Plutarch; for to the flourishing period of the Greek
mind he remained after all a stranger) and pure, biblical
Christianity. Could it be a union? Not really. In Erasmus's
mind the light falls, just as we saw in the history of his career,
alternately on the pagan antique and on the Christian. But the
warp of his mind is Christian; his classicism only serves him as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span>
a form, and from Antiquity he only chooses those elements
which in ethical tendency are in conformity with his Christian
ideal.</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100%;">
<a href="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:john-huizinga-erasmus-and-the-age-of-reformation-plate-xvi.png">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:john-huizinga-erasmus-and-the-age-of-reformation-plate-xvi.png" width="40%" alt="" title=""/>
</a></div>
<p class="center">Plate XVI. ERASMUS AT THE AGE OF 57</p>

<p>And because of this, Erasmus, although he appeared after a
century of earlier Humanism, is yet new to his time. The
union of Antiquity and the Christian spirit which had haunted
the mind of Petrarch, the father of Humanism, which was lost
sight of by his disciples, enchanted as they were by the irresistible
brilliance of the antique beauty of form, this union was
brought about by Erasmus.</p>

<p>What pure Latinity and the classic spirit meant to Erasmus
we cannot feel as he did because its realization does not mean
to us, as to him, a difficult conquest and a glorious triumph.
To feel it thus one must have acquired, in a hard school, the
hatred of barbarism, which already during his first years of
authorship had suggested the composition of the <i>Antibarbari</i>.
The abusive term for all that is old and rude is already Gothic,
Goths. The term barbarism as used by Erasmus comprised
much of what we value most in the medieval spirit. Erasmus's
conception of the great intellectual crisis of his day was distinctly
dualistic. He saw it as a struggle between old and new,
which, to him, meant evil and good. In the advocates of tradition
he saw only obscurantism, conservatism, and ignorant
opposition to <i>bonae literae</i>, that is, the good cause for which he
and his partisans battled. Of the rise of that higher culture
Erasmus had already formed the conception which has since
dominated the history of the Renaissance. It was a revival,
begun two or three hundred years before his time, in which,
besides literature, all the plastic arts shared. Side by side with
the terms restitution and reflorescence the word renascence
crops up repeatedly in his writings. 'The world is coming to
its senses as if awaking out of a deep sleep. Still there are some
left who recalcitrate pertinaciously, clinging convulsively with
hands and feet to their old ignorance. They fear that if <i>bonae
literae</i> are reborn and the world grows wise, it will come to
light that they have known nothing.' They do not know how
pious the Ancients could be, what sanctity characterizes<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span>
Socrates, Virgil, and Horace, or Plutarch's <i>Moralia</i>, how rich
the history of Antiquity is in examples of forgiveness and true
virtue. We should call nothing profane that is pious and conduces
to good morals. No more dignified view of life was ever
found than that which Cicero propounds in <i>De Senectute</i>.</p>

<p>In order to understand Erasmus's mind and the charm which
it had for his contemporaries, one must begin with the ideal
of life that was present before his inward eye as a splendid
dream. It is not his own in particular. The whole Renaissance
cherished that wish of reposeful, blithe, and yet serious intercourse
of good and wise friends in the cool shade of a house
under trees, where serenity and harmony would dwell. The
age yearned for the realization of simplicity, sincerity, truth
and nature. Their imagination was always steeped in the
essence of Antiquity, though, at heart, it is more nearly connected
with medieval ideals than they themselves were aware.
In the circle of the Medici it is the idyll of Careggi, in Rabelais
it embodies itself in the fancy of the abbey of Th&eacute;l&egrave;me; it
finds voice in More's <i>Utopia</i> and in the work of Montaigne.
In Erasmus's writings that ideal wish ever recurs in the shape of
a friendly walk, followed by a meal in a garden-house. It is
found as an opening scene of the <i>Antibarbari</i>, in the numerous
descriptions of meals with Colet, and the numerous <i>Convivia</i>
of the <i>Colloquies</i>. Especially in the <i>Convivium religiosum</i>
Erasmus has elaborately pictured his dream, and it would be
worth while to compare it, on the one hand with Th&eacute;l&egrave;me,
and on the other with the fantastic design of a pleasure garden
which Bernard Palissy describes. The little Dutch eighteenth-century
country-seats and garden-houses in which the national
spirit took great delight are the fulfilment of a purely Erasmian
ideal. The host of the <i>Convivium religiosum</i> says: 'To me
a simple country-house, a nest, is pleasanter than any palace,
and, if he be king who lives in freedom and according to his
wishes, surely I am king here'.</p>

<p>Life's true joy is in virtue and piety. If they are Epicureans
who live pleasantly, then none are more truly Epicureans than
they who live in holiness and piety.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span></p>

<p>The ideal joy of life is also perfectly idyllic in so far that it
requires an aloofness from earthly concerns and contempt for
all that is sordid. It is foolish to be interested in all that happens
in the world; to pride oneself on one's knowledge of the
market, of the King of England's plans, the news from Rome,
conditions in Denmark. The sensible old man of the <i>Colloquium
Senile</i> has an easy post of honour, a safe mediocrity, he
judges no one and nothing and smiles upon all the world.
Quiet for oneself, surrounded by books&mdash;that is of all things
most desirable.</p>

<p>On the outskirts of this ideal of serenity and harmony
numerous flowers of aesthetic value blow, such as Erasmus's
sense of decorum, his great need of kindly courtesy, his
pleasure in gentle and obliging treatment, in cultured and
easy manners. Close by are some of his intellectual peculiarities.
He hates the violent and extravagant. Therefore the
choruses of the Greek drama displease him. The merit of his
own poems he sees in the fact that they pass passion by, they
abstain from pathos altogether&mdash;'there is not a single storm
in them, no mountain torrent overflowing its banks, no
exaggeration whatever. There is great frugality in words. My
poetry would rather keep within bounds than exceed them,
rather hug the shore than cleave the high seas.' In another
place he says: 'I am always most pleased by a poem that does
not differ too much from prose, but prose of the best sort, be
it understood. As Philoxenus accounted those the most palatable
fishes that are no true fishes and the most savoury meat
what is no meat, the most pleasant voyage, that along the
shores, and the most agreeable walk, that along the water's
edge; so I take especial pleasure in a rhetorical poem and a
poetical oration, so that poetry is tasted in prose and the
reverse.' That is the man of half-tones, of fine shadings, of the
thought that is never completely expressed. But he adds: 'Farfetched
conceits may please others; to me the chief concern
seems to be that we draw our speech from the matter itself and
apply ourselves less to showing off our invention than to
present the thing.' That is the realist.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span></p>

<p>From this conception results his admirable, simple clarity,
the excellent division and presentation of his argument. But it
also causes his lack of depth and the prolixity by which he is
characterized. His machine runs too smoothly. In the endless
<i>apologiae</i> of his later years, ever new arguments occur to him;
new passages to point, or quotations to support, his idea. He
praises laconism, but never practises it. Erasmus never coins a
sentence which, rounded off and pithy, becomes a proverb and
in this manner lives. There are no current quotations from
Erasmus. The collector of the <i>Adagia</i> has created no new
ones of his own.</p>

<p>The true occupation for a mind like his was paraphrasing,
in which, indeed, he amply indulged. Soothing down and
unfolding was just the work he liked. It is characteristic that he
paraphrased the whole New Testament except the Apocalypse.</p>

<p>Erasmus's mind was neither philosophic nor historic. His was
neither the work of exact, logical discrimination, nor of grasping
the deep sense of the way of the world in broad historical
visions in which the particulars themselves, in their multiplicity
and variegation, form the image. His mind is philological
in the fullest sense of the word. But by that alone he
would not have conquered and captivated the world. His
mind was at the same time of a deeply ethical and rather strong
aesthetic trend and those three together have made him great.</p>

<p>The foundation of Erasmus's mind is his fervent desire of
freedom, clearness, purity, simplicity and rest. It is an old
ideal of life to which he gave new substance by the wealth of
his mind. Without liberty, life is no life; and there is no liberty
without repose. The fact that he never took sides definitely
resulted from an urgent need of perfect independence. Each
engagement, even a temporary one, was felt as a fetter by
Erasmus. An interlocutor in the <i>Colloquies</i>, in which he so
often, spontaneously, reveals his own ideals of life, declares
himself determined neither to marry, nor to take holy orders,
nor to enter a monastery, nor into any connection from which
he will afterwards be unable to free himself&mdash;at least not before
he knows himself completely. 'When will that be? Never,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span>
perhaps.' 'On no other account do I congratulate myself more
than on the fact that I have never attached myself to any party,'
Erasmus says towards the end of his life.</p>

<p>Liberty should be spiritual liberty in the first place. 'But he
that is spiritual judgeth all things, yet he himself is judged of no
man,' is the word of Saint Paul. To what purpose should he
require prescriptions who, of his own accord, does better
things than human laws require? What arrogance it is to bind
by institutions a man who is clearly led by the inspirations of
the divine spirit!</p>

<p>In Erasmus we already find the beginning of that optimism
which judges upright man good enough to dispense with fixed
forms and rules. As More, in <i>Utopia</i>, and Rabelais, Erasmus
relies already on the dictates of nature, which produces man
as inclined to good and which we may follow, provided we
are imbued with faith and piety.</p>

<p>In this line of confidence in what is natural and desire of the
simple and reasonable, Erasmus's educational and social ideas
lie. Here he is far ahead of his times. It would be an attractive
undertaking to discuss Erasmus's educational ideals more fully.
They foreshadow exactly those of the eighteenth century. The
child should learn in playing, by means of things that are agreeable
to its mind, from pictures. Its faults should be gently
corrected. The flogging and abusive schoolmaster is Erasmus's
abomination; the office itself is holy and venerable to him.
Education should begin from the moment of birth. Probably
Erasmus attached too much value to classicism, here as elsewhere:
his friend Peter Gilles should implant the rudiments of
the ancient languages in his two-year-old son, that he may
greet his father with endearing stammerings in Greek and
Latin. But what gentleness and clear good sense shines from
all Erasmus says about instruction and education!</p>

<p>The same holds good of his views about marriage and
woman. In the problem of sexual relations he distinctly sides
with the woman from deep conviction. There is a great deal
of tenderness and delicate feeling in his conception of the
position of the girl and the woman. Few characters of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span>
<i>Colloquies</i> have been drawn with so much sympathy as the girl
with the lover and the cultured woman in the witty conversation
with the abbot. Erasmus's ideal of marriage is truly
social and hygienic. Let us beget children for the State and for
Christ, says the lover, children endowed by their upright
parents with a good disposition, children who see the good
example at home which is to guide them. Again and again he
reverts to the mother's duty to suckle the child herself. He
indicates how the house should be arranged, in a simple and
cleanly manner; he occupies himself with the problem of useful
children's dress. Who stood up at that time, as he did, for
the fallen girl, and for the prostitute compelled by necessity?
Who saw so clearly the social danger of marriages of persons
infected with the new scourge of Europe, so violently abhorred
by Erasmus? He would wish that such a marriage should
at once be declared null and void by the Pope. Erasmus does
not hold with the easy social theory, still quite current in
the literature of his time, which casts upon women all the
blame of adultery and lewdness. With the savages who live in
a state of nature, he says, the adultery of men is punished, but
that of women is forgiven.</p>

<p>Here it appears, at the same time, that Erasmus knew, be it
half in jest, the conception of natural virtue and happiness of
naked islanders in a savage state. It soon crops up again in
Montaigne and the following centuries develop it into a
literary dogma.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span></p>




<h2><a name="chapter_xiii" id="chapter_xiii"></a>CHAPTER XIII</h2>

<h3>ERASMUS'S MIND-CONTINUED</h3>

<div class="blockquot"><p>Erasmus's mind: Intellectual tendencies&mdash;The world encumbered by beliefs
and forms&mdash;Truth must be simple&mdash;Back to the pure sources&mdash;Holy
Scripture in the original languages&mdash;Biblical humanism&mdash;Critical work on
the texts of Scripture&mdash;Practice better than dogma&mdash;Erasmus's talent and
wit&mdash;Delight in words and things&mdash;Prolixity&mdash;Observation of details&mdash;A
veiled realism&mdash;Ambiguousness&mdash;The 'Nuance'&mdash;Inscrutability of the
ultimate ground of all things</p></div>


<p>Simplicity, naturalness, purity, and reasonableness, those
are to Erasmus the dominant requirements, also when we pass
from his ethical and aesthetic concepts to his intellectual point
of view; indeed, the two can hardly be kept apart.</p>

<p>The world, says Erasmus, is overloaded with human constitutions
and opinions and scholastic dogmas, and overburdened
with the tyrannical authority of orders, and because of
all this the strength of gospel doctrine is flagging. Faith requires
simplification, he argued. What would the Turks say of our
scholasticism? Colet wrote to him one day: 'There is no end
to books and science. Let us, therefore, leave all roundabout
roads and go by a short cut to the truth.'</p>

<p>Truth must be simple. 'The language of truth is simple, says
Seneca; well then, nothing is simpler nor truer than Christ.'
'I should wish', Erasmus says elsewhere, 'that this simple and
pure Christ might be deeply impressed upon the mind of
men, and that I deem best attainable in this way, that we,
supported by our knowledge of the original languages, should
philosophize <i>at the sources</i> themselves.'</p>

<p>Here a new watchword comes to the fore: back to the
sources! It is not merely an intellectual, philological requirement;
it is equally an ethical and aesthetic necessity of life. The
original and pure, all that is not yet overgrown or has not
passed through many hands, has such a potent charm. Erasmus<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span>
compared it to an apple which we ourselves pick off the tree.
To recall the world to the ancient simplicity of science, to lead
it back from the now turbid pools to those living and most
pure fountain-heads, those most limpid sources of gospel doctrine&mdash;thus
he saw the task of divinity. The metaphor of the
limpid water is not without meaning here; it reveals the
psychological quality of Erasmus's fervent principle.</p>

<p>'How is it', he exclaims, 'that people give themselves so
much trouble about the details of all sorts of remote philosophical
systems and neglect to go to the sources of Christianity
itself?' 'Although this wisdom, which is so excellent
that once for all it put the wisdom of all the world to shame,
may be drawn from these few books, as from a crystalline
source, with far less trouble than is the wisdom of Aristotle
from so many thorny books and with much more fruit....
The equipment for that journey is simple and at everyone's
immediate disposal. This philosophy is accessible to everybody.
Christ desires that his mysteries shall be spread as widely
as possible. I should wish that all good wives read the Gospel
and Paul's Epistles; that they were translated into all languages;
that out of these the husbandman sang while ploughing,
the weaver at his loom; that with such stories the traveller
should beguile his wayfaring.... This sort of philosophy is
rather a matter of disposition than of syllogisms, rather of life
than of disputation, rather of inspiration than of erudition,
rather of transformation than of logic.... What is the philosophy
of Christ, which he himself calls <i>Renascentia</i>, but the
insaturation of Nature created good?&mdash;moreover, though no
one has taught us this so absolutely and effectively as Christ, yet
also in pagan books much may be found that is in accordance
with it.'</p>

<p>Such was the view of life of this biblical humanist. As often
as Erasmus reverts to these matters, his voice sounds clearest.
'Let no one', he says in the preface to the notes to the New
Testament, 'take up this work, as he takes up Gellius's <i>Noctes
atticae</i> or Poliziano's Miscellanies.... We are in the presence
of holy things; here it is no question of eloquence, these<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span>
matters are best recommended to the world by simplicity and
purity; it would be ridiculous to display human erudition here,
impious to pride oneself on human eloquence.' But Erasmus
never was so eloquent himself as just then.</p>

<p>What here raises him above his usual level of force and
fervour is the fact that he fights a battle, the battle for the right
of biblical criticism. It revolts him that people should study
Holy Scripture in the Vulgate when they know that the texts
show differences and are corrupt, although we have the Greek
text by which to go back to the original form and primary
meaning.</p>

<p>He is now reproached because he dares, as a mere grammarian,
to assail the text of Holy Scripture on the score of
futile mistakes or irregularities. 'Details they are, yes, but
because of these details we sometimes see even great divines
stumble and rave.' Philological trifling is necessary. 'Why are
we so precise as to our food, our clothes, our money-matters
and why does this accuracy displease us in divine literature
alone? He crawls along the ground, they say, he wearies himself
out about words and syllables! Why do we slight any
word of Him whom we venerate and worship under the name
of the Word? But, be it so! Let whoever wishes imagine that
I have not been able to achieve anything better, and out of
sluggishness of mind and coldness of heart or lack of erudition
have taken this lowest task upon myself; it is still a Christian
idea to think all work good that is done with pious zeal. We
bring along the bricks, but to build the temple of God.'</p>

<p>He does not want to be intractable. Let the Vulgate be kept
for use in the liturgy, for sermons, in schools, but he who, at
home, reads our edition, will understand his own the better
in consequence. He, Erasmus, is prepared to render account
and acknowledge himself to have been wrong when convicted
of error.</p>

<p>Erasmus perhaps never quite realized how much his philological-critical
method must shake the foundations of the
Church. He was surprised at his adversaries 'who could not
but believe that all their authority would perish at once when<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span>
the sacred books might be read in a purified form, and when
people tried to understand them in the original'. He did not
feel what the unassailable authority of a sacred book meant.
He rejoices because Holy Scripture is approached so much
more closely, because all sorts of shadings are brought to light
by considering not only what is said but also by whom, for
whom, at what time, on what occasion, what precedes and
what follows, in short, by the method of historical philological
criticism. To him it seemed so especially pious when reading
Scripture and coming across a place which seemed contrary to
the doctrine of Christ or the divinity of his nature, to believe
rather that one did not understand the phrase <i>or that the text
might be corrupt</i>. Unperceived he passed from emendation of
the different versions to the correction of the contents. The
epistles were not all written by the apostles to whom they are
attributed. The apostles themselves made mistakes, at times.</p>

<p>The foundation of his spiritual life was no longer a unity to
Erasmus. It was, on the one hand, a strong desire for an upright,
simple, pure and homely belief, the earnest wish to be
a good Christian. But it was also the irresistible intellectual and
aesthetic need of the good taste, the harmony, the clear and
exact expression of the Ancients, the dislike of what was cumbrous
and involved. Erasmus thought that good learning
might render good service for the necessary purification of the
faith and its forms. The measure of church hymns should be
corrected. That Christian expression and classicism were incompatible,
he never believed. The man who in the sphere of
sacred studies asked every author for his credentials remained
unconscious of the fact that he acknowledged the authority of
the Ancients without any evidence. How na&iuml;vely he appeals to
Antiquity, again and again, to justify some bold feat! He is
critical, they say? Were not the Ancients critical? He permits
himself to insert digressions? So did the Ancients, etc.</p>

<p>Erasmus is in profound sympathy with that revered Antiquity
by his fundamental conviction that it is the practice of
life which matters. Not he is the great philosopher who knows
the tenets of the Stoics or Peripatetics by rote&mdash;but he who<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span>
expresses the meaning of philosophy by his life and his morals,
for that is its purpose. He is truly a divine who teaches, not by
artful syllogisms, but by his disposition, by his face and his
eyes, by his life itself, that wealth should be despised. To live
up to that standard is what Christ himself calls <i>Renascentia</i>.
Erasmus uses the word in the Christian sense only. But in that
sense it is closely allied to the idea of the Renaissance as a
historical phenomenon. The worldly and pagan sides of the
Renaissance have nearly always been overrated. Erasmus is,
much more than Aretino or Castiglione, the representative of
the spirit of his age, one over whose Christian sentiment the
sweet gale of Antiquity had passed. And that very union of
strong Christian endeavour and the spirit of Antiquity is the
explanation of Erasmus's wonderful success.</p>

<hr style='width: 45%;' />

<p>The mere intention and the contents of the mind do not
influence the world, if the form of expression does not cooperate.
In Erasmus the quality of his talent is a very important
factor. His perfect clearness and ease of expression, his
liveliness, wit, imagination, gusto and humour have lent a
charm to all he wrote which to his contemporaries was irresistible
and captivates even us, as soon as we read him. In all
that constitutes his talent, Erasmus is perfectly and altogether
a representative of the Renaissance. There is, in the first place,
his eternal <i>&agrave; propos</i>. What he writes is never vague, never
dark&mdash;it is always plausible. Everything seemingly flows
of itself like a fountain. It always rings true as to tone,
turn of phrase and accent. It has almost the light harmony
of Ariosto. And it is, like Ariosto, never tragic, never truly
heroic. It carries us away, indeed, but it is never itself truly
enraptured.</p>

<p>The more artistic aspects of Erasmus's talent come out most
clearly&mdash;though they are everywhere in evidence&mdash;in those
two recreations after more serious labour, the <i>Moriae Encomium</i>
and the <i>Colloquia</i>. But just those two have been of
enormous importance for his influence upon his times. For
while Jerome reached tens of readers and the New Testament<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span>
hundreds, the <i>Moria</i> and <i>Colloquies</i> went out to thousands. And
their importance is heightened in that Erasmus has nowhere
else expressed himself so spontaneously.</p>

<p>In each of the Colloquies, even in the first purely formulary
ones, there is the sketch for a comedy, a novelette or a
satire. There is hardly a sentence without its 'point', an expression
without a vivid fancy. There are unrivalled niceties.
The abbot of the <i>Abbatis et eruditae colloquium</i> is a Moli&egrave;re
character. It should be noticed how well Erasmus always sustains
his characters and his scenes, because he <i>sees</i> them. In
'The woman in childbed' he never forgets for a moment that
Eutrapelus is an artist. At the end of 'The game of knucklebones',
when the interlocutors, after having elucidated the
whole nomenclature of the Latin game of knuckle-bones, are
going to play themselves, Carolus says: 'but shut the door
first, lest the cook should see us playing like two boys'.</p>

<p>As Holbein illustrated the <i>Moria</i>, we should wish to possess
the <i>Colloquia</i> with illustrations by Brueghel, so closely allied is
Erasmus's witty clear vision of incidents to that of this great
master. The procession of drunkards on Palm Sunday, the
saving of the shipwrecked crew, the old men waiting for the
travelling cart while the drivers are still drinking, all these are
Dutch genre pieces of the best sort.</p>

<p>We like to speak of the realism of the Renaissance. Erasmus
is certainly a realist in the sense of having an insatiable hunger
for knowledge of the tangible world. He wants to know things
and their names: the particulars of each thing, be it never so
remote, such as those terms of games and rules of games of the
Romans. Read carefully the description of the decorative
painting on the garden-house of the <i>Convivium religiosum</i>: it is
nothing but an object lesson, a graphic representation of the
forms of reality.</p>

<p>In its joy over the material universe and the supple, pliant
word, the Renaissance revels in a profusion of imagery and
expressions. The resounding enumerations of names and
things, which Rabelais always gives, are not unknown to
Erasmus, but he uses them for intellectual and useful purposes.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span>
In <i>De copia verborum ac rerum</i> one feat of varied power of expression
succeeds another&mdash;he gives fifty ways of saying:
'Your letter has given me much pleasure,' or, 'I think that it is
going to rain'. The aesthetic impulse is here that of a theme
and variations: to display all the wealth and mutations of the
logic of language. Elsewhere, too, Erasmus indulges this proclivity
for accumulating the treasures of his genius; he and his
contemporaries can never restrain themselves from giving all
the instances instead of one: in <i>Ratio verae theologiae</i>, in <i>De
pronuntiatione</i>, in <i>Lingua</i>, in <i>Ecclesiastes</i>. The collections of
<i>Adagia</i>, <i>Parabolae</i>, and <i>Apophthegmata</i> are altogether based on
this eagerness of the Renaissance (which, by the way, was an
inheritance of the Middle Ages themselves) to luxuriate in the
wealth of the tangible world, to revel in words and things.</p>

<p>The senses are open for the nice observation of the curious.
Though Erasmus does not know that need of proving the
secrets of nature, which inspired a Leonardo da Vinci, a
Paracelsus, a Vesalius, he is also, by his keen observation, a
child of his time. For peculiarities in the habits and customs of
nations he has an open eye. He notices the gait of Swiss
soldiers, how dandies sit, how Picards pronounce French. He
notices that in old pictures the sitters are always represented
with half-closed eyes and tightly shut lips, as signs of modesty,
and how some Spaniards still honour this expression in life,
while German art prefers lips pouting as for a kiss. His lively
sense of anecdote, to which he gives the rein in all his writings,
belongs here.</p>

<p>And, in spite of all his realism, the world which Erasmus sees
and renders, is not altogether that of the sixteenth century.
Everything is veiled by Latin. Between the author's mind and
reality intervenes his antique diction. At bottom the world of
his mind is imaginary. It is a subdued and limited sixteenth-century
reality which he reflects. Together with its coarseness
he lacks all that is violent and direct in his times. Compared
with the artists, with Luther and Calvin, with the statesmen,
the navigators, the soldiers and the scientists, Erasmus confronts
the world as a recluse. It is only the influence of Latin.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span>
In spite of all his receptiveness and sensitiveness, Erasmus is
never fully in contact with life. All through his work not a
bird sings, not a wind rustles.</p>

<p>But that reserve or fear of directness is not merely a negative
quality. It also results from a consciousness of the indefiniteness
of the ground of all things, from the awe of the ambiguity
of all that is. If Erasmus so often hovers over the borderline
between earnestness and mockery, if he hardly ever gives an
incisive conclusion, it is not only due to cautiousness, and fear
to commit himself. Everywhere he sees the shadings, the blending
of the meaning of words. The terms of things are no
longer to him, as to the man of the Middle Ages, as crystals
mounted in gold, or as stars in the firmament. 'I like assertions
so little that I would easily take sides with the sceptics whereever
it is allowed by the inviolable authority of Holy Scripture
and the decrees of the Church.' 'What is exempt from error?'
All subtle contentions of theological speculation arise from a
dangerous curiosity and lead to impious audacity. What have
all the great controversies about the Trinity and the Virgin
Mary profited? 'We have defined so much that without
danger to our salvation might have remained unknown or
undecided.... The essentials of our religion are peace and
unanimity. These can hardly exist unless we make definitions
about as few points as possible and leave many questions to
individual judgement. Numerous problems are now postponed
till the oecumenical Council. It would be much better to put
off such questions till the time when the glass shall be removed
and the darkness cleared away, and we shall see God face to
face.'</p>

<p>'There are sanctuaries in the sacred studies which God has
not willed that we should probe, and if we try to penetrate
there, we grope in ever deeper darkness the farther we proceed,
so that we recognize, in this manner, too, the inscrutable
majesty of divine wisdom and the imbecility of human
understanding.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span></p>




<h2><a name="chapter_xiv" id="chapter_xiv"></a>CHAPTER XIV</h2>

<h3>ERASMUS'S CHARACTER</h3>

<div class="blockquot"><p>Erasmus's character: Need of purity and cleanliness&mdash;Delicacy&mdash;Dislike of
contention, need of concord and friendship&mdash;Aversion to disturbance of any
kind&mdash;Too much concerned about other men's opinions&mdash;Need of self-justification&mdash;Himself
never in the wrong&mdash;Correlation between inclinations
and convictions&mdash;Ideal image of himself&mdash;Dissatisfaction with himself&mdash;Self-centredness&mdash;A
solitary at heart&mdash;Fastidiousness&mdash;Suspiciousness&mdash;Morbid
mistrust&mdash;Unhappiness&mdash;Restlessness&mdash;Unsolved contradictions of his being&mdash;Horror
of lies&mdash;Reserve and insinuation</p></div>


<p>Erasmus's powerful mind met with a great response in the
heart of his contemporaries and had a lasting influence on the
march of civilization. But one of the heroes of history he cannot
be called. Was not his failure to attain to still loftier
heights partly due to the fact that his character was not on a
level with the elevation of his mind?</p>

<p>And yet that character, a very complicated one, though he
took himself to be the simplest man in the world, was determined
by the same factors which determined the structure of
his mind. Again and again we find in his inclinations the
correlates of his convictions.</p>

<p>At the root of his moral being we find&mdash;a key to the understanding
of his character&mdash;that same profound need of purity
which drove him to the sources of sacred science. Purity in the
material and the moral sense is what he desires for himself and
others, always and in all things. Few things revolt him so much
as the practices of vintners who doctor wine and dealers who
adulterate food. If he continually chastens his language and
style, or exculpates himself from mistakes, it is the same impulse
which prompts his passionate desire for cleanliness and
brightness, of the home and of the body. He has a violent dislike
of stuffy air and smelly substances. He regularly takes a
roundabout way to avoid a malodorous lane; he loathes
shambles and fishmongers' shops. Fetors spread infection, he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span>
thinks. Erasmus had, earlier than most people, antiseptic ideas
about the danger of infection in the foul air of crowded inns,
in the breath of confessants, in baptismal water. Throw aside
common cups, he pleaded; let everybody shave himself, let us
be cleanly as to bed-sheets, let us not kiss each other by way of
greeting. The fear of the horrible venereal disease, imported
into Europe during his lifetime, and of which Erasmus
watched the unbridled propagation with solicitude, increases
his desire for purity. Too little is being done to stop it, he
thinks. He cautions against suspected inns; he wants to have
measures taken against the marriages of syphilitic persons.
In his undignified attitude towards Hutten his physical and
moral aversion to the man's evil plays an unmistakable part.</p>

<p>Erasmus is a delicate soul in all his fibres. His body forces
him to be that. He is highly sensitive, among other things very
susceptible to cold, 'the scholars' disorder', as he calls it. Early
in life already the painful malady of the stone begins to torment
him, which he resisted so bravely when his work was at
stake. He always speaks in a coddling tone about his little
body, which cannot stand fasting, which must be kept fit by
some exercise, namely riding, and for which he carefully tries
to select a suitable climate. He is at times circumstantial in the
description of his ailments.<a name="FNanchor_15_15" id="FNanchor_15_15"></a><a href="#Footnote_15_15" class="fnanchor">[15]</a> He has to be very careful in the
matter of his sleep; if once he wakes up, he finds it difficult to
go to sleep again, and because of that has often to lose the
morning, the best time to work and which is so dear to him.
He cannot stand cold, wind and fog, but still less overheated
rooms. How he has execrated the German stoves, which are
burned nearly all the year through and made Germany almost
unbearable to him! Of his fear of illness we have spoken above.
It is not only the plague which he flees&mdash;for fear of catching
cold he gives up a journey from Louvain to Antwerp, where
his friend Peter Gilles is in mourning. Although he realizes
quite well that 'often a great deal of the disease is in the
imagination', yet his own imagination leaves him no peace.
Nevertheless, when he is seriously ill he does not fear death.</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span></p>
<p>His hygienics amount to temperance, cleanliness and fresh
air, this last item in moderation: he takes the vicinity of the sea
to be unwholesome and is afraid of draughts. His friend Gilles,
who is ill, he advises: 'Do not take too much medicine, keep
quiet and do not get angry'. Though there is a 'Praise of
Medicine' among his works, he does not think highly of
physicians and satirizes them more than once in the <i>Colloquies</i>.</p>

<p>Also in his outward appearance there were certain features
betraying his delicacy. He was of medium height, well-made,
of a fair complexion with blond hair and blue eyes, a cheerful
face, a very articulate mode of speech, but a thin voice.</p>

<p>In the moral sphere Erasmus's delicacy is represented by his
great need of friendship and concord, his dislike of contention.
With him peace and harmony rank above all other considerations,
and he confesses them to be the guiding principles
of his actions. He would, if it might be, have all the world as a
friend. 'Wittingly I discharge no one from my friendship,' he
says. And though he was sometimes capricious and exacting
towards his friends, yet a truly great friend he was: witness the
many who never forsook him, or whom he, after a temporary
estrangement, always won back&mdash;More, Peter Gilles, Fisher,
Ammonius, Budaeus, and others too numerous to mention.
'He was most constant in keeping up friendships,' says Beatus
Rhenanus, whose own attachment to Erasmus is a proof of the
strong affection he could inspire.</p>

<p>At the root of this desire of friendship lies a great and sincere
need of affection. Remember the effusions of almost feminine
affection towards Servatius during his monastic period. But at
the same time it is a sort of moral serenity that makes him so:
an aversion to disturbance, to whatever is harsh and inharmonious.
He calls it 'a certain occult natural sense' which
makes him abhor strife. He cannot abide being at loggerheads
with anyone. He always hoped and wanted, he says, to keep
his pen unbloody, to attack no one, to provoke no one, even
if he were attacked. But his enemies had not willed it, and in
later years he became well accustomed to bitter polemics, with
Lef&egrave;vre d'&Eacute;taples, with Lee, with Egmondanus, with Hutten,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span>
with Luther, with Beda, with the Spaniards, and the Italians.
At first it is still noticeable how he suffers by it, how contention
wounds him, so that he cannot bear the pain in silence.
'Do let us be friends again,' he begs Lef&egrave;vre, who does not
reply. The time which he had to devote to his polemics he
regards as lost. 'I feel myself getting more heavy every day,'
he writes in 1520, 'not so much on account of my age as
because of the restless labour of my studies, nay more even
by the weariness of disputes than by the work, which, in
itself, is agreeable.' And how much strife was still in store for
him then!</p>

<p>If only Erasmus had been less concerned about public
opinion! But that seemed impossible: he had a fear of men, or,
we may call it, a fervent need of justification. He would always
see beforehand, and usually in exaggerated colours, the effect
his word or deed would have upon men. Of himself, it was
certainly true as he once wrote: that the craving for fame has
less sharp spurs than the fear of ignominy. Erasmus is with
Rousseau among those who cannot bear the consciousness of
guilt, out of a sort of mental cleanliness. Not to be able to repay
a benefit with interest, makes him ashamed and sad. He cannot
abide 'dunning creditors, unperformed duty, neglect of the
need of a friend'. If he cannot discharge the obligation, he
explains it away. The Dutch historian Fruin has quite correctly
observed: 'Whatever Erasmus did contrary to his duty
and his rightly understood interests was the fault of circumstances
or wrong advice; he is never to blame himself'. And
what he has thus justified for himself becomes with him universal
law: 'God relieves people of pernicious vows, if only
they repent of them,' says the man who himself had broken a
vow.</p>

<p>There is in Erasmus a dangerous fusion between inclination
and conviction. The correlations between his idiosyncrasies
and his precepts are undeniable. This has special reference to
his point of view in the matter of fasting and abstinence from
meat. He too frequently vents his own aversion to fish, or talks
of his inability to postpone meals, not to make this connection<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span>
clear to everybody. In the same way his personal experience in
the monastery passes into his disapproval, on principle, of
monastic life.</p>

<p>The distortion of the image of his youth in his memory, to
which we have referred, is based on that need of self-justification.
It is all unconscious interpretation of the undeniable facts
to suit the ideal which Erasmus had made of himself and to
which he honestly thinks he answers. The chief features of
that self-conceived picture are a remarkable, simple sincerity
and frankness, which make it impossible to him to dissemble;
inexperience and carelessness in the ordinary concerns of life
and a total lack of ambition. All this is true in the first instance:
there is a superficial Erasmus who answers to that image, but
it is not the whole Erasmus; there is a deeper one who is almost
the opposite and whom he himself does not know because he
will not know him. Possibly because behind this there is a still
deeper being, which is truly good.</p>

<p>Does he not ascribe weaknesses to himself? Certainly. He is,
in spite of his self-coddling, ever dissatisfied with himself and
his work. <i>Putidulus</i>, he calls himself, meaning the quality of
never being content with himself. It is that peculiarity which
makes him dissatisfied with any work of his directly after it
has appeared, so that he always keeps revising and supplementing.
'Pusillanimous' he calls himself in writing to Colet.
But again he cannot help giving himself credit for acknowledging
that quality, nay, converting that quality itself into a
virtue: it is modesty, the opposite of boasting and self-love.</p>

<p>This bashfulness about himself is the reason that he does not
love his own physiognomy, and is only persuaded with difficulty
by his friends to sit for a portrait. His own appearance is
not heroic or dignified enough for him, and he is not duped
by an artist who flatters him: 'Heigh-ho,' he exclaims, on
seeing Holbein's thumbnail sketch illustrating the <i>Moria</i>:
'if Erasmus still looked like that, he would take a wife at
once'. It is that deep trait of dissatisfaction that suggests the
inscription on his portraits: 'his writings will show you a
better image'.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span></p>

<p>Erasmus's modesty and the contempt which he displays of
the fame that fell to his lot are of a somewhat rhetorical
character. But in this we should not so much see a personal
trait of Erasmus as a general form common to all humanists.
On the other hand, this mood cannot be called altogether
artificial. His books, which he calls his children, have not
turned out well. He does not think they will live. He does not
set store by his letters: he publishes them because his friends
insist upon it. He writes his poems to try a new pen. He hopes
that geniuses will soon appear who will eclipse him, so that
Erasmus will pass for a stammerer. What is fame? A pagan
survival. He is fed up with it to repletion and would do
nothing more gladly than cast it off.</p>

<p>Sometimes another note escapes him. If Lee would help
him in his endeavours, Erasmus would make him immortal,
he had told the former in their first conversation. And he
threatens an unknown adversary, 'If you go on so impudently
to assail my good name, then take care that my gentleness
does not give way and I cause you to be ranked, after a
thousand years, among the venomous sycophants, among the
idle boasters, among the incompetent physicians'.</p>

<p>The self-centred element in Erasmus must needs increase
accordingly as he in truth became a centre and objective point
of ideas and culture. There really was a time when it must
seem to him that the world hinged upon him, and that it
awaited the redeeming word from him. What a widespread
enthusiastic following he had, how many warm friends and
venerators! There is something na&iuml;ve in the way in which he
thinks it requisite to treat all his friends, in an open letter, to a
detailed, rather repellent account of an illness that attacked
him on the way back from Basle to Louvain. <i>His</i> part, <i>his</i>
position, <i>his</i> name, this more and more becomes the aspect
under which he sees world-events. Years will come in which
his whole enormous correspondence is little more than one
protracted self-defence.</p>

<p>Yet this man who has so many friends is nevertheless solitary
at heart. And in the depth of that heart he desires to be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span>
alone. He is of a most retiring disposition; he is <i>a recluse</i>. 'I
have always wished to be alone, and there is nothing I hate so
much as sworn partisans.' Erasmus is one of those whom contact
with others weakens. The less he has to address and to
consider others, friends or enemies, the more truly he utters
his deepest soul. Intercourse with particular people always
causes little scruples in him, intentional amenities, coquetry,
reticences, reserves, spiteful hits, evasions. Therefore it should
not be thought that we get to know him to the core from his
letters. Natures like his, which all contact with men unsettles,
give their best and deepest when they speak impersonally and
to all.</p>

<p>After the early effusions of sentimental affection he no longer
opens his heart unreservedly to others. At bottom he feels
separated from all and on the alert towards all. There is a great
fear in him that others will touch his soul or disturb the image
he has made of himself. The attitude of warding off reveals
itself as fastidiousness and as bashfulness. Budaeus hit the mark
when he exclaimed jocularly: '<i>Fastidiosule!</i> You little fastidious
person!' Erasmus himself interprets the dominating trait
of his being as maidenly coyness. The excessive sensitiveness to
the stain attaching to his birth results from it. But his friend
Ammonius speaks of his <i>subrustica verecundia</i>, his somewhat
rustic <i>gaucherie</i>. There is, indeed, often something of the small
man about Erasmus, who is hampered by greatness and
therefore shuns the great, because, at bottom, they obsess him
and he feels them to be inimical to his being.</p>

<p>It seems a hard thing to say that genuine loyalty and fervent
gratefulness were strange to Erasmus. And yet such was his
nature. In characters like his a kind of mental cramp keeps
back the effusions of the heart. He subscribes to the adage:
'Love so, as if you may hate one day, and hate so, as if you
may love one day'. He cannot bear benefits. In his inmost soul
he continually retires before everybody. He who considers
himself the pattern of simple unsuspicion, is indeed in the
highest degree suspicious towards all his friends. The dead
Ammonius, who had helped him so zealously in the most<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span>
delicate concerns, is not secure from it. 'You are always unfairly
distrustful towards me,' Budaeus complains. 'What!'
exclaims Erasmus, 'you will find few people who are so little
distrustful in friendship as myself.'</p>

<p>When at the height of his fame the attention of the world
was indeed fixed on all he spoke or did, there was some
ground for a certain feeling on his part of being always
watched and threatened. But when he was yet an unknown
man of letters, in his Parisian years, we continually find traces
in him of a mistrust of the people about him that can only be
regarded as a morbid feeling. During the last period of his life
this feeling attaches especially to two enemies, Eppendorf and
Aleander. Eppendorf employs spies everywhere who watch
Erasmus's correspondence with his friends. Aleander continually
sets people to combat him, and lies in wait for him wherever
he can. His interpretation of the intentions of his assailants
has the ingenious self-centred element which passes the
borderline of sanity. He sees the whole world full of calumny
and ambuscades threatening his peace: nearly all those who
once were his best friends have become his bitterest enemies;
they wag their venomous tongues at banquets, in conversation,
in the confessional, in sermons, in lectures, at court, in
vehicles and ships. The minor enemies, like troublesome
vermin, drive him to weariness of life, or to death by insomnia.
He compares his tortures to the martyrdom of Saint
Sebastian, pierced by arrows. But his is worse, for there is no end
to it. For years he has daily been dying a thousand deaths and
that alone; for his friends, if such there are, are deterred by envy.</p>

<p>He mercilessly pillories his patrons in a row for their stinginess.
Now and again there suddenly comes to light an undercurrent
of aversion and hatred which we did not suspect.
Where had more good things fallen to his lot than in England?
Which country had he always praised more? But suddenly
a bitter and unfounded reproach escapes him. England is
responsible for his having become faithless to his monastic
vows, 'for no other reason do I hate Britain more than for this,
though it has always been pestilent to me'.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span></p>

<p>He seldom allows himself to go so far. His expressions of
hatred or spite are, as a rule, restricted to the feline. They are
aimed at friends and enemies, Budaeus, Lypsius, as well as
Hutten and Beda. Occasionally we are struck by the expression
of coarse pleasure at another's misfortune. But in all this,
as regards malice, we should not measure Erasmus by our
ideas of delicacy and gentleness. Compared with most of his
contemporaries he remains moderate and refined.</p>

<hr style='width: 45%;' />

<p>Erasmus never felt happy, was never content. This may
perhaps surprise us for a moment, when we think of his cheerful,
never-failing energy, of his gay jests and his humour. But
upon reflection this unhappy feeling tallies very well with his
character. It also proceeds from his general attitude of warding
off. Even when in high spirits he considers himself in all respects
an unhappy man. 'The most miserable of all men, the
thrice-wretched Erasmus,' he calls himself in fine Greek terms.
His life 'is an Iliad of calamities, a chain of misfortunes. How
can anyone envy <i>me</i>?' To no one has Fortune been so constantly
hostile as to him. She has sworn his destruction, thus he
sang in his youth in a poetical complaint addressed to Gaguin:
from earliest infancy the same sad and hard fate has been constantly
pursuing him. Pandora's whole box seems to have been
poured out over him.</p>

<p>This unhappy feeling takes the special form of his having
been charged by unlucky stars with Herculean labour, without
profit or pleasure to himself:<a name="FNanchor_16_16" id="FNanchor_16_16"></a><a href="#Footnote_16_16" class="fnanchor">[16]</a> troubles and vexations
without end. His life might have been so much easier if he had
taken his chances. He should never have left Italy; or he ought
to have stayed in England. 'But an immoderate love of liberty
caused me to wrestle long with faithless friends and inveterate
poverty.' Elsewhere he says more resignedly: 'But we are
driven by fate'.</p>

<p>That immoderate love of liberty had indeed been as fate to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span>
him. He had always been the great seeker of quiet and liberty
who found liberty late and quiet never. By no means ever to
bind himself, to incur no obligations which might become
fetters&mdash;again that fear of the entanglements of life. Thus he
remained the great restless one. He was never truly satisfied
with anything, least of all with what he produced himself.
'Why, then, do you overwhelm us with so many books',
someone at Louvain objected, 'if you do not really approve of
any of them?' And Erasmus answers with Horace's word: 'In
the first place, because I cannot sleep'.</p>

<p>A sleepless energy, it was that indeed. He cannot rest. Still
half seasick and occupied with his trunks, he is already thinking
about an answer to Dorp's letter, just received, censuring
the <i>Moria</i>. We should fully realize what it means that time
after time Erasmus, who, by nature, loved quiet and was fearful,
and fond of comfort, cleanliness and good fare, undertakes
troublesome and dangerous journeys, even voyages, which he
detests, for the sake of his work and of that alone.</p>

<p>He is not only restless, but also precipitate. Helped by an
incomparably retentive and capacious memory he writes at
haphazard. He never becomes anacoluthic; his talent is too
refined and sure for that; but he does repeat himself and is
unnecessarily circumstantial. 'I rather pour out than write
everything,' he says. He compares his publications to parturitions,
nay, to abortions. He does not select his subjects, he
tumbles into them, and having once taken up a subject he
finishes without intermission. For years he has read only
<i>tumultuarie</i>, up and down all literature; he no longer finds time
really to refresh his mind by reading, and to work so as to
please himself. On that account he envied Budaeus.</p>

<p>'Do not publish too hastily,' More warns him: 'you are
watched to be caught in inexactitudes.' Erasmus knows it: he
will correct all later, he will ever have to revise and to polish
everything. He hates the labour of revising and correcting,
but he submits to it, and works passionately, 'in the treadmill
of Basle', and, he says, finishes the work of six years in eight
months.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span></p>

<p>In that recklessness and precipitation with which Erasmus
labours there is again one of the unsolved contradictions of his
being. He <i>is</i> precipitate and careless; he <i>wants</i> to be careful and
cautious; his mind drives him to be the first, his nature restrains
him, but usually only after the word has been written and published.
The result is a continual intermingling of explosion and
reserve.</p>

<p>The way in which Erasmus always tries to shirk definite
statements irritates us. How carefully he always tries to represent
the <i>Colloquies</i>, in which he had spontaneously revealed
so much of his inner convictions, as mere trifling committed
to paper to please his friends. They are only meant to teach
correct Latin! And if anything is said in them touching matters
of faith, it is not I who say it, is it? As often as he censures
classes or offices in the <i>Adagia</i>, princes above all, he warns the
readers not to regard his words as aimed at particular persons.</p>

<p>Erasmus was a master of reserve. He knew, even when he
held definite views, how to avoid direct decisions, not only
from caution, but also because he saw the eternal ambiguity of
human issues.</p>

<p>Erasmus ascribes to himself an unusual horror of lies. On
seeing a liar, he says, he was corporeally affected. As a boy he
already violently disliked mendacious boys, such as the little
braggart of whom he tells in the <i>Colloquies</i>. That this reaction
of aversion is genuine is not contradicted by the fact
that we catch Erasmus himself in untruths. Inconsistencies,
flattery, pieces of cunning, white lies, serious suppression of
facts, simulated sentiments of respect or sorrow&mdash;they may all
be pointed out in his letters. He once disavowed his deepest
conviction for a gratuity from Anne of Borselen by flattering
her bigotry. He requested his best friend Batt to tell lies in his
behalf. He most sedulously denied his authorship of the Julius
dialogue, for fear of the consequences, even to More, and
always in such a way as to avoid saying outright, 'I did not
write it'. Those who know other humanists, and know how
frequently and impudently they lied, will perhaps think more
lightly of Erasmus's sins.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span></p>

<p>For the rest, even during his lifetime he did not escape
punishment for his eternal reserve, his proficiency in semi-conclusions
and veiled truths, insinuations and slanderous
allusions. The accusation of perfidy was often cast in his teeth,
sometimes in serious indignation. 'You are always engaged in
bringing suspicion upon others,' Edward Lee exclaims. 'How
dare you usurp the office of a general censor, and condemn
what you have hardly ever tasted? How dare you despise all
but yourself? Falsely and insultingly do you expose your
antagonist in the <i>Colloquia</i>.' Lee quotes the spiteful passage
referring to himself, and then exclaims: 'Now from these
words the world may come to know its divine, its censor, its
modest and sincere author, that Erasmian diffidence, earnest,
decency and honesty! Erasmian modesty has long been proverbial.
You are always using the words "false accusations".
You say: if I was consciously guilty of the smallest of all his
(Lee's) false accusations, I should not dare to approach the
Lord's table!&mdash;O man, who are you, to judge another, a
servant who stands or falls before his Lord?'</p>

<p>This was the first violent attack from the conservative side,
in the beginning of 1520, when the mighty struggle which
Luther's action had unchained kept the world in ever greater
suspense. Six months later followed the first serious reproaches
on the part of radical reformers. Ulrich von Hutten, the
impetuous, somewhat foggy-headed knight, who wanted to
see Luther's cause triumph as the national cause of Germany,
turns to Erasmus, whom, at one time, he had enthusiastically
acclaimed as the man of the new weal, with the urgent appeal
not to forsake the cause of the reformation or to compromise
it. 'You have shown yourself fearful in the affair of Reuchlin;
now in that of Luther you do your utmost to convince his
adversaries that you are altogether averse from it, though we
know better. Do not disown us. You know how triumphantly
certain letters of yours are circulated, in which, to
protect yourself from suspicion, you rather meanly fasten it on
others ... If you are now afraid to incur a little hostility for
<i>my</i> sake, concede me at least that you will not allow yourself,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span>
out of fear for another, to be tempted to renounce me; rather
be silent about me.'</p>

<p>Those were bitter reproaches. In the man who had to
swallow them there was a puny Erasmus who deserved those
reproaches, who took offence at them, but did not take them
to heart, who continued to act with prudent reserve till
Hutten's friendship was turned to hatred. In him was also a
great Erasmus who knew how, under the passion and infatuation
with which the parties combated each other, the Truth he
sought, and the Love he hoped would subdue the world, were
obscured; who knew the God whom he professed too high to
take sides. Let us try ever to see of that great Erasmus as much
as the petty one permits.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span></p>

<h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_15_15" id="Footnote_15_15"></a><a href="#FNanchor_15_15"><span class="label">[15]</span></a> Cf. the letter to Beatus Rhenanus, pp. <a href="#Page_227">227-8</a>.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_16_16" id="Footnote_16_16"></a><a href="#FNanchor_16_16"><span class="label">[16]</span></a> Ad. 2001 LB. II, 717B, 77 c. 58A. On the book which Erasmus holds
in his hand in Holbein's portrait at Longford Castle, we read in Greek:
The Labours of Hercules.</p></div>




<h2><a name="chapter_xv" id="chapter_xv"></a>CHAPTER XV</h2>

<h3>AT LOUVAIN</h3>

<h3>1517-18</h3>

<div class="blockquot"><p>Erasmus at Louvain, 1517&mdash;He expects the renovation of the Church as
the fruit of good learning&mdash;Controversy with Lef&egrave;vre d'&Eacute;taples&mdash;Second
journey to Basle, 1518&mdash;He revises the edition of the New Testament&mdash;Controversies
with Latomus, Briard and Lee&mdash;Erasmus regards the opposition
of conservative theology merely as a conspiracy against good learning</p></div>


<p>When Erasmus established himself at Louvain in the summer
of 1517 he had a vague presentiment that great changes were
at hand. 'I fear', he writes in September, 'that a great subversion
of affairs is being brought about here, if God's favour
and the piety and wisdom of princes do not concern themselves
about human matters.' But the forms which that great change
would assume he did not in the least realize.</p>

<p>He regarded his removal as merely temporary. It was only
to last 'till we shall have seen which place of residence is best
fit for old age, which is already knocking'. There is something
pathetic in the man who desires nothing but quiet and
liberty, and who through his own restlessness, and his inability
not to concern himself about other people, never found a
really fixed abode or true independence. Erasmus is one of
those people who always seem to say: tomorrow, tomorrow!
I must first deal with this, and then ... As soon as he shall be
ready with the new edition of the New Testament and shall
have extricated himself from troublesome and disagreeable
theological controversies, in which he finds himself entangled
against his wish, he will sleep, hide himself, 'sing for himself
and the Muses'. But that time never came.</p>

<p>Where to live when he shall be free? Spain, to which
Cardinal Ximenes called him, did not appeal to him. From
Germany, he says, the stoves and the insecurity deter him.
In England the servitude which was required of him there
revolted him. But in the Netherlands themselves, he did not feel<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span>
at his ease, either: 'Here I am barked at a great deal, and there
is no remuneration; though I desired it ever so much, I could
not bear to stay there long'. Yet he remained for four years.</p>

<p>Erasmus had good friends in the University of Louvain. At
first he put up with his old host Johannes Paludanus, Rhetor
of the University, whose house he exchanged that summer for
quarters in the College of the Lily. Martin Dorp, a Dutchman
like himself, had not been estranged from him by their polemics
about the <i>Moria</i>; his good will was of great importance
to Erasmus, because of the important place Dorp occupied in
the theological faculty. And lastly, though his old patron,
Adrian of Utrecht, afterwards Pope, had by that time been
called away from Louvain to higher dignities, his influence
had not diminished in consequence, but rather increased; for
just about that time he had been made a cardinal.</p>

<p>Erasmus was received with great complaisance by the
Louvain divines. Their leader, the vice-chancellor of the
University, Jean Briard of Ath, repeatedly expressed his
approval of the edition of the New Testament, to Erasmus's
great satisfaction. Soon Erasmus found himself a member of
the theological faculty. Yet he did not feel at his ease among
the Louvain theologians. The atmosphere was a great deal less
congenial to him than that of the world of the English scholars.
Here he felt a spirit which he did not understand and distrusted
in consequence.</p>

<p>In the years in which the Reformation began, Erasmus was
the victim of a great misunderstanding, the result of the fact
that his delicate, aesthetic, hovering spirit understood neither
the profoundest depths of the faith nor the hard necessities of
human society. He was neither mystic nor realist. Luther was
both. To Erasmus the great problem of Church and State and
society, seemed simple. Nothing was required but restoration
and purification by a return to the original, unspoilt sources
of Christianity. A number of accretions to the faith, rather
ridiculous than revolting, had to be cleared away. All should
be reduced to the nucleus of faith, Christ and the Gospel.
Forms, ceremonies, speculations should make room for the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span>
practice of true piety. The Gospel was easily intelligible to
everybody and within everybody's reach. And the means to
reach all this was good learning, <i>bonae literae</i>. Had he not himself,
by his editions of the New Testament and of Jerome, and
even earlier by the now famous <i>Enchiridion</i>, done most of
what had to be done? 'I hope that what now pleases the
upright, will soon please all.' As early as the beginning of 1517
Erasmus had written to Wolfgang Fabricius Capito, in the
tone of one who has accomplished the great task. 'Well then,
take you the torch from us. The work will henceforth be a
great deal easier and cause far less hatred and envy. <i>We</i> have
lived through the first shock.'</p>

<p>Budaeus writes to Tunstall in May 1517: 'Was anyone born
under such inauspicious Graces that the dull and obscure
discipline (scholasticism) does not revolt him, since sacred
literature, too, cleansed by Erasmus's diligence, has regained
its ancient purity and brightness? But it is still much greater
that he should have effected by the same labour the emergence
of sacred truth itself out of that Cimmerian darkness,
even though divinity is not yet quite free from the dirt of the
sophist school. If that should occur one day, it will be owing
to the beginnings made in our times.' The philologist Budaeus
believed even more firmly than Erasmus that faith was a
matter of erudition.</p>

<p>It could not but vex Erasmus that not everyone accepted
the cleansed truth at once. How could people continue to
oppose themselves to what, to him, seemed as clear as daylight
and so simple? He, who so sincerely would have liked to
live in peace with all the world, found himself involved in a
series of polemics. To let the opposition of opponents pass unnoticed
was forbidden not only by his character, for ever
striving to justify himself in the eyes of the world, but also by
the custom of his time, so eager for dispute.</p>

<p>There were, first of all, his polemics with Jacques Lef&egrave;vre
d'&Eacute;taples, or in Latinized form, Faber Stapulensis, the Parisian
theologian, who as a preparer of the Reformation may, more
than anyone else, be ranked with Erasmus. At the moment<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span>
when Erasmus got into the travelling cart which was to take
him to Louvain, a friend drew his attention to a passage in the
new edition of Faber's commentary on St. Paul's epistles, in
which he controverted Erasmus's note on the Second Epistle
to the Hebrews, verse 7. Erasmus at once bought Faber's book,
and soon published an <i>Apologia</i>. It concerned Christ's relation
to God and the angels, but the dogmatic point at issue hinged,
after all, on a philological interpretation of Erasmus.</p>

<p>Not yet accustomed to much direct wrangling, Erasmus was
violently agitated by the matter, the more as he esteemed
Faber highly and considered him a congenial spirit. 'What on
earth has occurred to the man? Have others set him on
against me? All theologians agree that I am right,' he asserts.
It makes him nervous that Faber does not reply again at once.
Badius has told Peter Gilles that Faber is sorry about it. Erasmus
in a dignified letter appeals to their friendship; he will
suffer himself to be taught and censured. Then again he growls:
Let him be careful. And he thinks that his controversy
with Faber keeps the world in suspense: there is not a
meal at which the guests do not side with one or the other
of them. But finally the combat abated and the friendship
was preserved.</p>

<p>Towards Easter 1518, Erasmus contemplated a new journey
to Basle, there to pass through the press, during a few months
of hard labour, the corrected edition of the New Testament.
He did not fail to request the chiefs of conservative divinity at
Louvain beforehand to state their objections to his work.
Briard of Ath declared he had found nothing offensive in it,
after he had first been told all sorts of bad things about it.
'Then the new edition will please you much better,' Erasmus
had said. His friend Dorp and James Latomus, also one of the
chief divines, had expressed themselves in the same sense, and
the Carmelite Nicholas of Egmond had said that he had never
read Erasmus's work. Only a young Englishman, Edward
Lee, who was studying Greek at Louvain, had summarized a
number of criticisms into ten conclusions. Erasmus had got
rid of the matter by writing to Lee that he had not been able to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span>
get hold of his conclusions and therefore could not make use of
them. But his youthful critic had not put up with being slighted
so, and worked out his objections in a more circumstantial
treatise.</p>

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<p class="center">Plate XVII. VIEW OF BASLE, 1548</p>

<p>Thus Erasmus set out for Basle once more in May 1518. He
had been obliged to ask all his English friends (of whom
Ammonius had been taken from him by death in 1517) for
support to defray the expenses of the journey; he kept holding
out to them the prospect that, after his work was finished, he
would return to England. In a letter to Martin Lypsius, as he
was going up the Rhine, he answered Lee's criticism, which
had irritated him extremely. In revising his edition he not only
took it but little into account, but ventured, moreover, this
time to print his own translation of the New Testament of
1506 without any alterations. At the same time he obtained
for the new edition a letter of approval from the Pope, a
redoubtable weapon against his cavillers.</p>

<p>At Basle Erasmus worked again like a horse in a treadmill.
But he was really in his element. Even before the second edition
of the New Testament, the <i>Enchiridion</i> and the <i>Institutio
Principis Christiani</i> were reprinted by Froben. On his return
journey, Erasmus, whose work had been hampered all
through the summer by indisposition, and who had, on that
account, been unable to finish it, fell seriously ill. He reached
Louvain with difficulty (21 September 1518). It might be the
pestilence, and Erasmus, ever much afraid of contagion himself,
now took all precautions to safeguard his friends against
it. He avoided his quarters in the College of the Lily, and
found shelter with his most trusted friend, Dirck Maertensz,
the printer. But in spite of rumours of the plague and his
warnings, first Dorp and afterwards also Ath came, at once, to
visit him. Evidently the Louvain professors did not mean so
badly by him, after all.</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 250px;">
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<p class="center">Plate XVIII. Title-page of the New Testament printed by Froben in 1520</p>

<p>But the differences between Erasmus and the Louvain
faculty were deeply rooted. Lee, hurt by the little attention
paid by Erasmus to his objections, prepared a new critique,
but kept it from Erasmus, for the present, which irritated the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span>
latter and made him nervous. In the meantime a new opponent
arose. Directly after his return to Louvain, Erasmus had
taken much trouble to promote the establishment of the
<i>Collegium Trilingue</i>, projected and endowed by Jerome
Busleiden, in his testament, to be founded in the university.
The three biblical languages, Hebrew, Greek and Latin, were
to be taught there. Now when James Latomus, a member of
the theological faculty and a man whom he esteemed, in a
dialogue about the study of those three languages and of
theology, doubted the utility of the former, Erasmus judged
himself concerned, and answered Latomus in an <i>Apologia</i>.
About the same time (spring 1519) he got into trouble with
the vice-chancellor himself. Erasmus thought that Ath had
publicly censured him with regard to his 'Praise of Marriage',
which had recently appeared. Though Ath withdrew at once,
Erasmus could not abstain from writing an <i>Apologia</i>, however
moderate. Meanwhile the smouldering quarrel with Lee
assumed ever more hateful forms. In vain did Erasmus's
English friends attempt to restrain their young, ambitious
compatriot. Erasmus on his part irritated him furtively. He
reveals in this whole dispute a lack of self-control and dignity
which shows his weakest side. Usually so anxious as to decorum
he now lapses into invectives: The British adder, Satan,
even the old taunt ascribing a tail to Englishmen has to serve
once more. The points at issue disappear altogether behind
the bitter mutual reproaches. In his unrestrained anger,
Erasmus avails himself of the most unworthy weapons. He
eggs his German friends on to write against Lee and to ridicule
him in all his folly and brag, and then he assures all his English
friends: 'All Germany is literally furious with Lee; I have the
greatest trouble in keeping them back'.</p>

<p>Alack! Germany had other causes of disturbance: it is 1520
and the three great polemics of Luther were setting the world
on fire.</p>

<p>Though one may excuse the violence and the petty spitefulness
of Erasmus in this matter, as resulting from an
over-sensitive heart falling somewhat short in really manly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span>
qualities, yet it is difficult to deny that he failed completely to
understand both the arguments of his adversaries and the great
movements of his time.</p>

<p>It was very easy for Erasmus to mock the narrow-mindedness
of conservative divines who thought that there would be
an end to faith in Holy Scripture as soon as the emendation of
the text was attempted. '"They correct the Holy Gospel, nay,
the Pater Noster itself!" the preacher exclaims indignantly
in the sermon before his surprised congregation. As if I cavilled
at Matthew and Luke, and not at those who, out of ignorance
and carelessness, have corrupted them. What do people wish?
That the Church should possess Holy Scripture as correct as
possible, or not?' This reasoning seemed to Erasmus, with his
passionate need of purity, a conclusive refutation. But instinct
did not deceive his adversaries, when it told them that
doctrine itself was at stake if the linguistic judgement of a
single individual might decide as to the correct version of a
text. And Erasmus wished to avoid the inferences which
assailed doctrine. He was not aware of the fact that his conceptions
of the Church, the sacraments and the dogmas were
no longer purely Catholic, because they had become subordinated
to his philological insight. He could not be aware of
it because, in spite of all his natural piety and his fervent
ethical sentiments, he lacked the mystic insight which is the
foundation of every creed.</p>

<p>It was this personal lack in Erasmus which made him unable
to understand the real grounds of the resistance of Catholic
orthodoxy. How was it possible that so many, and among
them men of high consideration, refused to accept what to
him seemed so clear and irrefutable! He interpreted the fact
in a highly personal way. He, the man who would so gladly
have lived in peace with all the world, who so yearned for
sympathy and recognition, and bore enmity with difficulty,
saw the ranks of haters and opponents increase about him. He
did not understand how they feared his mocking acrimony,
how many wore the scar of a wound that the <i>Moria</i> had made.
That real and supposed hatred troubled Erasmus. He sees his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span>
enemies as a sect. It is especially the Dominicans and the
Carmelites who are ill-affected towards the new scientific
theology. Just then a new adversary had arisen at Louvain in
the person of his compatriot Nicholas of Egmond, prior of
the Carmelites, henceforth an object of particular abhorrence
to him. It is remarkable that at Louvain Erasmus found his
fiercest opponents in some compatriots, in the narrower sense
of the word: Vincent Dirks of Haarlem, William of Vianen,
Ruurd Tapper. The persecution increases: the venom of
slander spreads more and more every day and becomes more
deadly; the greatest untruths are impudently preached about
him; he calls in the help of Ath, the vice-chancellor, against
them. But it is no use; the hidden enemies laugh; let him write
for the erudite, who are few; we shall bark to stir up the
people. After 1520 he writes again and again: 'I am stoned
every day'.</p>

<p>But Erasmus, however much he might see himself, not
without reason, at the centre, could, in 1519 and 1520, no
longer be blind to the fact that the great struggle did not concern
him alone. On all sides the battle was being fought.
What is it, that great commotion about matters of spirit and
of faith?</p>

<p>The answer which Erasmus gave himself was this: it is a
great and wilful conspiracy on the part of the conservatives to
suffocate good learning and make the old ignorance triumph.
This idea recurs innumerable times in his letters after the
middle of 1518. 'I know quite certainly', he writes on 21 March
1519 to one of his German friends, 'that the barbarians on
all sides have conspired to leave no stone unturned till they
have suppressed <i>bonae literae</i>.' 'Here we are still fighting with
the protectors of the old ignorance'; cannot Wolsey persuade
the Pope to stop it here? All that appertains to ancient and
cultured literature is called 'poetry' by those narrow-minded
fellows. By that word they indicate everything that savours
of a more elegant doctrine, that is to say all that they have not
learned themselves. All the tumult, the whole tragedy&mdash;under
these terms he usually refers to the great theological struggle&mdash;originates<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span>
in the hatred of <i>bonae literae</i>. 'This is the source and
hot-bed of all this tragedy; incurable hatred of linguistic study
and the <i>bonae literae</i>.' 'Luther provokes those enemies, whom
it is impossible to conquer, though their cause is a bad one.
And meanwhile envy harasses the <i>bonae literae</i>, which are
attacked at his (Luther's) instigation by these gadflies. They
are already nearly insufferable, when things do not go well
with them; but who can stand them when they triumph?
Either I am blind, or they aim at something else than Luther.
They are preparing to conquer the phalanx of the Muses.'</p>

<p>This was written by Erasmus to a member of the University
of Leipzig in December 1520. This one-sided and
academic conception of the great events, a conception which
arose in the study of a recluse bending over his books, did
more than anything else to prevent Erasmus from understanding
the true nature and purport of the Reformation.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span></p>




<h2><a name="chapter_xvi" id="chapter_xvi"></a>CHAPTER XVI</h2>

<h3>FIRST YEARS OF THE REFORMATION</h3>

<div class="blockquot"><p>Beginning of the relations between Erasmus and Luther&mdash;Archbishop Albert
of Mayence, 1517&mdash;Progress of the Reformation&mdash;Luther tries to bring
about a <i>rapprochement</i> with Erasmus, March 1519&mdash;Erasmus keeps aloof;
fancies he may yet act as a conciliator&mdash;His attitude becomes ambiguous&mdash;He
denies ever more emphatically all relations with Luther and resolves to
remain a spectator&mdash;He is pressed by either camp to take sides&mdash;Aleander in
the Netherlands&mdash;The Diet of Worms, 1521&mdash;Erasmus leaves Louvain to
safeguard his freedom, October 1521</p></div>


<p>About the close of 1516, Erasmus received a letter from the
librarian and secretary of Frederick, elector of Saxony,
George Spalatinus, written in the respectful and reverential
tone in which the great man was now approached. 'We all
esteem you here most highly; the elector has all your books in
his library and intends to buy everything you may publish in
future.' But the object of Spalatinus's letter was the execution
of a friend's commission. An Augustinian ecclesiastic, a great
admirer of Erasmus, had requested him to direct his attention
to the fact that in his interpretation of St. Paul, especially in
that of the epistle to the Romans, Erasmus had failed to conceive
the idea of <i>justitia</i> correctly, had paid too little attention
to original sin: he might profit by reading Augustine.</p>

<p>The nameless Austin Friar was Luther, then still unknown
outside the circle of the Wittenberg University, in which he
was a professor, and the criticism regarded the cardinal point
of his hardly acquired conviction: justification by faith.</p>

<p>Erasmus paid little attention to this letter. He received so
many of that sort, containing still more praise and no criticism.
If he answered it, the reply did not reach Spalatinus, and later
Erasmus completely forgot the whole letter.</p>

<p>Nine months afterwards, in September 1517, when Erasmus
had been at Louvain for a short time, he received an honourable
invitation, written by the first prelate of the Empire, the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span>
young Archbishop of Mayence, Albert of Brandenburg.
The archbishop would be pleased to see him on an occasion: he
greatly admired his work (he knew it so little as to speak of
Erasmus's emendation of the Old Testament, instead of the
New) and hoped that he would one day write some lives of
saints in elegant style.</p>

<p>The young Hohenzoller, advocate of the new light of
classical studies, whose attention had probably been drawn to
Erasmus by Hutten and Capito, who sojourned at his court,
had recently become engaged in one of the boldest political
and financial transactions of his time. His elevation to the see of
Mayence, at the age of twenty-four, had necessitated a papal
dispensation, as he also wished to keep the archbishopric of
Magdeburg and the see of Halberstadt. This accumulation of
ecclesiastical offices had to be made subservient to the Brandenburg
policy which opposed the rival house of Saxony. The
Pope granted the dispensation in return for a great sum of
money, but to facilitate its payment he accorded to the archbishop
a liberal indulgence for the whole archbishopric of
Mayence, Magdeburg and the Brandenburg territories.
Albert, to whom half the proceeds were tacitly left, raised a
loan with the house of Fugger, and this charged itself with the
indulgence traffic.</p>

<p>When in December 1517, Erasmus answered the archbishop,
Luther's propositions against indulgences, provoked
by the Archbishop of Mayence's instructions regarding their
colportage, had already been posted up (31 October 1517),
and were circulated throughout Germany, rousing the whole
Church. They were levelled at the same abuses which Erasmus
combated, the mechanical, atomistical, and juridical conception
of religion. But how different was their practical effect, as
compared with Erasmus's pacific endeavour to purify the
Church by lenient means!</p>

<p>'Lives of saints?' Erasmus asked replying to the archbishop.
'I have tried in my poor way to add a little light to the prince
of saints himself. For the rest, your endeavour, in addition to
so many difficult matters of government, and at such an early<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span>
age, to get the lives of the saints purged of old women's tales
and disgusting style, is extremely laudable. For nothing should be
suffered in the Church that is not perfectly pure or refined,' And
he concludes with a magnificent eulogy of the excellent prelate.</p>

<p>During the greater part of 1518, Erasmus was too much
occupied by his own affairs&mdash;the journey to Basle and his red-hot
labours there, and afterwards his serious illness&mdash;to concern
himself much with Luther's business. In March he sends
Luther's theses to More, without comment, and, in passing,
complains to Colet about the impudence with which Rome
disseminates indulgences. Luther, now declared a heretic and
summoned to appear at Augsburg, stands before the legate
Cajetanus and refuses to recant. Seething enthusiasm surrounds
him. Just about that time Erasmus writes to one of Luther's
partisans, John Lang, in very favourable terms about his work.
The theses have pleased everybody. 'I see that the monarchy
of the Pope at Rome, as it is now, is a pestilence to Christendom,
but I do not know if it is expedient to touch that sore
openly. That would be a matter for princes, but I fear that
these will act in concert with the Pope to secure part of the
spoils. I do not understand what possessed Eck to take up arms
against Luther.' The letter did not find its way into any of the
collections.</p>

<p>The year 1519 brought the struggle attending the election
of an emperor, after old Maximilian had died in January, and
the attempt of the curia to regain ground with lenity. Germany
was expecting the long-projected disputation between
Johannes Eck and Andreas Karlstadt which, in truth, would
concern Luther. How could Erasmus, who himself was involved
that year in so many polemics, have foreseen that the
Leipzig disputation, which was to lead Luther to the consequence
of rejecting the highest ecclesiastical authority, would
remain of lasting importance in the history of the world,
whereas his quarrel with Lee would be forgotten?</p>

<p>On 28 March 1519 Luther addressed himself personally to
Erasmus for the first time. 'I speak with you so often, and you
with me, Erasmus, our ornament and our hope; and we do<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span>
not know each other as yet.' He rejoices to find that Erasmus
displeases many, for this he regards as a sign that God has
blessed him. Now that his, Luther's, name begins to get
known too, a longer silence between them might be wrongly
interpreted. 'Therefore, my Erasmus, amiable man, if you
think fit, acknowledge also this little brother in Christ, who
really admires you and feels friendly disposed towards you,
and for the rest would deserve no better, because of his
ignorance, than to lie, unknown, buried in a corner.'</p>

<p>There was a very definite purpose in this somewhat rustically
cunning and half ironical letter. Luther wanted, if
possible, to make Erasmus show his colours, to win him, the
powerful authority, touchstone of science and culture, for the
cause which he advocated. In his heart Luther had long been
aware of the deep gulf separating him from Erasmus. As early
as March 1517, six months before his public appearance, he
wrote about Erasmus to John Lang: 'human matters weigh
heavier with him than divine,' an opinion that so many have
pronounced about Erasmus&mdash;obvious, and yet unfair.</p>

<p>The attempt, on the part of Luther, to effect a <i>rapprochement</i>
was a reason for Erasmus to retire at once. Now began that
extremely ambiguous policy of Erasmus to preserve peace by
his authority as a light of the world and to steer a middle course
without committing himself. In that attitude the great and the
petty side of his personality are inextricably intertwined. The
error because of which most historians have seen Erasmus's
attitude towards the Reformation either in far too unfavourable
a light or&mdash;as for instance the German historian Kalkoff&mdash;much
too heroic and far-seeing, is that they erroneously regard
him as psychologically homogeneous. Just that he is not. His
double-sidedness roots in the depths of his being. Many of his
utterances during the struggle proceed directly from his fear
and lack of character, also from his inveterate dislike of siding
with a person or a cause; but behind that is always his deep and
fervent conviction that neither of the conflicting opinions can
completely express the truth, that human hatred and purblindness
infatuate men's minds. And with that conviction is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span>
allied the noble illusion that it might yet be possible to preserve
the peace by moderation, insight, and kindliness.</p>

<p>In April 1519 Erasmus addressed himself by letter to the
elector Frederick of Saxony, Luther's patron. He begins by
alluding to his dedication of Suetonius two years before; but
his real purpose is to say something about Luther. Luther's
writings, he says, have given the Louvain obscurants plenty of
reason to inveigh against the <i>bonae literae</i>, to decry all scholars.
He himself does not know Luther and has glanced through
his writings only cursorily as yet, but everyone praises his life.
How little in accordance with theological gentleness it is to
condemn him offhand, and that before the indiscreet vulgar!
For has he not proposed a dispute, and submitted himself to
everybody's judgement? No one has, so far, admonished,
taught, convinced him. Every error is not at once heresy.</p>

<p>The best of Christianity is a life worthy of Christ. Where
we find that, we should not rashly suspect people of heresy.
Why do we so uncharitably persecute the lapses of others,
though none of us is free from error? Why do we rather want
to conquer than cure, suppress than instruct?</p>

<p>But he concludes with a word that could not but please
Luther's friends, who so hoped for his support. 'May the duke
prevent an innocent man from being surrendered under the
cloak of piety to the impiety of a few. This is also the wish of
Pope Leo, who has nothing more at heart than that innocence
be safe.'</p>

<p>At this same time Erasmus does his best to keep Froben back
from publishing Luther's writings, 'that they may not fan the
hatred of the <i>bonae literae</i> still more'. And he keeps repeating:
I do not know Luther, I have not read his writings. He makes
this declaration to Luther himself, in his reply to the latter's
epistle of 28 March. This letter of Erasmus, dated 30 May 1519,
should be regarded as a newspaper leader<a name="FNanchor_17_17" id="FNanchor_17_17"></a><a href="#Footnote_17_17" class="fnanchor">[17]</a>, to acquaint the
public with his attitude towards the Luther question. Luther
does not know the tragedies which his writings have caused
at Louvain. People here think that Erasmus has helped him in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span>
composing them and call him the standard bearer of the party!
That seemed to them a fitting pretext to suppress the <i>bonae
literae</i>. 'I have declared that you are perfectly unknown to
me, that I have not yet read your books and therefore neither
approve nor disapprove anything.' 'I reserve myself, so far as I
may, to be of use to the reviving studies. Discreet moderation
seems likely to bring better progress than impetuosity. It was
by this that Christ subjugated the world.'</p>

<p>On the same day he writes to John Lang, one of Luther's
friends and followers, a short note, not meant for publication:
'I hope that the endeavours of yourself and your party will be
successful. Here the Papists rave violently.... All the best
minds are rejoiced at Luther's boldness: I do not doubt he will
be careful that things do not end in a quarrel of parties!...
We shall never triumph over feigned Christians unless we first
abolish the tyranny of the Roman see, and of its satellites, the
Dominicans, the Franciscans and the Carmelites. But no one
could attempt that without a serious tumult.'</p>

<p>As the gulf widens, Erasmus's protestations that he has
nothing to do with Luther become much more frequent.
Relations at Louvain grow ever more disagreeable and the
general sentiment about him ever more unkind. In August
1519 he turns to the Pope himself for protection against his
opponents. He still fails to see how wide the breach is. He still
takes it all to be quarrels of scholars. King Henry of England
and King Francis of France in their own countries have imposed
silence upon the quarrellers and slanderers; if only the
Pope would do the same!</p>

<p>In October he was once more reconciled with the Louvain
faculty. It was just at this time that Colet died in London, the
man who had, better perhaps than anyone else, understood
Erasmus's standpoint. Kindred spirits in Germany still looked up
to Erasmus as the great man who was on the alert to interpose
at the right moment and who had made moderation the watchword,
until the time should come to give his friends the signal.</p>

<p>But in the increasing noise of the battle his voice already
sounded less powerfully than before. A letter to Cardinal<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span>
Albert of Mayence, 19 October 1519, of about the same
content as that of Frederick of Saxony written in the preceding
spring, was at once circulated by Luther's friends; and by
the advocates of conservatism, in spite of the usual protestation,
'I do not know Luther', it was made to serve against Erasmus.</p>

<p>It became more and more clear that the mediating and conciliatory
position which Erasmus wished to take up would
soon be altogether untenable. The inquisitor Jacob Hoogstraten
had come from Cologne, where he was a member of
the University, to Louvain, to work against Luther there, as
he had worked against Reuchlin. On 7 November 1519 the
Louvain faculty, following the example of that of Cologne,
proceeded to take the decisive step: the solemn condemnation
of a number of Luther's opinions. In future no place could be
less suitable to Erasmus than Louvain, the citadel of action
against reformers. It is surprising that he remained there
another two years.</p>

<p>The expectation that he would be able to speak the conciliating
word was paling. For the rest he failed to see the true
proportions. During the first months of 1520 his attention was
almost entirely taken up by his own polemics with Lee, a
paltry incident in the great revolution. The desire to keep aloof
got more and more the upper hand of him. In June he writes
to Melanchthon: 'I see that matters begin to look like sedition.
It is perhaps necessary that scandals occur, but I should prefer
not to be the author.' He has, he thinks, by his influence with
Wolsey, prevented the burning of Luther's writings in
England, which had been ordered. But he was mistaken. The
burning had taken place in London, as early as 12 May.</p>

<p>The best proof that Erasmus had practically given up his
hope to play a conciliatory part may be found in what follows.
In the summer of 1520 the famous meeting between the three
monarchs, Henry VIII, Francis I and Charles V, took place
at Calais. Erasmus was to go there in the train of his prince.
How would such a congress of princes&mdash;where in peaceful
conclave the interests of France, England, Spain, the German
Empire, and a considerable part of Italy, were represented<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span>
together&mdash;have affected Erasmus's imagination, if his ideal had
remained unshaken! But there are no traces of this. Erasmus
was at Calais in July 1520, had some conversation with Henry
VIII there, and greeted More, but it does not appear that he
attached any other importance to the journey than that of an
opportunity, for the last time, to greet his English friends.</p>

<p>It was awkward for Erasmus that just at this time, when the
cause of faith took so much harsher forms, his duties as counsellor
to the youthful Charles, now back from Spain to be
crowned as emperor, circumscribed his liberty more than
before. In the summer of 1520 appeared, based on the incriminating
material furnished by the Louvain faculty, the papal
bull declaring Luther to be a heretic, and, unless he should
speedily recant, excommunicating him. 'I fear the worst for
the unfortunate Luther,' Erasmus writes, 9 September 1520,
'so does conspiracy rage everywhere, so are princes incensed
with him on all sides, and, most of all, Pope Leo. Would
Luther had followed my advice and abstained from those
hostile and seditious actions!... They will not rest until they
have quite subverted the study of languages and the good
learning.... Out of the hatred against these and the stupidity
of monks did this tragedy first arise.... I do not meddle with
it. For the rest, a bishopric is waiting for me if I choose to
write against Luther.'</p>

<p>Indeed, Erasmus had become, by virtue of his enormous
celebrity, as circumstances would have it, more and more a
valuable asset in the great policy of emperor and pope. People
wanted to use his name and make him choose sides. And that
he would not do for any consideration. He wrote evasively to
the Pope about his relations with Luther without altogether
disavowing him. How zealously he defends himself from the
suspicion of being on Luther's side as noisy monks make out
in their sermons, who summarily link the two in their scoffing
disparagement.</p>

<p>But by the other side also he is pressed to choose sides and
to speak out. Towards the end of October 1520 the coronation
of the emperor took place at Aix-la-Chapelle. Erasmus was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span>
perhaps present; in any case he accompanied the Emperor
to Cologne. There, on 5 November, he had an interview
about Luther with the Elector Frederick of Saxony. He was
persuaded to write down the result of that discussion in the
form of twenty-two <i>Axiomata concerning Luther's cause</i>. Against
his intention they were printed at once.</p>

<p>Erasmus's hesitation in those days between the repudiation
and the approbation of Luther is not discreditable to him. It is
the tragic defect running through his whole personality: his
refusal or inability ever to draw ultimate conclusions. Had he
only been a calculating and selfish nature, afraid of losing his
life, he would long since have altogether forsaken Luther's
cause. It is his misfortune affecting his fame, that he continually
shows his weaknesses, whereas what is great in him lies deep.</p>

<p>At Cologne Erasmus also met the man with whom, as a
promising young humanist, fourteen years younger than himself,
he had, for some months, shared a room in the house of
Aldus's father-in-law, at Venice: Hieronymus Aleander, now
sent to the Emperor as a papal nuncio, to persuade him to
conform his imperial policy to that of the Pope, in the matter
of the great ecclesiastical question, and give effect to the papal
excommunication by the imperial ban.</p>

<p>It must have been somewhat painful for Erasmus that his
friend had so far surpassed him in power and position, and was
now called to bring by diplomatic means the solution which
he himself would have liked to see achieved by ideal harmony,
good will and toleration. He had never trusted Aleander, and
was more than ever on his guard against him. As a humanist,
in spite of brilliant gifts, Aleander was by far Erasmus's inferior,
and had never, like him, risen from literature to serious
theological studies; he had simply prospered in the service
of Church magnates (whom Erasmus had given up early).
This man was now invested with the highest mediating
powers.</p>

<p>To what degree of exasperation Erasmus's most violent
antagonists at Louvain had now been reduced is seen from
the witty and slightly malicious account he gives Thomas<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span>
More of his meeting with Egmondanus before the Rector of
the university, who wanted to reconcile them. Still things did
not look so black as Ulrich von Hutten thought, when he
wrote to Erasmus: 'Do you think that you are still safe, now
that Luther's books are burned? Fly, and save yourself for us!'</p>

<p>Ever more emphatic do Erasmus's protestations become that
he has nothing to do with Luther. Long ago he had already
requested him not to mention his name, and Luther promised
it: 'Very well, then, I shall not again refer to you, neither will
other good friends, since it troubles you'. Ever louder, too, are
Erasmus's complaints about the raving of the monks at him,
and his demands that the mendicant orders be deprived of the
right to preach.</p>

<p>In April 1521 comes the moment in the world's history to
which Christendom has been looking forward: Luther at the
Diet of Worms, holding fast to his opinions, confronted by
the highest authority in the Empire. So great is the rejoicing
in Germany that for a moment it may seem that the Emperor's
power is in danger rather than Luther and his adherents. 'If I
had been present', writes Erasmus, 'I should have endeavoured
that this tragedy would have been so tempered by moderate
arguments that it could not afterwards break out again to the
still greater detriment of the world.'</p>

<p>The imperial sentence was pronounced: within the Empire
(as in the Burgundian Netherlands before that time) Luther's
books were to be burned, his adherents arrested and their
goods confiscated, and Luther was to be given up to the
authorities. Erasmus hopes that now relief will follow. 'The
Luther tragedy is at an end with us here; would it had never
appeared on the stage.' In these days Albrecht D&uuml;rer, on
hearing the false news of Luther's death, wrote in the diary of
his journey that passionate exclamation: 'O Erasmus of
Rotterdam, where will you be? Hear, you knight of Christ,
ride forth beside the Lord Christ, protect the truth, obtain the
martyr's crown. For you are but an old manikin. I have heard
you say that you have allowed yourself two more years, in
which you are still fit to do some work; spend them well, in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span>
behalf of the Gospel and the true Christian faith.... O
Erasmus, be on this side, that God may be proud of you.'</p>

<p>It expresses confidence in Erasmus's power, but at bottom is
the expectation that he will not do all this. D&uuml;rer had rightly
understood Erasmus.</p>

<p>The struggle abated nowise, least of all at Louvain. Latomus,
the most dignified and able of Louvain divines, had now
become one of the most serious opponents of Luther and, in so
doing, touched Erasmus, too, indirectly. To Nicholas of
Egmond, the Carmelite, another of Erasmus's compatriots had
been added as a violent antagonist, Vincent Dirks of Haarlem,
a Dominican. Erasmus addresses himself to the faculty, to
defend himself against the new attacks, and to explain why he
has never written against Luther. He will read him, he will
soon take up something to quiet the tumult. He succeeds in
getting Aleander, who arrived at Louvain in June, to prohibit
preaching against him. The Pope still hopes that Aleander will
succeed in bringing back Erasmus, with whom he is again on
friendly terms, to the right track.</p>

<p>But Erasmus began to consider the only exit which was now
left to him: to leave Louvain and the Netherlands to regain
his menaced independence. The occasion to depart had long
ago presented itself: the third edition of his New Testament
called him to Basle once more. It would not be a permanent
departure, and he purposed to return to Louvain. On 28
October (his birthday) he left the town where he had spent
four difficult years. His chambers in the College of the Lily
were reserved for him and he left his books behind. On
15 November he reached Basle.</p>

<p>Soon the rumour spread that out of fear of Aleander he had
saved himself by flight. But the idea, revived again in our days
in spite of Erasmus's own painstaking denial, that Aleander
should have cunningly and expressly driven him from the
Netherlands, is inherently improbable. So far as the Church
was concerned, Erasmus would at almost any point be more
dangerous than at Louvain, in the headquarters of conservatism,
under immediate control of the strict Burgundian government,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span>
where, it seemed, he could sooner or later be pressed into the
service of the anti-Lutheran policy.</p>

<p>It was this contingency, as Dr. Allen has correctly pointed
out, which he feared and evaded. Not for his bodily safety did
he emigrate; Erasmus would not have been touched&mdash;he was
far too valuable an asset for such measures. It was his mental
independence, so dear to him above all else, that he felt to be
threatened; and, to safeguard that, he did not return to
Louvain.</p>

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<p class="center">Plate XIX. THE HOUSE AT ANDERLECHT WHERE ERASMUS LIVED FROM MAY TO NOVEMBER 1521</p>

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<p class="center">Plate XX. ERASMUS'S STUDY AT ANDERLECHT<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span></p>

<p>FOOTNOTES:</p>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_17_17" id="Footnote_17_17"></a><a href="#FNanchor_17_17"><span class="label">[17]</span></a> Translation on pp. <a href="#Page_229">229</a> ff.</p></div>




<h2><a name="chapter_xvii" id="chapter_xvii"></a>CHAPTER XVII</h2>

<h3>ERASMUS AT BASLE</h3>

<h3>1521-9</h3>

<div class="blockquot"><p>Basle his dwelling-place for nearly eight years: 1521-9&mdash;Political thought
of Erasmus&mdash;Concord and peace&mdash;Anti-war writings&mdash;Opinions concerning
princes and government&mdash;New editions of several Fathers&mdash;The
<i>Colloquia</i>&mdash;Controversies
with Stunica, Beda, etc.&mdash;Quarrel with Hutten&mdash;Eppendorff</p></div>


<p>It is only towards the evening of life that the picture of
Erasmus acquires the features with which it was to go down
to posterity. Only at Basle&mdash;delivered from the troublesome
pressure of parties wanting to enlist him, transplanted from an
environment of haters and opponents at Louvain to a circle of
friends, kindred spirits, helpers and admirers, emancipated
from the courts of princes, independent of the patronage of
the great, unremittingly devoting his tremendous energy to
the work that was dear to him&mdash;did he become Holbein's
Erasmus. In those late years he approaches most closely to the
ideal of his personal life.</p>

<p>He did not think that there were still fifteen years in store
for him. Long before, in fact, since he became forty years old
in 1506, Erasmus had been in an old-age mood. 'The last act of
the play has begun,' he keeps saying after 1517.</p>

<p>He now felt practically independent as to money matters.
Many years had passed before he could say that. But peace of
mind did not come with competence. It never came. He never
became truly placid and serene, as Holbein's picture seems to
represent him. He was always too much concerned about what
people said or thought of him. Even at Basle he did not feel
thoroughly at home. He still speaks repeatedly of a removal in
the near future to Rome, to France, to England, or back to the
Netherlands. Physical rest, at any rate, which was not in him,
was granted him by circumstances: for nearly eight years he
now remained at Basle, and then he lived at Freiburg for six.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span></p>

<p>Erasmus at Basle is a man whose ideals of the world and
society have failed him. What remains of that happy expectation
of a golden age of peace and light, in which he had believed
as late as 1517? What of his trust in good will and
rational insight, in which he wrote the <i>Institutio Principis
Christiani</i> for the youthful Charles V? To Erasmus all the weal
of state and society had always been merely a matter of
personal morality and intellectual enlightenment. By recommending
and spreading those two he at one time thought
he had introduced the great renovation himself. From the
moment when he saw that the conflict would lead to an
exasperated struggle he refused any longer to be anything but
a spectator. As an actor in the great ecclesiastical combat
Erasmus had voluntarily left the stage.</p>

<p>But he does not give up his ideal. 'Let us resist,' he concludes
an Epistle about gospel philosophy, 'not by taunts and threats,
not by force of arms and injustice, but by simple discretion,
by benefits, by gentleness and tolerance.' Towards the close
of his life, he prays: 'If Thou, O God, deignst to renew that
Holy Spirit in the hearts of all, then also will those external
disasters cease.... Bring order to this chaos, Lord Jesus, let
Thy Spirit spread over these waters of sadly troubled dogmas.'</p>

<p>Concord, peace, sense of duty and kindliness, were all
valued highly by Erasmus; yet he rarely saw them realized in
practical life. He becomes disillusioned. After the short spell
of political optimism he never speaks of the times any more
but in bitter terms&mdash;a most criminal age, he says&mdash;and again,
the most unhappy and most depraved age imaginable. In vain
had he always written in the cause of peace: <i>Querela pacis</i>, the
complaint of peace, the adage <i>Dulce bellum inexpertis</i>, war is
sweet to those who have not known it, <i>Oratio de pace et discordia</i>,
and more still. Erasmus thought rather highly of his
pacifistic labours: 'that polygraph, who never leaves off
persecuting war by means of his pen', thus he makes a character
of the <i>Colloquies</i> designate himself. According to a tradition
noted by Melanchthon, Pope Julius is said to have called him
before him in connection with his advice about the war with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span>
Venice,<a name="FNanchor_18_18" id="FNanchor_18_18"></a><a href="#Footnote_18_18" class="fnanchor">[18]</a> and to have remarked to him angrily that he should
stop writing on the concerns of princes: 'You do not understand
those things!'</p>

<p>Erasmus had, in spite of a certain innate moderation, a
wholly non-political mind. He lived too much outside of
practical reality, and thought too na&iuml;vely of the corrigibility
of mankind, to realize the difficulties and necessities of government.
His ideas about a good administration were extremely
primitive, and, as is often the case with scholars of a strong
ethical bias, very revolutionary at bottom, though he never
dreamed of drawing the practical inferences. His friendship
with political and juridical thinkers, as More, Budaeus and
Zasius, had not changed him. Questions of forms of government,
law or right, did not exist for him. Economic problems
he saw in idyllic simplicity. The prince should reign gratuitously
and impose as few taxes as possible. 'The good prince
has all that loving citizens possess.' The unemployed should be
simply driven away. We feel in closer contact with the world
of facts when he enumerates the works of peace for the prince:
the cleaning of towns, building of bridges, halls, and streets,
draining of pools, shifting of river-beds, the diking and reclamation
of moors. It is the Netherlander who speaks here,
and at the same time the man in whom the need of cleansing
and clearing away is a fundamental trait of character.</p>

<p>Vague politicians like Erasmus are prone to judge princes
very severely, since they take them to be responsible for all
wrongs. Erasmus praises them personally, but condemns them
in general. From the kings of his time he had for a long time
expected peace in Church and State. They had disappointed
him. But his severe judgement of princes he derived rather from
classical reading than from political experience of his own
times. In the later editions of the <i>Adagia</i> he often reverts to
princes, their task and their neglect of duty, without ever mentioning
special princes. 'There are those who sow the seeds of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span>
dissension between their townships in order to fleece the poor
unhindered and to satisfy their gluttony by the hunger of
innocent citizens.' In the adage <i>Scarabeus aquilam quaerit</i> he
represents the prince under the image of the Eagle as the great
cruel robber and persecutor. In another, <i>Aut regem aut fatuum
nasci oportere</i>, and in <i>Dulce bellum inexpertis</i> he utters his frequently
quoted dictum: 'The people found and develop
towns, the folly of princes devastates them.' 'The princes
conspire with the Pope, and perhaps with the Turk, against
the happiness of the people,' he writes to Colet in
1518.</p>

<p>He was an academic critic writing from his study. A revolutionary
purpose was as foreign to Erasmus as it was to More
when writing the <i>Utopia</i>. 'Bad monarchs should perhaps be
suffered now and then. The remedy should not be tried.' It
may be doubted whether Erasmus exercised much real influence
on his contemporaries by means of his diatribes against
princes. One would fain believe that his ardent love of peace
and bitter arraignment of the madness of war had some effect.
They have undoubtedly spread pacific sentiments in the broad
circles of intellectuals who read Erasmus, but unfortunately
the history of the sixteenth century shows little evidence that
such sentiments bore fruit in actual practice. However this
may be, Erasmus's strength was not in these political declamations.
He could never be a leader of men with their passions
and their harsh interests.</p>

<p>His life-work lay elsewhere. Now, at Basle, though tormented
more and more frequently by his painful complaint
which he had already carried for so many years, he could
devote himself more fully than ever before to the great task
he had set himself: the opening up of the pure sources of
Christianity, the exposition of the truth of the Gospel in all the
simple comprehensibility in which he saw it. In a broad stream
flowed the editions of the Fathers, of classic authors, the new
editions of the New Testament, of the <i>Adagia</i>, of his own
Letters, together with Paraphrases of the New Testament,
Commentaries on Psalms, and a number of new theological,
moral and philological treatises. In 1522 he was ill for months<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span>
on end; yet in that year Arnobius and the third edition of the
New Testament succeeded Cyprian, whom he had already
annotated at Louvain and edited in 1520, closely followed by
Hilary in 1523 and next by a new edition of Jerome in 1524.
Later appeared Irenaeus, 1526; Ambrose, 1527; Augustine,
1528-9, and a Latin translation of Chrysostom in 1530. The
rapid succession of these comprehensive works proves that the
work was done as Erasmus always worked: hastily, with an
extraordinary power of concentration and a surprising command
of his mnemonic faculty, but without severe criticism
and the painful accuracy that modern philology requires in
such editions.</p>

<p>Neither the polemical Erasmus nor the witty humorist
had been lost in the erudite divine and the disillusioned
reformer. The paper-warrior we would further gladly have
dispensed with, but not the humorist, for many treasures of
literature. But the two are linked inseparably as the <i>Colloquies</i>
prove.</p>

<p>What was said about the <i>Moria</i> may be repeated here: if in
the literature of the world only the <i>Colloquies</i> and the <i>Moria</i>
have remained alive, that choice of history is right. Not in the
sense that in literature only Erasmus's pleasantest, lightest and
most readable works were preserved, whereas the ponderous
theological erudition was silently relegated to the shelves of
libraries. It was indeed Erasmus's best work that was kept alive
in the <i>Moria</i> and the <i>Colloquies</i>. With these his sparkling
wit has charmed the world. If only we had space here to assign
to the Erasmus of the <i>Colloquies</i> his just and lofty place in
that brilliant constellation of sixteenth-century followers of
Democritus: Rabelais, Ariosto, Montaigne, Cervantes, and
Ben Jonson!</p>

<p>When Erasmus gave the <i>Colloquies</i> their definite form at
Basle, they had already had a long and curious genesis. At first
they had been no more than <i>Familiarium colloquiorum formulae</i>,
models of colloquial Latin conversation, written at Paris
before 1500, for the use of his pupils. Augustine Caminade,
the shabby friend who was fond of living on young Erasmus's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span>
genius, had collected them and had turned them to advantage
within a limited compass. He had long been dead when one
Lambert Hollonius of Li&eacute;ge sold the manuscript that he had
got from Caminade to Froben at Basle. Beatus Rhenanus,
although then already Erasmus's trusted friend, had it printed
at once without the latter's knowledge. That was in 1518.
Erasmus was justly offended at it, the more so as the book was
full of slovenly blunders and solecisms. So he at once prepared
a better edition himself, published by Maertensz at Louvain in
1519. At that time the work really contained but one true dialogue,
the nucleus of the later <i>Convivium profanum</i>. The rest
were formulae of etiquette and short talks. But already in this
form it was, apart from its usefulness to latinists, so full of
happy wit and humorous invention that it became very popular.
Even before 1522 it had appeared in twenty-five editions,
mostly reprints, at Antwerp, Paris, Strassburg, Cologne,
Cracow, Deventer, Leipzig, London, Vienna, Mayence.</p>

<p>At Basle Erasmus himself revised an edition which was published
in March 1522 by Froben, dedicated to the latter's
six-year-old son, the author's godchild, Johannes Erasmius
Froben. Soon after he did more than revise. In 1523 and 1524
first ten new dialogues, afterwards four, and again six, were
added to the <i>Formulae</i>, and at last in 1526 the title was changed
to <i>Familiarium colloquiorum opus</i>. It remained dedicated to the
boy Froben and went on growing with each new edition: a
rich and motley collection of dialogues, each a masterpiece of
literary form, well-knit, spontaneous, convincing, unsurpassed
in lightness, vivacity and fluent Latin; each one a finished one-act
play. From that year on, the stream of editions and translations
flowed almost uninterruptedly for two centuries.</p>

<p>Erasmus's mind had lost nothing of its acuteness and freshness
when, so many years after the <i>Moria</i>, he again set foot in the
field of satire. As to form, the <i>Colloquies</i> are less confessedly
satirical than the <i>Moria</i>. With its telling subject, the <i>Praise of
Folly</i>, the latter at once introduces itself as a satire: whereas,
at first sight, the <i>Colloquies</i> might seem to be mere innocent
genre-pieces. But as to the contents, they are more satirical,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span>
at least more directly so. The <i>Moria</i>, as a satire, is philosophical
and general; the <i>Colloquia</i> are up to date and special.
At the same time they combine more the positive and
negative elements. In the <i>Moria</i> Erasmus's own ideal dwells
unexpressed behind the representation; in the <i>Colloquia</i> he
continually and clearly puts it in the foreground. On this
account they form, notwithstanding all the jests and mockery,
a profoundly serious moral treatise and are closely akin to the
<i>Enchiridion militis Christiani</i>. What Erasmus really demanded
of the world and of mankind, how he pictured to himself that
passionately desired, purified Christian society of good morals,
fervent faith, simplicity and moderation, kindliness, toleration
and peace&mdash;this we can nowhere else find so clearly and well-expressed
as in the <i>Colloquia</i>. In these last fifteen years of his
life Erasmus resumes, by means of a series of moral-dogmatic
disquisitions, the topics he broached in the <i>Enchiridion</i>: the
exposition of simple, general Christian conduct; untrammelled
and natural ethics. That is his message of redemption.
It came to many out of <i>Exomologesis</i>, <i>De esu carnium</i>, <i>Lingua</i>,
<i>Institutio christiani matrimonii</i>, <i>Vidua christiana</i>,
<i>Ecclesiastes</i>. But, to far larger numbers, the message was contained in the
<i>Colloquies</i>.</p>

<p>The <i>Colloquia</i> gave rise to much more hatred and contest
than the <i>Moria</i>, and not without reason, for in them Erasmus
attacked persons. He allowed himself the pleasure of ridiculing
his Louvain antagonists. Lee had already been introduced as a
sycophant and braggart into the edition of 1519, and when the
quarrel was assuaged, in 1522, the reference was expunged.
Vincent Dirks was caricatured in <i>The Funeral</i> (1526) as a
covetous friar, who extorts from the dying testaments in
favour of his order. He remained. Later sarcastic observations
were added about Beda and numbers of others. The adherents
of Oecolampadius took a figure with a long nose in the
<i>Colloquies</i> for their leader: 'Oh, no,' replied Erasmus, 'it is
meant for quite another person.' Henceforth all those who were
at loggerheads with Erasmus, and they were many, ran the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span>
risk of being pilloried in the <i>Colloquia</i>. It was no wonder that
this work, especially with its scourging mockery of the
monastic orders, became the object of controversy.</p>

<hr style='width: 45%;' />

<p>Erasmus never emerged from his polemics. He was, no
doubt, serious when he said that, in his heart, he abhorred and
had never desired them; but his caustic mind often got the
better of his heart, and having once begun to quarrel he undoubtedly
enjoyed giving his mockery the rein and wielding
his facile dialectic pen. For understanding his personality it is
unnecessary here to deal at large with all those fights on paper.
Only the most important ones need be mentioned.</p>

<p>Since 1516 a pot had been boiling for Erasmus in Spain. A
theologian of the University at Alcal&aacute;, Diego Lopez Zu&ntilde;iga,
or, in Latin, Stunica, had been preparing Annotations to the
edition of the New Testament: 'a second Lee', said Erasmus.
At first Cardinal Ximenes had prohibited the publication, but
in 1520, after his death, the storm broke. For some years
Stunica kept persecuting Erasmus with his criticism, to the
latter's great vexation; at last there followed a <i>rapprochement</i>,
probably as Erasmus became more conservative, and a kindly
attitude on the part of Stunica.</p>

<p>No less long and violent was the quarrel with the syndic of
the Sorbonne, Noel Bedier or Beda, which began in 1522. The
Sorbonne was prevailed upon to condemn several of Erasmus's
dicta as heretical in 1526. The effort of Beda to implicate
Erasmus in the trial of Louis de Berquin, who had translated
the condemned writings and who was eventually burned at
the stake for faith's sake in 1529, made the matter still more
disagreeable for Erasmus.</p>

<p>It is clear enough that both at Paris and at Louvain in the
circles of the theological faculties the chief cause of exasperation
was in the <i>Colloquia</i>. Egmondanus and Vincent Dirks did
not forgive Erasmus for having acridly censured their station
and their personalities.</p>

<p>More courteous than the aforementioned polemics was the
fight with a high-born Italian, Alberto Pio, prince of Carpi;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span>
acrid and bitter was one with a group of Spanish monks, who
brought the Inquisition to bear upon him. In Spain 'Erasmistas'
was the name of those who inclined to more liberal
conceptions of the creed.</p>

<p>In this way the matter accumulated for the volume of
Erasmus's works which contains, according to his own arrangement,
all his <i>Apologiae</i>: not 'excuses', but 'vindications'.
'Miserable man that I am; they just fill a volume,' exclaimed
Erasmus.</p>

<p>Two of his polemics merit a somewhat closer examination:
that with Ulrich von Hutten and that with Luther.</p>

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<p class="center">Plate XXI. MARTIN LUTHER AS A MONK</p>

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<p class="center">Plate XXII. ULRICH VON HUTTEN</p>

<p>Hutten, knight and humanist, the enthusiastic herald of a
national German uplift, the ardent hater of papacy and supporter
of Luther, was certainly a hot-head and perhaps somewhat
of a muddle-head. He had applauded Erasmus when the
latter still seemed to be the coming man and had afterwards
besought him to take Luther's side. Erasmus had soon discovered
that this noisy partisan might compromise him. Had
not one of Hutten's rash satires been ascribed to him, Erasmus?
There came a time when Hutten could no longer abide Erasmus.
His knightly instinct reacted on the very weaknesses of
Erasmus's character: the fear of committing himself and the
inclination to repudiate a supporter in time of danger.
Erasmus knew that weakness himself: 'Not all have strength
enough for martyrdom,' he writes to Richard Pace in 1521. 'I
fear that I shall, in case it results in a tumult, follow St. Peter's
example.' But this acknowledgement does not discharge him
from the burden of Hutten's reproaches which he flung at him
in fiery language in 1523. In this quarrel Erasmus's own fame
pays the penalty of his fault. For nowhere does he show himself
so undignified and puny as in that 'Sponge against
Hutten's mire', which the latter did not live to read. Hutten,
disillusioned and forsaken, died at an early age in 1523, and
Erasmus did not scruple to publish the venomous pamphlet
against his former friend after his demise.</p>

<p>Hutten, however, was avenged upon Erasmus living. One
of his adherents, Henry of Eppendorff, inherited Hutten's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span>
bitter disgust with Erasmus and persecuted him for years.
Getting hold of one of Erasmus's letters in which he was
denounced, he continually threatened him with an action for
defamation of character. Eppendorff's hostility so thoroughly
exasperated Erasmus that he fancied he could detect his machinations
and spies everywhere even after the actual persecution
had long ceased.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span></p>

<h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_18_18" id="Footnote_18_18"></a><a href="#FNanchor_18_18"><span class="label">[18]</span></a> Melanchthon, <i>Opera, Corpus Reformatorum</i>, XII 266, where he refers
to <i>Querela pacis</i>, which, however, was not written before 1517; <i>vide</i> A.
603 and I p. 37.10.</p></div>




<h2><a name="chapter_xviii" id="chapter_xviii"></a>CHAPTER XVIII</h2>

<h3>CONTROVERSY WITH LUTHER AND GROWING CONSERVATISM</h3>

<h3>1524-6</h3>

<div class="blockquot"><p>Erasmus persuaded to write against Luther&mdash;<i>De Libero Arbitrio</i>: 1524&mdash;Luther's
answer: <i>De Servo Arbitrio</i>&mdash;Erasmus's indefiniteness contrasted
with Luther's extreme rigour&mdash;Erasmus henceforth on the side of conservatism&mdash;The
Bishop of Basle and Oecolampadius&mdash;Erasmus's half-hearted
dogmatics: confession, ceremonies, worship of the Saints, Eucharist&mdash;<i>Institutio
Christiani Matrimonii</i>: 1526&mdash;He feels surrounded by enemies</p></div>


<p>At length Erasmus was led, in spite of all, to do what he had
always tried to avoid: he wrote against Luther. But it did not
in the least resemble the <i>geste</i> Erasmus at one time contemplated,
in the cause of peace in Christendom and uniformity
of faith, to call a halt to the impetuous Luther, and thereby to
recall the world to its senses. In the great act of the Reformation
their polemics were merely an after-play. Not Erasmus
alone was disillusioned and tired&mdash;Luther too was past his
heroic prime, circumscribed by conditions, forced into the
world of affairs, a disappointed man.</p>

<p>Erasmus had wished to persevere in his resolution to remain
a spectator of the great tragedy. 'If, as appears from the
wonderful success of Luther's cause, God wills all this'&mdash;thus
did Erasmus reason&mdash;'and He has perhaps judged such a
drastic surgeon as Luther necessary for the corruption of
these times, then it is not my business to withstand him.' But
he was not left in peace. While he went on protesting that he
had nothing to do with Luther and differed widely from him,
the defenders of the old Church adhered to the standpoint
urged as early as 1520 by Nicholas of Egmond before the
rector of Louvain: 'So long as he refuses to write against
Luther, we take him to be a Lutheran'. So matters stood.
'That you are looked upon as a Lutheran here is certain,'
Vives writes to him from the Netherlands in 1522.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span></p>

<p>Ever stronger became the pressure to write against Luther.
From Henry VIII came a call, communicated by Erasmus's
old friend Tunstall, from George of Saxony, from Rome
itself, whence Pope Adrian VI, his old patron, had urged him
shortly before his death.</p>

<p>Erasmus thought he could refuse no longer. He tried some
dialogues in the style of the <i>Colloquies</i>, but did not get on
with them; and probably they would not have pleased those
who were desirous of enlisting his services. Between Luther
and Erasmus himself there had been no personal correspondence,
since the former had promised him, in 1520; 'Well
then, Erasmus, I shall not mention your name again.' Now
that Erasmus had prepared to attack Luther, however, there
came an epistle from the latter, written on 15 April 1524, in
which the reformer, in his turn, requested Erasmus in his own
words: 'Please remain now what you have always professed
yourself desirous of being: a mere spectator of our tragedy'.
There is a ring of ironical contempt in Luther's words, but
Erasmus called the letter 'rather humane; I had not the courage
to reply with equal humanity, because of the sycophants'.</p>

<p>In order to be able to combat Luther with a clear conscience
Erasmus had naturally to choose a point on which he differed
from Luther in his heart. It was not one of the more superficial
parts of the Church's structure. For these he either, with
Luther, cordially rejected, such as ceremonies, observances,
fasting, etc., or, though more moderately than Luther, he had
his doubts about them, as the sacraments or the primacy of
St. Peter. So he naturally came to the point where the deepest
gulf yawned between their natures, between their conceptions
of the essence of faith, and thus to the central and eternal
problem of good and evil, guilt and compulsion, liberty and
bondage, God and man. Luther confessed in his reply that here
indeed the vital point had been touched.</p>

<p><i>De libero arbitrio diatribe</i> (<i>A Disquisition upon Free Will</i>)
appeared in September 1524. Was Erasmus qualified to write
about such a subject? In conformity with his method and with
his evident purpose to vindicate authority and tradition, this<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span>
time, Erasmus developed the argument that Scripture teaches,
doctors affirm, philosophers prove, and human reason testifies
man's will to be free. Without acknowledgement of free will
the terms of God's justice and God's mercy remain without
meaning. What would be the sense of the teachings, reproofs,
admonitions of Scripture (Timothy iii.) if all happened according
to mere and inevitable necessity? To what purpose is
obedience praised, if for good and evil works we are equally
but tools to God, as the hatchet to the carpenter? And if this
were so, it would be dangerous to reveal such a doctrine to
the multitude, for morality is dependent on the consciousness
of freedom.</p>

<p>Luther received the treatise of his antagonist with disgust
and contempt. In writing his reply, however, he suppressed
these feelings outwardly and observed the rules of courtesy.
But his inward anger is revealed in the contents itself of <i>De
servo arbitrio</i> (<i>On the Will not free</i>). For here he really did
what Erasmus had just reproached him with&mdash;trying to heal
a dislocated member by tugging at it in the opposite direction.
More fiercely than ever before, his formidable boorish mind
drew the startling inferences of his burning faith. Without any
reserve he now accepted all the extremes of absolute determinism.
In order to confute indeterminism in explicit terms,
he was now forced to have recourse to those primitive metaphors
of exalted faith striving to express the inexpressible:
God's two wills, which do not coincide, God's 'eternal hatred
of mankind, a hatred not only on account of demerits and the
works of free will, but a hatred that existed even before the
world was created', and that metaphor of the human will,
which, as a riding beast, stands in the middle between God and
the devil and which is mounted by one or the other without
being able to move towards either of the two contending
riders. If anywhere, Luther's doctrine in <i>De Servo Arbitrio</i> means
a recrudescence of faith and a straining of religious conceptions.</p>

<p>But it was Luther who here stood on the rockbed of a profound
and mystic faith in which the absolute conscience of the
eternal pervades all. In him all conceptions, like dry straw, were<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span>
consumed in the glow of God's majesty, for him each human
co-operation to attain to salvation was a profanation of God's
glory. Erasmus's mind after all did not truly <i>live</i> in the ideas
which were here disputed, of sin and grace, of redemption and
the glory of God as the final cause of all that is.</p>

<p>Was, then, Erasmus's cause in all respects inferior? Was
Luther right at the core? Perhaps. Dr. Murray rightly reminds
us of Hegel's saying that tragedy is not the conflict between
right and wrong, but the conflict between right and right. The
combat of Luther and Erasmus proceeded beyond the point
at which our judgement is forced to halt and has to accept an
equivalence, nay, a compatibility of affirmation and negation.
And this fact, that they here were fighting with words and
metaphors in a sphere beyond that of what may be known and
expressed, was understood by Erasmus. Erasmus, the man of
the fine shades, for whom ideas eternally blended into each
other and interchanged, called a Proteus by Luther; Luther
the man of over-emphatic expression about all matters. The
Dutchman, who sees the sea, was opposed to the German, who
looks out on mountain tops.</p>

<p>'This is quite true that we cannot speak of God but with
inadequate words.' 'Many problems should be deferred, not
to the oecumenical Council, but till the time when, the glass
and the darkness having been taken away, we shall see God
face to face.' 'What is free of error?' 'There are in sacred
literature certain sanctuaries into which God has not willed
that we should penetrate further.'</p>

<p>The Catholic Church had on the point of free will reserved
to itself some slight proviso, left a little elbow-room to the
consciousness of human liberty <i>under</i> grace. Erasmus conceived
that liberty in a considerably broader spirit. Luther absolutely
denied it. The opinion of contemporaries was at first too
much dominated by their participation in the great struggle as
such: they applauded Erasmus, because he struck boldly at
Luther, or the other way about, according to their sympathies.
Not only Vives applauded Erasmus, but also more
orthodox Catholics such as Sadolet. The German humanists,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span>
unwilling, for the most part, to break with the ancient
Church, were moved by Erasmus's attack to turn their backs
still more upon Luther: Mutianus, Zasius, and Pirckheimer.
Even Melanchthon inclined to Erasmus's standpoint. Others,
like Capito, once a zealous supporter, now washed their
hands of him. Soon Calvin with the iron cogency of his
argument was completely to take Luther's side.</p>

<p>It is worth while to quote the opinion of a contemporary
Catholic scholar about the relations of Erasmus and Luther.
'Erasmus,' says F. X. Kiefl,<a name="FNanchor_19_19" id="FNanchor_19_19"></a><a href="#Footnote_19_19" class="fnanchor">[19]</a> 'with his concept of free, unspoiled
human nature was intrinsically much more foreign to
the Church than Luther. He only combated it, however, with
haughty scepticism: for which reason Luther with subtle
psychology upbraided him for liking to speak of the shortcomings
and the misery of the Church of Christ in such a way
that his readers could not help laughing, instead of bringing
his charges, with deep sighs, as beseemed before God.'</p>

<p>The <i>Hyperaspistes</i>, a voluminous treatise in which Erasmus
again addressed Luther, was nothing but an epilogue, which
need not be discussed here at length.</p>

<p>Erasmus had thus, at last, openly taken sides. For, apart
from the dogmatical point at issue itself, the most important
part about <i>De libero arbitrio</i> was that in it he had expressly
turned against the individual religious conceptions and had
spoken in favour of the authority and tradition of the Church.
He always regarded himself as a Catholic. 'Neither death nor
life shall draw me from the communion of the Catholic
Church,' he writes in 1522, and in the <i>Hyperaspistes</i> in 1526:
'I have never been an apostate from the Catholic Church. I
know that in this Church, which you call the Papist Church,
there are many who displease me, but such I also see in your
Church. One bears more easily the evils to which one is accustomed.
Therefore I bear with this Church, until I shall see a
better, and it cannot help bearing with me, until I shall myself
be better. And he does not sail badly who steers a middle
course between two several evils.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span></p>

<p>But was it possible to keep to that course? On either side
people turned away from him. 'I who, formerly, in countless
letters was addressed as thrice great hero, Prince of letters, Sun
of studies, Maintainer of true theology, am now ignored, or
represented in quite different colours,' he writes. How many
of his old friends and congenial spirits had already gone!</p>

<p>A sufficient number remained, however, who thought and
hoped as Erasmus did. His untiring pen still continued to
propagate, especially by means of his letters, the moderating
and purifying influence of his mind throughout all the countries
of Europe. Scholars, high church dignitaries, nobles,
students, and civil magistrates were his correspondents. The
Bishop of Basle himself, Christopher of Utenheim, was a man
after Erasmus's heart. A zealous advocate of humanism, he had
attempted, as early as 1503, to reform the clergy of his bishopric
by means of synodal statutes, without much success; afterwards
he had called scholars like Oecolampadius, Capito and
Wimpfeling to Basle. That was before the great struggle
began, which was soon to carry away Oecolampadius and
Capito much further than the Bishop of Basle or Erasmus
approved. In 1522 Erasmus addressed the bishop in a treatise
<i>De interdicto esu carnium</i> (<i>On the Prohibition of eating Meat</i>).
This was one of the last occasions on which he directly opposed
the established order.</p>

<p>The bishop, however, could no longer control the movement.
A considerable number of the commonalty of Basle
and the majority of the council, were already on the side of
radical Reformation. About a year after Erasmus, Johannes
Oecolampadius, whose first residence at Basle had also coincided
with his (at that time he had helped Erasmus with
Hebrew for the edition of the New Testament), returned to
the town with the intention of organizing the resistance to the
old order there. In 1523 the council appointed him professor
of Holy Scripture in the University; at the same time four
Catholic professors lost their places. He succeeded in obtaining
general permission for unlicensed preaching. Soon a far more
hot-headed agitator, the impetuous Guillaume Farel, also<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span>
arrived for active work at Basle and in the environs. He is the
man who will afterwards reform Geneva and persuade Calvin
to stay there.</p>

<p>Though at first Oecolampadius began to introduce novelties
into the church service with caution, Erasmus saw these
innovations with alarm. Especially the fanaticism of Farel,
whom he hated bitterly. It was these men who retarded what he
still desired and thought possible: a compromise. His lambent
spirit, which never fully decided in favour of a definite
opinion, had, with regard to most of the disputed points,
gradually fixed on a half-conservative midway standpoint, by
means of which, without denying his deepest conviction, he
tried to remain faithful to the Church. In 1524 he had expressed
his sentiments about confession in the treatise <i>Exomologesis</i>
(<i>On the Way to confess</i>). He accepts it halfway: if not instituted
by Christ or the Apostles, it was, in any case, by the Fathers.
It should be piously preserved. Confession is of excellent use,
though, at times, a great evil. In this way he tries 'to admonish
either party', 'neither to agree with nor to assail' the deniers,
'though inclining to the side of the believers'.</p>

<p>In the long list of his polemics he gradually finds opportunities
to define his views somewhat; circumstantially, for
instance, in the answers to Alberto Pio, of 1525 and 1529. Subsequently
it is always done in the form of an <i>Apologia</i>, whether
he is attacked for the <i>Colloquia</i>, for the <i>Moria</i>, Jerome, the
<i>Paraphrases</i> or anything else. At last he recapitulates his views
to some extent in <i>De amabili Ecclesiae concordia</i> (<i>On the Amiable
Concord of the Church</i>), of 1533, which, however, ranks
hardly any more among his reformatory endeavours.</p>

<p>On most points Erasmus succeeds in finding moderate and
conservative formulae. Even with regard to ceremonies he no
longer merely rejects. He finds a kind word to say even for
fasting, which he had always abhorred, for the veneration of
relics and for Church festivals. He does not want to abolish the
worship of the Saints: it no longer entails danger of idolatry.
He is even willing to admit the images: 'He who takes the
imagery out of life deprives it of its highest pleasure; we often<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span>
discern more in images than we conceive from the written
word'. Regarding Christ's substantial presence in the sacrament
of the altar he holds fast to the Catholic view, but without
fervour, only on the ground of the Church's consensus,
and because he cannot believe that Christ, who is truth and
love, would have suffered His bride to cling so long to so horrid
an error as to worship a crust of bread instead of Him. But for
these reasons he might, at need, accept Oecolampadius's view.</p>

<p>From the period at Basle dates one of the purest and most
beneficent moral treatises of Erasmus's, the <i>Institutio Christiani
matrimonii</i> (<i>On Christian Marriage</i>) of 1526, written for
Catherine of Aragon, Queen of England, quite in the spirit of
the <i>Enchiridion</i>, save for a certain diffuseness betraying old age.
Later follows <i>De vidua Christiana</i>, <i>The Christian Widow</i>, for
Mary of Hungary, which is as impeccable but less interesting.</p>

<p>All this did not disarm the defenders of the old Church.
They held fast to the clear picture of Erasmus's creed that arose
from the <i>Colloquies</i> and that could not be called purely
Catholic. There it appeared only too clearly that, however
much Erasmus might desire to leave the letter intact, his heart
was not in the convictions which were vital to the Catholic
Church. Consequently the <i>Colloquies</i> were later, when
Erasmus's works were expurgated, placed on the index in the
lump, with the <i>Moria</i> and a few other works. The rest is <i>caute
legenda</i>, to be read with caution. Much was rejected of the
Annotations to the New Testament, of the <i>Paraphrases</i> and the
<i>Apologiae</i>, very little of the <i>Enchiridion</i>, of the <i>Ratio verae
theologiae</i>, and even of the <i>Exomologesis</i>. But this was after the
fight against the living Erasmus had long been over.</p>

<p>So long as he remained at Basle, or elsewhere, as the centre
of a large intellectual group whose force could not be estimated,
just because it did not stand out as a party&mdash;it was not
known what turn he might yet take, what influence his mind
might yet have on the Church. He remained a king of minds in
his quiet study. The hatred that was felt for him, the watching
of all his words and actions, were of a nature as only falls to the
lot of the acknowledged great. The chorus of enemies who<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span>
laid the fault of the whole Reformation on Erasmus was not
silenced. 'He laid the eggs which Luther and Zwingli have
hatched.' With vexation Erasmus quoted ever new specimens
of narrow-minded, malicious and stupid controversy. At
Constance there lived a doctor who had hung his portrait on
the wall merely to spit at it as often as he passed it. Erasmus
jestingly compares his fate to that of Saint Cassianus, who was
stabbed to death by his pupils with pencils. Had he not been
pierced to the quick for many years by the pens and tongues
of countless people and did he not live in that torment without
death bringing the end? The keen sensitiveness to opposition
was seated very deeply with Erasmus. And he could never
forbear irritating others into opposing him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span></p>

<p>FOOTNOTES:</p>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_19_19" id="Footnote_19_19"></a><a href="#FNanchor_19_19"><span class="label">[19]</span></a> <i>Luther's religi&ouml;se Psyche</i>, Hochland XV, 1917, p. 21.</p></div>




<h2><a name="chapter_xix" id="chapter_xix"></a>CHAPTER XIX</h2>

<h3>AT WAR WITH HUMANISTS AND REFORMERS</h3>

<h3>1528-9</h3>

<div class="blockquot"><p>Erasmus turns against the excesses of humanism: its paganism and pedantic
classicism&mdash;<i>Ciceronianus</i>: 1528&mdash;It brings him new enemies&mdash;The
Reformation carried through at Basle&mdash;He emigrates to Freiburg: 1529&mdash;His
view concerning the results of the Reformation</p></div>


<p>Nothing is more characteristic of the independence which
Erasmus reserved for himself regarding all movements of his
time than the fact that he also joined issue in the camp of the
humanists. In 1528 there were published by Froben (the chief
of the firm of Johannes Froben had just died) two dialogues in
one volume from Erasmus's hand: one about the correct
pronunciation of Latin and Greek, and one entitled <i>Ciceronianus</i>
or <i>On the Best Diction</i>, i.e. in writing and speaking Latin.
Both were proofs that Erasmus had lost nothing of his liveliness
and wit. The former treatise was purely philological, and
as such has had great influence; the other was satirical as well.
It had a long history.</p>

<p>Erasmus had always regarded classical studies as the panacea
of civilization, provided they were made serviceable to pure
Christianity. His sincere ethical feeling made him recoil from
the obscenity of a Poggio and the immorality of the early
Italian humanists. At the same time his delicate and natural
taste told him that a pedantic and servile imitation of antique
models could never produce the desired result. Erasmus knew
Latin too well to be strictly classical; his Latin was alive and
required freedom. In his early works we find taunts about the
over-precise Latin purists: one had declared a newly found fragment
of Cicero to be thoroughly barbaric; 'among all sorts of
authors none are so insufferable to me as those apes of Cicero'.</p>

<p>In spite of the great expectations he cherished of classical
studies for pure Christianity, he saw one danger: 'that under<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span>
the cloak of reviving ancient literature paganism tries to rear
its head, as there are those among Christians who acknowledge
Christ only in name but inwardly breathe heathenism'. This he
writes in 1517 to Capito. In Italy scholars devote themselves
too exclusively and in too pagan guise to <i>bonae literae</i>. He considered
it his special task to assist in bringing it about that those
<i>bonae literae</i> 'which with the Italians have thus far been almost
pagan, shall get used to speaking of Christ'.</p>

<p>How it must have vexed Erasmus that in Italy of all
countries he was, at the same time and in one breath, charged
with heresy and questioned in respect to his knowledge and
integrity as a scholar. Italians accused him of plagiarism and
trickery. He complained of it to Aleander, who, he thought,
had a hand in it.</p>

<p>In a letter of 13 October 1527, to a professor at Toledo, we
find the <i>&eacute;bauche</i> of the <i>Ciceronianus</i>. In addition to the haters
of classic studies for the sake of orthodox belief, writes Erasmus,
'lately another and new sort of enemies has broken from
their ambush. These are troubled that the <i>bonae literae</i> speak of
Christ, as though nothing can be elegant but what is pagan. To
their ears <i>Jupiter optimus maximus</i> sounds more pleasant than
<i>Jesus Christus redemptor mundi</i>, and <i>patres conscripti</i> more agreeable
than <i>sancti apostoli</i>.... They account it a greater dishonour
to be no Ciceronian than no Christian, as if Cicero, if
he should now come to life again, would not speak of Christian
things in other words than in his time he spoke of his own
religion!... What is the sense of this hateful swaggering with
the name Ciceronian? I will tell you briefly, in your ear. With
that pearl-powder they cover the paganism that is dearer to
them than the glory of Christ.' To Erasmus Cicero's style is by
no means the ideal one. He prefers something more solid,
succinct, vigorous, less polished, more manly. He who sometimes
has to write a book in a day has no time to polish his
style, often not even to read it over.... 'What do I care for
an empty dish of words, ten words here and there mumped
from Cicero: I want all Cicero's spirit.' These are apes at
whom one may laugh, for far more serious than these things<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span>
are the tumults of the so-called new Gospel, to which he next
proceeds in this letter.</p>

<p>And so, in the midst of all his polemics and bitter vindication,
he allowed himself once more the pleasure of giving the
reins to his love of scoffing, but, as in the <i>Moria</i> and <i>Colloquia</i>,
ennobled by an almost passionate sincerity of Christian
disposition and a natural sense of measure. The <i>Ciceronianus</i>
is a masterpiece of ready, many-sided knowledge, of convincing
eloquence, and of easy handling of a wealth of arguments.
With splendid, quiet and yet lively breadth flows the
long conversation between Bulephorus, representing Erasmus's
opinions, Hypologus, the interested inquirer, and Nosoponus,
the zealous Ciceronian, who, to preserve a perfect purity
of mind, breakfasts off ten currants.</p>

<p>Erasmus in drawing Nosoponus had evidently, in the main,
alluded to one who could no longer reply: Christopher
Longolius, who had died in 1522.</p>

<p>The core of the <i>Ciceronianus</i> is where Erasmus points out
the danger to Christian faith of a too zealous classicism. He
exclaims urgently: 'It is paganism, believe me, Nosoponus, it
is paganism that charms our ear and our soul in such things.
We are Christians in name alone.' Why does a classic proverb
sound better to us than a quotation from the Bible: <i>corchorum
inter olera</i>, 'chick-weed among the vegetables', better than
'Saul among the prophets'? As a sample of the absurdity of
Ciceronianism, he gives a translation of a dogmatic sentence
in classical language: 'Optimi maximique Jovis interpres ac
filius, servator, rex, juxta vatum responsa, ex Olympo devolavit
in terras,' for: Jesus Christ, the Word and the Son of the
eternal Father, came into the world according to the prophets.
Most humanists wrote indeed in that style.</p>

<p>Was Erasmus aware that he here attacked his own past?
After all, was it not exactly the same thing which he had done,
to the indignation of his opponents, when translating <i>Logos</i>
by <i>Sermo</i> instead of by <i>Verbum</i>? Had he not himself desired
that in the church hymns the metre should be corrected, not
to mention his own classical odes and paeans to Mary and the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span>
Saints? And was his warning against the partiality for classic
proverbs and turns applicable to anything more than to the
<i>Adagia</i>?</p>

<p>We here see the aged Erasmus on the path of reaction,
which might eventually have led him far from humanism. In
his combat with humanistic purism he foreshadows a Christian
puritanism.</p>

<p>As always his mockery procured him a new flood of invectives.
Bembo and Sadolet, the masters of pure Latin, could
afford to smile at it, but the impetuous Julius Caesar Scaliger
violently inveighed against him, especially to avenge Longolius's
memory. Erasmus's perpetual feeling of being persecuted
got fresh food: he again thought that Aleander was at the
bottom of it. 'The Italians set the imperial court against me,'
he writes in 1530. A year later all is quiet again. He writes
jestingly: 'Upon my word, I am going to change my style
after Budaeus's model and to become a Ciceronian according
to the example of Sadolet and Bembo'. But even near the close
of his life he was engaged in a new contest with Italians,
because he had hurt their national pride; 'they rage at me on all
sides with slanderous libels, as at the enemy of Italy and Cicero'.</p>

<hr style='width: 45%;' />

<p>There were, as he had said himself, other difficulties touching
him more closely. Conditions at Basle had for years been
developing in a direction which distressed and alarmed him.
When he established himself there in 1521, it might still have
seemed to him as if the bishop, old Christopher of Utenheim,
a great admirer of Erasmus and a man after his heart, would
succeed in effecting a reformation at Basle, as he desired it;
abolishing acknowledged abuses, but remaining within the fold
of the Church. In that very year, 1521, however, the emancipation
of the municipality from the bishop's power&mdash;it had
been in progress since Basle, in 1501, had joined the Swiss
Confederacy&mdash;was consummated. Henceforth the council
was number one, now no longer exclusively made up of
aristocratic elements. In vain did the bishop ally himself
with his colleagues of Constance and Lausanne to maintain<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span>
Catholicism. In the town the new creed got more and more
the upper hand. When, however, in 1525, it had come to open
tumults against the Catholic service, the council became more
cautious and tried to reform more heedfully.</p>

<p>Oecolampadius desired this, too. Relations between him
and Erasmus were precarious. Erasmus himself had at one
time directed the religious thought of the impulsive, sensitive,
restless young man. When he had, in 1520, suddenly sought
refuge in a convent, he had expressly justified that step towards
Erasmus, the condemner of binding vows. And now
they saw each other again at Basle, in 1522: Oecolampadius
having left the monastery, a convinced adherent and apostle
of the new doctrine; Erasmus, the great spectator which he
wished to be. Erasmus treated his old coadjutor coolly, and as
the latter progressed, retreated more and more. Yet he kept
steering a middle course and in 1525 gave some moderate
advice to the council, which meanwhile had turned more
Catholic again.</p>

<p>The old bishop, who for some years had no longer resided
in his town, in 1527 requested the chapter to relieve him of
his office, and died shortly afterwards. Then events moved
very quickly. After Berne had, meanwhile, reformed itself in
1528, Oecolampadius demanded a decision also for Basle.
Since the close of 1528 the town had been on the verge of civil
war. A popular rising put an end to the resistance of the
Council and cleared it of Catholic members; and in February
1529 the old service was prohibited, the images were removed
from the churches, the convents abolished, and the University
suspended. Oecolampadius became the first minister in the
'M&uuml;nster' and leader of the Basle church, for which he soon
drew up a reformatory ordinance. The new bishop remained
at Porrentruy, and the chapter removed to Freiburg.</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 275px;">
<a href="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:john-huizinga-erasmus-and-the-age-of-reformation-plate-xxiii.png">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:john-huizinga-erasmus-and-the-age-of-reformation-plate-xxiii-th.png" width="275" height="454" alt="" title=""/>
</a></div>
<p class="center">Plate XXIII. ERASMUS'S RESIDENCE AT FREIBURG, 1529-31</p>

<p>The moment of departure had now come for Erasmus. His
position at Basle in 1529 somewhat resembled, but in a
reversed sense, the one at Louvain in 1521. Then the Catholics
wanted to avail themselves of his services against Luther, now
the Evangelicals would fain have kept him at Basle. For his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span>
name was still as a banner. His presence would strengthen the
position of reformed Basle; on the one hand, because, as people
reasoned, if he were not of the same mind as the reformers,
he would have left the town long ago; on the other hand,
because his figure seemed to guarantee moderation and might
attract many hesitating minds.</p>

<p>It was, therefore, again to safeguard his independence that
Erasmus changed his residence. It was a great wrench this
time. Old age and invalidism had made the restless man a
stay-at-home. As he foresaw trouble from the side of the
municipality, he asked Archduke Ferdinand&mdash;who for his
brother Charles V governed the German empire and just then
presided over the Diet of Speyer&mdash;to send him a safe conduct
for the whole empire and an invitation, moreover, to come to
court, which he did not dream of accepting. As place of refuge
he had selected the not far distant town of Freiburg im Breisgau,
which was directly under the strict government of the
Austrian house, and where he, therefore, need not be afraid
of such a turn of affairs as that at Basle. It was, moreover, a
juncture at which the imperial authority and the Catholic
cause in Germany seemed again to be gaining ground rapidly.</p>

<p>Erasmus would not or could not keep his departure a secret.
He sent the most precious of his possessions in advance, and
when this had drawn attention to his plan, he purposely invited
Oecolampadius to a farewell talk. The reformer declared
his sincere friendship for Erasmus, which the latter did not
decline, provided he granted him to differ on certain points of
dogma. Oecolampadius tried to keep him from leaving the
town, and, when it proved too late for that, to persuade him
to return later. They took leave with a handshake. Erasmus
had desired to join his boat at a distant landing-stage, but the
Council would not allow this: he had to start from the usual
place near the Rhine bridge. A numerous crowd witnessed his
embarkation, 13 April 1529. Some friends were there to see
him off. No unfavourable demonstration occurred.</p>

<p>His reception at Freiburg convinced him that, in spite of all,
he was still the celebrated and admired prince of letters. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span>
Council placed at his disposal the large, though unfinished,
house built for the Emperor Maximilian himself; a professor
of theology offered him his garden. Anthony Fugger had
tried to draw him to Augsburg by means of a yearly allowance.
For the rest he considered Freiburg by no means a permanent
place of abode. 'I have resolved to remain here this winter and
then to fly with the swallows to the place whither God shall
call me.' But he soon recognized the great advantage which
Freiburg offered. The climate, to which he was so sensitive,
turned out better than he expected, and the position of the
town was extremely favourable for emigrating to France,
should circumstances require this, or for dropping down the
Rhine back to the Netherlands, whither many always called
him. In 1531 he bought a house at Freiburg.</p>

<p>The old Erasmus at Freiburg, ever more tormented by his
painful malady, much more disillusioned than when he left
Louvain in 1521, of more confirmed views as to the great
ecclesiastical strife, will only be fully revealed to us when his
correspondence with Boniface Amerbach, the friend whom
he left behind at Basle&mdash;a correspondence not found complete
in the older collections&mdash;has been edited by Dr. Allen's care.
From no period of Erasmus's life, it seems, may so much
be gleaned, in point of knowledge of his daily habits and
thoughts, as from these very years. Work went on without
a break in that great scholar's workshop where he directs his
famuli, who hunt manuscripts for him, and then copy and
examine them, and whence he sends forth his letters all over
Europe. In the series of editions of the Fathers followed Basil
and new editions of Chrysostom and Cyprian; his editions of
classic authors were augmented by the works of Aristotle. He
revised and republished the <i>Colloquies</i> three more times, the
<i>Adages</i> and the New Testament once more. Occasional
writings of a moral or politico-theological nature kept flowing
from his pen.</p>

<p>From the cause of the Reformation he was now quite
estranged. 'Pseudevangelici', he contumeliously calls the
reformed. 'I might have been a corypheus in Luther's church,'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span>
he writes in 1528, 'but I preferred to incur the hatred of all
Germany to being separate from the community of the
Church.' The authorities should have paid a little less attention
at first to Luther's proceedings; then the fire would never
have spread so violently. He had always urged theologians to
let minor concerns which only contain an appearance of piety
rest, and to turn to the sources of Scripture. Now it was too
late. Towns and countries united ever more closely for or
against the Reformation. 'If, what I pray may never happen,'
he writes to Sadolet in 1530, 'you should see horrible commotions
of the world arise, not so fatal for Germany as for the
Church, then remember Erasmus prophesied it.' To Beatus
Rhenanus he frequently said that, had he known that an age
like theirs was coming, he would never have written many
things, or would not have written them as he had.</p>

<p>'Just look,' he exclaims, 'at the Evangelical people, have
they become any better? Do they yield less to luxury, lust and
greed? Show me a man whom that Gospel has changed from
a toper to a temperate man, from a brute to a gentle creature,
from a miser into a liberal person, from a shameless to a chaste
being. I will show you many who have become even worse
than they were.' Now they have thrown the images out of
the churches and abolished mass (he is thinking of Basle especially):
has anything better come instead? 'I have never
entered their churches, but I have seen them return from hearing
the sermon, as if inspired by an evil spirit, the faces of all
showing a curious wrath and ferocity, and there was no one
except one old man who saluted me properly, when I passed
in the company of some distinguished persons.'</p>

<p>He hated that spirit of absolute assuredness so inseparably
bound up with the reformers. 'Zwingli and Bucer may be
inspired by the Spirit, Erasmus from himself is nothing but a
man and cannot comprehend what is of the Spirit.'</p>

<p>There was a group among the reformed to whom Erasmus
in his heart of hearts was more nearly akin than to the
Lutherans or Zwinglians with their rigid dogmatism: the
Anabaptists. He rejected the doctrine from which they derived<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span>
their name, and abhorred the anarchic element in them. He
remained far too much the man of spiritual decorum to
identify himself with these irregular believers. But he was not
blind to the sincerity of their moral aspirations and sympathized
with their dislike of brute force and the patience with
which they bore persecution. 'They are praised more than all
others for the innocence of their life,' he writes in 1529. Just
in the last part of his life came the episode of the violent
revolutionary proceedings of the fanatic Anabaptists; it goes
without saying that Erasmus speaks of it only with horror.</p>

<p>One of the best historians of the Reformation, Walter
K&ouml;hler, calls Erasmus one of the spiritual fathers of Anabaptism.
And certain it is that in its later, peaceful development
it has important traits in common with Erasmus: a
tendency to acknowledge free will, a certain rationalistic
trend, a dislike of an exclusive conception of a Church. It
seems possible to prove that the South German Anabaptist
Hans Denk derived opinions directly from Erasmus. For a
considerable part, however, this community of ideas must,
no doubt, have been based on peculiarities of religious consciousness
in the Netherlands, whence Erasmus sprang, and
where Anabaptism found such a receptive soil. Erasmus was
certainly never aware of these connections.</p>

<p>Some remarkable evidence regarding Erasmus's altered
attitude towards the old and the new Church is shown by
what follows.</p>

<p>The reproach he had formerly so often flung at the advocates
of conservatism that they hated the <i>bonae literae</i>, so dear to
him, and wanted to stifle them, he now uses against the
evangelical party. 'Wherever Lutherism is dominant the study
of literature is extinguished. Why else,' he continues, using a
remarkable sophism, 'are Luther and Melanchthon compelled
to call back the people so urgently to the love of letters?'
'Just compare the University of Wittenberg with that of
Louvain or Paris!... Printers say that before this Gospel
came they used to dispose of 3,000 volumes more quickly than
now of 600. A sure proof that studies flourish!'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span></p>




<h2><a name="chapter_xx" id="chapter_xx"></a>CHAPTER XX</h2>

<h3>LAST YEARS</h3>

<div class="blockquot"><p>Religious and political contrasts grow sharper&mdash;The coming strife in
Germany still suspended&mdash;Erasmus finishes his <i>Ecclesiastes</i>&mdash;Death of
Fisher and More&mdash;Erasmus back at Basle: 1535&mdash;Pope Paul III wants to
make him write in favour of the cause of the Council&mdash;Favours declined by
Erasmus&mdash;<i>De Puritate Ecclesiae</i>&mdash;The end: 12 July 1536</p></div>


<p>During the last years of Erasmus's life all the great issues
which kept the world in suspense were rapidly taking
threatening forms. Wherever compromise or reunion had
before still seemed possible, sharp conflicts, clearly outlined
party-groupings, binding formulae were now barring the
way to peace. While in the spring of 1529 Erasmus prepared
for his departure from Basle, a strong Catholic majority of the
Diet at Speyer got the 'recess' of 1526, favourable for the
Evangelicals, revoked, only the Lutherans among them keeping
what they had obtained; and secured a prohibition of any
further changes or novelties. The Zwinglians and Anabaptists
were not allowed to enjoy the least tolerance. This was immediately
followed by the Protest of the chief evangelical
princes and towns, which henceforth was to give the name to
all anti-Catholics together (19 April 1529). And not only
between Catholics and Protestants in the Empire did the
rupture become complete. Even before the end of that year
the question of the Lord's supper proved an insuperable stumbling-block
in the way of a real union of Zwinglians and
Lutherans. Luther parted from Zwingli at the colloquy of
Marburg with the words, 'Your spirit differs from ours'.</p>

<p>In Switzerland civil war had openly broken out between
the Catholic and the Evangelical cantons, only calmed for a
short time by the first peace of Kappel. The treaties of Cambray
and Barcelona, which in 1529 restored at least political
peace in Christendom for the time being, could no longer
draw from old Erasmus jubilations about a coming golden<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span>
age, like those with which the concord of 1516 had inspired
him. A month later the Turks appeared before Vienna.</p>

<p>All these occurrences could not but distress and alarm
Erasmus. But he was outside them. When reading his letters
of that period we are more than ever impressed by the fact
that, for all the width and liveliness of his mind, he is remote
from the great happenings of his time. Beyond a certain circle
of interests, touching his own ideas or his person, his perceptions
are vague and weak. If he still meddles occasionally with
questions of the day, he does so in the moralizing manner, by
means of generalities, without emphasis: his 'Advice about
declaring war on the Turks' (March 1530) is written in the
form of an interpretation of Psalm 28, and so vague that, at
the close, he himself anticipates that the reader may exclaim:
'But now say clearly: do you think that war should be
declared or not?'</p>

<p>In the summer of 1530 the Diet met again at Augsburg
under the auspices of the Emperor himself to try once more
'to attain to a good peace and Christian truth'. The Augsburg
Confession, defended all too weakly by Melanchthon, was
read here, disputed, and declared refuted by the Emperor.</p>

<p>Erasmus had no share in all this. Many had exhorted him
in letters to come to Augsburg; but he had in vain expected a
summons from the Emperor. At the instance of the Emperor's
counsellors he had postponed his proposed removal to
Brabant in that autumn till after the decision of the Diet. But
his services were not needed for the drastic resolution of
repression with which the Emperor closed the session in
November.</p>

<p>The great struggle in Germany seemed to be approaching:
the resolutions of Augsburg were followed by the formation
of the League of Schmalkalden uniting all Protestant territories
and towns of Germany in their opposition to the
Emperor. In the same year (1531) Zwingli was killed in the
battle of Kappel against the Catholic cantons, soon to be followed
by Oecolampadius, who died at Basle. 'It is right',
writes Erasmus, 'that those two leaders have perished. If<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span>
Mars had been favourable to them, we should now have been
done for.'</p>

<p>In Switzerland a sort of equilibrium had set in; at any rate
matters had come to a standstill; in Germany the inevitable
struggle was postponed for many years. The Emperor had
understood that, to combat the German Protestants effectively,
he should first get the Pope to hold the Council which would
abolish the acknowledged abuses of the Church. The religious
peace of Nuremberg (1532) put the seal upon this turn of
imperial policy.</p>

<p>It might seem as if before long the advocates of moderate
reform and of a compromise might after all get a chance of
being heard. But Erasmus had become too old to actively
participate in the decisions (if he had ever seriously considered
such participation). He does write a treatise, though, in 1533,
'On the sweet concord of the Church', like his 'Advice on
the Turks' in the form of an interpretation of a psalm (83).
But it would seem as if the old vivacity of his style and his
power of expression, so long unimpaired, now began to flag.
The same remark applies to an essay 'On the preparation for
death', published the same year. His voice was growing weaker.</p>

<p>During these years he turned his attention chiefly to the
completion of the great work which more than any other
represented for him the summing up and complete exposition
of his moral-theological ideas: <i>Ecclesiastes</i> or, <i>On the Way to
preach</i>. Erasmus had always regarded preaching as the most
dignified part of an ecclesiastic's duties. As preachers, he had
most highly valued Colet and Vitrarius. As early as 1519 his
friend, John Becar of Borselen, urged him to follow up the
<i>Enchiridion</i> of the Christian soldier and the <i>Institutio</i> of the
Christian prince, by the true instruction of the Christian
preacher. 'Later, later,' Erasmus had promised him, 'at
present I have too much work, but I hope to undertake it
soon.' In 1523 he had already made a sketch and some notes
for it. It was meant for John Fisher, the Bishop of Rochester,
Erasmus's great friend and brother-spirit, who eagerly looked
forward to it and urged the author to finish it. The work<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span>
gradually grew into the most voluminous of Erasmus's original
writings: a forest of a work, <i>operis sylvam</i>, he calls it himself.
In four books he treated his subject, the art of preaching well
and decorously, with an inexhaustible abundance of examples,
illustrations, schemes, etc. But was it possible that a work,
conceived already by the Erasmus of 1519, and upon which
he had been so long engaged, while he himself had gradually
given up the boldness of his earlier years, could still be a
revelation in 1533, as the <i>Enchiridion</i> had been in its day?</p>

<p><i>Ecclesiastes</i> is the work of a mind fatigued, which no longer
sharply reacts upon the needs of his time. As the result of a
correct, intellectual, tasteful instruction in a suitable manner
of preaching, in accordance with the purity of the Gospel,
Erasmus expects to see society improve. 'The people become
more obedient to the authorities, more respectful towards the
law, more peaceable. Between husband and wife comes
greater concord, more perfect faithfulness, greater dislike of
adultery. Servants obey more willingly, artisans work better,
merchants cheat no more.'</p>

<p>At the same time that Erasmus took this work to Froben,
at Basle, to print, a book of a young Frenchman, who had
recently fled from France to Basle, passed through the press of
another Basle printer, Thomas Platter. It too was to be a manual
of the life of faith: the <i>Institution of the Christian Religion</i>, by
Calvin.</p>

<hr style='width: 45%;' />

<p>Even before Erasmus had quite completed the <i>Ecclesiastes</i>,
the man for whom the work had been meant was no more.
Instead of to the Bishop of Rochester, Erasmus dedicated his
voluminous work to the Bishop of Augsburg, Christopher of
Stadion. John Fisher, to set a seal on his spiritual endeavours,
resembling those of Erasmus in so many respects, had left
behind, as a testimony to the world, for which Erasmus knew
himself too weak, that of martyrdom. On 22 June 1535, he
was beheaded by command of Henry VIII. He died for being
faithful to the old Church. Together with More he had steadfastly
refused to take the oath to the Statute of Supremacy.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span>
Not two weeks after Fisher, Thomas More mounted the
scaffold. The fate of those two noblest of his friends grieved
Erasmus. It moved him to do what for years he had no
longer done: to write a poem. But rather than in the fine
Latin measure of that <i>Carmen hero&iuml;cum</i> one would have liked
to hear his emotion in language of sincere dismay and indignation
in his letters. They are hardly there. In the words devoted
to Fisher's death in the preface to the <i>Ecclesiastes</i> there is no
heartfelt emotion. Also in his letters of those days, he speaks
with reserve. 'Would More had never meddled with that
dangerous business, and left the theological cause to the
theologians.' As if More had died for aught but simply for his
conscience!</p>

<hr style='width: 45%;' />

<p>When Erasmus wrote these words, he was no longer at
Freiburg. He had in June 1535 gone to Basle, to work in
Froben's printing-office, as of old; the <i>Ecclesiastes</i> was at last
going to press and still required careful supervision and the
final touches during the process; the <i>Adagia</i> had to be reprinted,
and a Latin edition of Origenes was in preparation.
The old, sick man was cordially received by the many friends
who still lived at Basle. Hieronymus Froben, Johannes's son,
who after his father's death managed the business with two
relatives, sheltered him in his house <i>Zum Luft</i>. In the hope of
his return a room had been built expressly for him and fitted
up as was convenient for him. Erasmus found that at Basle the
ecclesiastical storms which had formerly driven him away
had subsided. Quiet and order had returned. He did feel a
spirit of distrust in the air, it is true, 'but I think that, on
account of my age, of habit, and of what little erudition I
possess, I have now got so far that I may live in safety anywhere'.
At first he had regarded the removal as an experiment.
He did not mean to stay at Basle. If his health could not stand
the change of air, he would return to his fine, well-appointed,
comfortable house at Freiburg. If he should prove able to bear
it, then the choice was between the Netherlands (probably
Brussels, Malines or Antwerp, perhaps Louvain) or Burgundy,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span>
in particular Besan&ccedil;on. Towards the end of his life he clung to
the illusion which he had been cherishing for a long time that
Burgundy wine alone was good for him and kept his malady
in check. There is something pathetic in the proportions which
this wine-question gradually assumes: that it is so dear at Basle
might be overlooked, but the thievish wagoners drink up or
spoil what is imported.</p>

<p>In August he doubted greatly whether he will return to
Freiburg. In October he sold his house and part of his furniture
and had the rest transported to Basle. After the summer
he hardly left his room, and was mostly bedridden.</p>

<p>Though the formidable worker in him still yearned for
more years and time to labour, his soul was ready for death.
Happy he had never felt; only during the last years he utters
his longing for the end. He was still, curiously enough, subject
to the delusion of being in the thick of the struggle. 'In this
arena I shall have to fall,' he writes in 1533. 'Only this consoles
me, that near at hand already, the general haven comes in
sight, which, if Christ be favourable, will bring the end of all
labour and trouble.' Two years later his voice sounds more
urgent: 'That the Lord might deign to call me out of this
raving world to His rest'.</p>

<p>Most of his old friends were gone. Warham and Mountjoy
had passed away before More and Fisher; Peter Gilles, so
many years younger than he, had departed in 1533; also
Pirckheimer had been dead for years. Beatus Rhenanus shows
him to us, during the last months of his life, re-perusing his
friends' letters of the last few years, and repeating: 'This one,
too, is dead'. As he grew more solitary, his suspiciousness and
his feeling of being persecuted became stronger. 'My friends
decrease, my enemies increase,' he writes in 1532, when
Warham has died and Aleander has risen still higher. In the
autumn of 1535 he thinks that all his former servant-pupils
betray him, even the best beloved ones like Quirin Talesius and
Charles Utenhove. They do not write to him, he complains.</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 350px;">
<a href="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:john-huizinga-erasmus-and-the-age-of-reformation-plate-xxiv.png">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:john-huizinga-erasmus-and-the-age-of-reformation-plate-xxiv-th.png" width="350" height="474" alt="" title=""/>
</a></div>
<p class="center">Plate XXIV. CARDINAL JEROME ALEANDER</p>

<p>In October 1534, Pope Clement VII was succeeded by
Paul III, who at once zealously took up the Council-question.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span>
The meeting of a Council was, in the eyes of many, the only
means by which union could be restored to the Church, and
now a chance of realizing this seemed nigh. At once the most
learned theologians were invited to help in preparing the
great work. Erasmus did not omit, in January 1535, to address
to the new Pope a letter of congratulation, in which he professed
his willingness to co-operate in bringing about the
pacification of the Church, and warned the Pope to steer a
cautious middle course. On 31 May followed a reply full of
kindliness and acknowledgement. The Pope exhorted Erasmus,
'that you too, graced by God with so much laudable talent
and learning, may help Us in this pious work, which is so
agreeable to your mind, to defend, with Us, the Catholic
religion, by the spoken and the written word, before and
during the Council, and in this manner by this last work of
piety, as by the best act to close a life of religion and so many
writings, to refute your accusers and rouse your admirers to
fresh efforts.'</p>

<p>Would Erasmus in years of greater strength have seen his
way to co-operate actively in the council of the great? Undoubtedly,
the Pope's exhortation correctly represented his
inclination. But once faced by the necessity of hard, clear
resolutions, what would he have effected? Would his spirit of
peace and toleration, of reserve and compromise, have brought
alleviation and warded off the coming struggle? He was spared
the experiment.</p>

<p>He knew himself too weak to be able to think of strenuous
church-political propaganda any more. Soon there came
proofs that the kindly feelings at Rome were sincere. There
had been some question also of numbering Erasmus among
the cardinals who were to be nominated with a view to the
Council; a considerable benefice connected with the church
of Deventer was already offered him. But Erasmus urged the
Roman friends who were thus active in his behalf to cease their
kind offices; he would accept nothing, he a man who lived
from day to day in expectation of death and often hoping for
it, who could hardly ever leave his room&mdash;would people<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span>
instigate <i>him</i> to hunt for deaneries and cardinals' hats! He had
subsistence enough to last him. He wanted to die independent.</p>

<p>Yet his pen did not rest. The <i>Ecclesiastes</i> had been printed
and published and <i>Origenes</i> was still to follow. Instead of the
important and brilliant task to which Rome called him, he
devoted his last strength to a simple deed of friendly cordiality.
The friend to whose share the honour fell to receive from the
old, death-sick author a last composition prepared expressly
for him, amidst the most terrible pains, was the most modest
of the number who had not lost their faith in him. No prelate
or prince, no great wit or admired divine, but Christopher
Eschenfelder, customs officer at Boppard on the Rhine. On his
passage in 1518 Erasmus had, with glad surprise, found him
to be a reader of his work and a man of culture.<a name="FNanchor_20_20" id="FNanchor_20_20"></a><a href="#Footnote_20_20" class="fnanchor">[20]</a> That friendship
had been a lasting one. Eschenfelder had asked Erasmus to
dedicate the interpretation of some psalm to him (a form of
composition often preferred by Erasmus of late). About the
close of 1535 he remembered that request. He had forgotten
whether Eschenfelder had indicated a particular psalm and
chose one at haphazard, Psalm 14, calling the treatise 'On the
purity of the Christian Church'. He expressly dedicated it to
'the publican' in January 1536. It is not remarkable among his
writings as to contents and form, but it was to be his last.</p>

<p>On 12 February 1536, Erasmus made his final preparations.
In 1527 he had already made a will with detailed clauses for
the printing of his complete works by Froben. In 1534 he drew
up an accurate inventory of his belongings. He sold his library
to the Polish nobleman Johannes a Lasco. The arrangements of
1536 testify to two things which had played an important part
in his life: his relations with the house of Froben and his need
of friendship. Boniface Amerbach is his heir. Hieronymus
Froben and Nicholas Episcopius, the managers of the business,
are his executors. To each of the good friends left to him he
bequeathed one of the trinkets which spoke of his fame with
princes and the great ones of the earth, in the first place to
Louis Ber and Beatus Rhenanus. The poor and the sick were<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span>
not forgotten, and he remembered especially girls about to
marry and youths of promise. The details of this charity he
left to Amerbach.</p>

<p>In March 1536, he still thinks of leaving for Burgundy.
Money matters occupy him and he speaks of the necessity of
making new friends, for the old ones leave him: the Bishop of
Cracow, Zasius at Freiburg. According to Beatus Rhenanus,
the Brabant plan stood foremost at the end of Erasmus's life.
The Regent, Mary of Hungary, did not cease to urge him to
return to the Netherlands. Erasmus's own last utterance leaves
us in doubt whether he had made up his mind. 'Though I am
living here with the most sincere friends, such as I did not
possess at Freiburg, I should yet, on account of the differences
of doctrine, prefer to end my life elsewhere. If only Brabant
were nearer.'</p>

<p>This he writes on 28 June 1536. He had felt so poorly for
some days that he had not even been able to read. In the letter
we again trace the delusion that Aleander persecutes him, sets
on opponents against him, and even lays snares for his friends.
Did his mind at last give way too?</p>

<p>On 12 July the end came. The friends around his couch
heard him groan incessantly: 'O Jesu, misericordia; Domine
libera me; Domine miserere mei!' And at last in Dutch:
'Lieve God.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span></p>

<h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_20_20" id="Footnote_20_20"></a><a href="#FNanchor_20_20"><span class="label">[20]</span></a> See Erasmus's letter, p. <a href="#Page_224">224</a>.</p></div>




<h2><a name="chapter_xxi" id="chapter_xxi"></a>CHAPTER XXI</h2>

<h3>CONCLUSION</h3>

<div class="blockquot"><p>Conclusion&mdash;Erasmus and the spirit of the sixteenth century&mdash;His weak
points&mdash;A thorough idealist and yet a moderate mind&mdash;The enlightener of
a century&mdash;He anticipates tendencies of two centuries later&mdash;His influence
affects both Protestantism and Catholic reform&mdash;The Erasmian spirit in the
Netherlands</p></div>


<p>Looking back on the life of Erasmus the question still arises:
why has he remained so great? For ostensibly his endeavours
ended in failure. He withdraws in alarm from that tremendous
struggle which he rightly calls a tragedy; the sixteenth century,
bold and vehement, thunders past him, disdaining his ideal of
moderation and tolerance. Latin literary erudition, which to
him was the epitome of all true culture, has gone out as such.
Erasmus, so far as regards the greater part of his writings, is
among the great ones who are no longer read. He has become
a name. But why does that name still sound so clear and
articulate? Why does he keep regarding us, as if he still knew
a little more than he has ever been willing to utter?</p>

<p>What has he been to his age, and what was he to be for later
generations? Has he been rightly called a precursor of the
modern spirit?</p>

<p>Regarded as a child of the sixteenth century, he does seem
to differ from the general tenor of his times. Among those
vehemently passionate, drastically energetic and violent
natures of the great ones of his day, Erasmus stands as the man
of too few prejudices, with a little too much delicacy of taste,
with a deficiency, though not, indeed, in every department, of
that <i>stultitia</i> which he had praised as a necessary constituent
of life. Erasmus is the man who is too sensible and moderate
for the heroic.</p>

<p>What a surprising difference there is between the <i>accent</i> of
Erasmus and that of Luther, Calvin, and Saint Teresa! What a
difference, also, between his accent, that is, the accent of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span>
humanism, and that of Albrecht D&uuml;rer, of Michelangelo, or of
Shakespeare.</p>

<p>Erasmus seems, at times, the man who was not strong
enough for his age. In that robust sixteenth century it seems as
if the oaken strength of Luther was necessary, the steely edge
of Calvin, the white heat of Loyola; not the velvet softness
of Erasmus. Not only were their force and their fervour
necessary, but also their depth, their unsparing, undaunted
consistency, sincerity and outspokenness.</p>

<p>They cannot bear that smile which makes Luther speak of
the guileful being looking out of Erasmus's features. His
piety is too even for them, too limp. Loyola has testified
that the reading of the <i>Enchiridion militis Christiani</i> relaxed
his fervour and made his devotion grow cold. He saw that
warrior of Christ differently, in the glowing colours of the
Spanish-Christian, medieval ideal of chivalry.</p>

<p>Erasmus had never passed through those depths of self-reprobation
and that consciousness of sin which Luther had
traversed with toil; he saw no devil to fight with, and tears
were not familiar to him. Was he altogether unaware of the
deepest mystery? Or did it rest in him too deep for utterance?</p>

<p>Let us not suppose too quickly that we are more nearly allied
to Luther or Loyola because their figures appeal to us more. If
at present our admiration goes out again to the ardently pious,
and to spiritual extremes, it is partly because our unstable time
requires strong stimuli. To appreciate Erasmus we should begin
by giving up our admiration of the extravagant, and for many
this requires a certain effort at present. It is extremely easy
to break the staff over Erasmus. His faults lie on the surface,
and though he wished to hide many things, he never hid his
weaknesses.</p>

<p>He was too much concerned about what people thought,
and he could not hold his tongue. His mind was <i>too</i> rich and
facile, always suggesting a superfluity of arguments, cases,
examples, quotations. He could never let things slide. All his
life he grudged himself leisure to rest and collect himself, to see
how unimportant after all was the commotion round about<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span>
him, if only he went his own way courageously. Rest and
independence he desired most ardently of all things; there
was no more restless and dependent creature. Judge him as one
of a too delicate constitution who ventures out in a storm. His
will-power was great enough. He worked night and day,
amidst the most violent bodily suffering, with a great ideal
steadfastly before him, never satisfied with his own achievements.
He was not self-sufficient.</p>

<hr style='width: 45%;' />

<p>As an intellectual type Erasmus was one of a rather small
group: the absolute idealists who, at the same time, are
thoroughly moderate. They can not bear the world's imperfections;
they feel constrained to oppose. But extremes are
uncongenial to them; they shrink back from action, because
they know it pulls down as much as it erects, and so they withdraw
themselves, and keep calling that everything should be
different; but when the crisis comes, they reluctantly side with
tradition and conservatism. Here too is a fragment of Erasmus's
life-tragedy: he was the man who saw the new and coming
things more clearly than anyone else&mdash;who must needs
quarrel with the old and yet could not accept the new. He
tried to remain in the fold of the old Church, after having
damaged it seriously, and renounced the Reformation, and to
a certain extent even Humanism, after having furthered both
with all his strength.</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100%;">
<a href="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:john-huizinga-erasmus-and-the-age-of-reformation-plate-xxv.png">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:john-huizinga-erasmus-and-the-age-of-reformation-plate-xxv.png" width="40%" alt="" title=""/>
</a></div>
<p class="center">Plate XXV. ERASMUS AT THE AGE OF 65</p>

<hr style='width: 45%;' />

<p>Our final opinion about Erasmus has been concerned with
negative qualities, so far. What was his positive importance?</p>

<p>Two facts make it difficult for the modern mind to understand
Erasmus's positive importance: first that his influence
was extensive rather than intensive, and therefore less historically
discernible at definite points, and second, that his influence
has ceased. He has done his work and will speak to the
world no more. Like Saint Jerome, his revered model, and
Voltaire, with whom he has been occasionally compared, 'he
has his reward'. But like them he has been the enlightener of
an age from whom a broad stream of culture emanated.</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 375px;">
<a href="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:john-huizinga-erasmus-and-the-age-of-reformation-plate-xxvi.png">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:john-huizinga-erasmus-and-the-age-of-reformation-plate-xxvi-th.png" width="375" height="286" alt="" title=""/>
</a></div>
<p class="center">Plate XXVI. ERASMUS DICTATING TO HIS SECRETARY, 1530<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span></p>

<p>As historic investigation of the French Revolution is becoming
more and more aware that the true history of France
during that period should be looked for in those groups which
as 'Centre' or 'Marais' seemed for a long time but a drove of
supernumeraries, and understands that it should occasionally
protect its eyes a little from the lightning flashes of the Gironde
and Mountain thunderstorm; so the history of the Reformation
period should pay attention&mdash;and it has done so for a long
time&mdash;to the broad central sphere permeated by the Erasmian
spirit. One of his opponents said: 'Luther has drawn a large
part of the Church to himself, Zwingli and Oecolampadius
also some part, but Erasmus the largest'. Erasmus's public was
numerous and of high culture. He was the only one of the
Humanists who really wrote for all the world, that is to say,
for all educated people. He accustomed a whole world to
another and more fluent mode of expression: he shifted the
interest, he influenced by his perfect clarity of exposition,
even through the medium of Latin, the style of the vernacular
languages, apart from the numberless translations of his works.
For his contemporaries Erasmus put on many new stops, one
might say, of the great organ of human expression, as
Rousseau was to do two centuries later.</p>

<p>He might well think with some complacency of the influence
he had exerted on the world. 'From all parts of the
world'&mdash;he writes towards the close of his life&mdash;'I am daily
thanked by many, because they have been kindled by my
works, whatever may be their merit, into zeal for a good
disposition and sacred literature; and they who have never seen
Erasmus, yet know and love him from his books.' He was glad
that his translations from the Greek had become superfluous;
he had everywhere led many to take up Greek and Holy
Scripture, 'which otherwise they would never have read'. He
had been an introducer and an initiator. He might leave the
stage after having said his say.</p>

<p>His word signified something beyond a classical sense and
biblical disposition. It was at the same time the first enunciation
of the creed of education and perfectibility, of warm<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span>
social feeling and of faith in human nature, of peaceful kindliness
and toleration. 'Christ dwells everywhere; piety is
practised under every garment, if only a kindly disposition is
not wanting.'</p>

<p>In all these ideas and convictions Erasmus really heralds a
later age. In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries those
thoughts remained an undercurrent: in the eighteenth
Erasmus's message of deliverance bore fruit. In this respect he
has most certainly been a precursor and preparer of the
modern mind: of Rousseau, Herder, Pestalozzi and of the
English and American thinkers. It is only part of the modern
mind which is represented by all this. To a number of its
developments Erasmus was wholly a stranger, to the evolution
of natural science, of the newer philosophy, of political
economy. But in so far as people still believe in the ideal that
moral education and general tolerance may make humanity
happier, humanity owes much to Erasmus.</p>

<hr style='width: 45%;' />

<p>This does not imply that Erasmus's mind did not directly
and fruitfully influence his own times. Although Catholics
regarded him in the heat of the struggle as the corrupter of
the Church, and Protestants as the betrayer of the Gospel, yet
his word of moderation and kindliness did not pass by unheard
or unheeded on either side. Eventually neither camp
finally rejected Erasmus. Rome did not brand him as an arch-heretic,
but only warned the faithful to read him with caution.
Protestant history has been studious to reckon him as one of
the Reformers. Both obeyed in this the pronouncement of a
public opinion which was above parties and which continued
to admire and revere Erasmus.</p>

<p>To the reconstruction of the Catholic Church and the
erection of the evangelical churches not only the names of
Luther and Loyola are linked. The moderate, the intellectual,
the conciliating have also had their share of the work; figures
like Melanchthon here, Sadolet there, both nearly allied to
Erasmus and sympathetically disposed towards him. The frequently
repeated attempts to arrive at some compromise in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span>
the great religious conflict, though they might be doomed to
end in failure, emanated from the Erasmian spirit.</p>

<p>Nowhere did that spirit take root so easily as in the country
that gave Erasmus birth. A curious detail shows us that it was
not the exclusive privilege of either great party. Of his two
most favoured pupils of later years, both Netherlanders, whom
as the actors of the colloquy <i>Astragalismus</i> (<i>The Game of
Knucklebones</i>), he has immortalized together, the one, Quirin
Talesius, died for his attachment to the Spanish cause and the
Catholic faith: he was hanged in 1572 by the citizens of
Haarlem, where he was a burgomaster. The other, Charles
Utenhove, was sedulous on the side of the revolt and the
Reformed religion. At Ghent, in concert with the Prince of
Orange, he turned against the narrow-minded Protestant
terrorism of the zealots.</p>

<p>A Dutch historian recently tried to trace back the opposition
of the Dutch against the king of Spain to the influence of
Erasmus's political thought in his arraignment of bad princes&mdash;wrongly
as I think. Erasmus's political diatribes were far too
academic and too general for that. The desire of resistance and
revolt arose from quite other causes. The 'Gueux' were not
Erasmus's progeny. But there is much that is Erasmian in the
spirit of their great leader, William of Orange, whose vision
ranged so widely beyond the limitations of religious hatred.
Thoroughly permeated by the Erasmian spirit, too, was that
class of municipal magistrates who were soon to take the lead
and to set the fashion in the established Republic. History is
wont, as always with an aristocracy, to take their faults very
seriously. After all, perhaps no other aristocracy, unless it be
that of Venice, has ruled a state so long, so well and with so
little violence. If in the seventeenth century the institutions of
Holland, in the eyes of foreigners, were the admired models of
prosperity, charity and social discipline, and patterns of gentleness
and wisdom, however defective they may seem to
us&mdash;then the honour of all this is due to the municipal aristocracy.
If in the Dutch patriciate of that time those aspirations
lived and were translated into action, it was Erasmus's spirit of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span>
social responsibility which inspired them. The history of
Holland is far less bloody and cruel than that of any of the surrounding
countries. Not for naught did Erasmus praise as
truly Dutch those qualities which we might also call truly
Erasmian: gentleness, kindliness, moderation, a generally
diffused moderate erudition. Not romantic virtues, if you like;
but are they the less salutary?</p>

<p>One more instance. In the Republic of the Seven Provinces
the atrocious executions of witches and wizards ceased more
than a century before they did in all other countries. This was
not owing to the merit of the Reformed pastors. They shared
the popular belief which demanded persecution. It was the
magistrates whose enlightenment even as early as the beginning
of the seventeenth century no longer tolerated these
things. Again, we are entitled to say, though Erasmus was not
one of those who combated this practice: the spirit which
breathes from this is that of Erasmus.</p>

<p>Cultured humanity has cause to hold Erasmus's memory in
esteem, if for no other reason than that he was the fervently
sincere preacher of that general kindliness which the world still
so urgently needs.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span></p>




<h2><a name="letters" id="letters"></a>SELECTION FROM THE LETTERS OF ERASMUS</h2>


<p><i>This selection from the vast correspondence of Erasmus is intended to exhibit
him at a few points in his strenuous and rather comfortless life, always
overworked, often ill, and perpetually hurried&mdash;many of his letters have the
postscript 'In haste' or 'I had no time to read this over'&mdash;but holding always
tenaciously to his aim of steering a middle course; in religion between the
corruption and fossilization of the old and the uncompromising violence of
the new: in learning between neo-paganism on the one hand and the indolent
refusal, under the pretext of piety, to apply critical methods to sacred texts
on the other. The first letter has been included because it may provide a clue
to his later reluctance to trust his feelings when self-committal to any cause
seemed to be required of him, a reluctance not unnaturally interpreted by his
enemies as an arrogant refusal to 'yield to any'.</i></p>

<p><i>The notes have been compiled from P. S. and H. M. Allen's</i> Opus
epistolarum Des. Erasmi Roterodami, <i>Oxford, 1906-47, by the kind
permission of the Delegates of the Clarendon Press, and references are to the
numbers of the letters in that edition</i>.</p>


<h3>I. TO SERVATIUS ROGER<a name="FNanchor_21_21" id="FNanchor_21_21"></a><a href="#Footnote_21_21" class="fnanchor">[21]</a></h3>

<p>[Steyn, <i>c.</i> 1487]</p>

<p>To his friend Servatius, greetings:</p>

<p>... You say there is something which you take very hard, which
torments you wretchedly, which in short makes life a misery to you.
Your looks and your carriage betray this, even if you were silent.
Where is your wonted and beloved cheerful countenance gone, your
former beauty, your lively glance? Whence come these sorrowful
downcast eyes, whence this perpetual silence, so unlike you, whence
the look of a sick man in your expression? Assuredly as the poet says,
'the sick body betrays the torments of the lurking soul, likewise its
joys: it is to the mind that the face owes its looks, well or ill'.<a name="FNanchor_22_22" id="FNanchor_22_22"></a><a href="#Footnote_22_22" class="fnanchor">[22]</a></p>

<p>It is certain then, my Servatius, that there is something which
troubles you, which is destroying your former good health. But what<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span>
am I to do now? Must I comfort you or scold you? Why do you hide
your pain from me as if we did not know each other by this time?
You are so deep that you do not believe your closest friend, or trust
even the most trustworthy; or do you not know that the hidden fire
burns stronger?... And for the rest, my Servatius, what is it makes
you draw in and hide yourself like a snail? I suspect what the matter
is: you have not yet convinced yourself that I love you very much.
So I entreat you by the things sweetest to you in life, by our great
love, if you have any care for your safety, if you want me to live
unharmed, not to be at such pains to hide your feelings, but whatever
it is, entrust it to my safe ears. I will assist you in whatever way I can
with help or counsel. But if I cannot provide either, still it will be
sweet to rejoice with you, to weep with you, to live and die with
you. Farewell, my Servatius, and look after your health.</p>


<h3>II. TO NICHOLAS WERNER<a name="FNanchor_23_23" id="FNanchor_23_23"></a><a href="#Footnote_23_23" class="fnanchor">[23]</a></h3>

<p>Paris, 13 September [1496]</p>

<p>To the religious Father Nicholas Werner, greetings:</p>

<p>... If you are all well there, things are as I wish and hope; I myself am
very well, the gods be thanked. I have now made clear by my actions&mdash;if
it was not clear to anyone before this&mdash;how much theology is
coming to mean to me. A somewhat arrogant claim; but it ill becomes
Erasmus to hide anything from his most loving Father. Lately I had
fallen in with certain Englishmen, of noble birth, and all of them
wealthy. Very recently I was approached by a young priest,<a name="FNanchor_24_24" id="FNanchor_24_24"></a><a href="#Footnote_24_24" class="fnanchor">[24]</a> very
rich, who said he had refused a bishopric offered him, as he knew that
he was not well educated; nevertheless he is to be recalled by the King
to take a bishopric within a year, although, apart from any bishopric
even, he has a yearly income of more than 2000 <i>scudi</i>. As soon as he
heard of my learning he proceeded in unbelievably affectionate
fashion to devote himself to me, to frequent and revere me&mdash;he
lived for a while in my house. He offered 100 <i>scudi</i>, if I would teach
him for a year; he offered a benefice in a few months' time; he offered
to lend me 300 <i>scudi</i>, if I should need them to procure the office, until
I could pay them back out of the benefice. By this service I could have
laid all the English in this city under an obligation to me&mdash;they are<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span>
all of the first families&mdash;and through them all England, had I so
wished. But I cared nothing for the splendid income and the far more
splendid prospects; I cared nothing for their entreaties and the tears
which accompanied them. I am telling the truth, exaggerating not at
all; the English realize that the money of all England means nothing
to me. This refusal, which I still maintain, was not made without due
consideration; not for any reward will I let myself be drawn away
from theological studies. I did not come here to teach or to pile up
gold, but to learn. Indeed I shall seek a Doctorate in Theology, if the
gods so will it.</p>

<p>The Bishop of Cambrai is marvellously fond of me: he makes
liberal promises; the remittances are not so liberal, to tell the truth. I
wish you good health, excellent Father. I beg and entreat you to commend
me in your prayers to God: I shall do likewise for you. From my
library in Paris.</p>


<h3>III. TO ROBERT FISHER<a name="FNanchor_25_25" id="FNanchor_25_25"></a><a href="#Footnote_25_25" class="fnanchor">[25]</a></h3>

<p>London, 5 December [1499]</p>

<p>To Robert Fisher, Englishman, abiding in Italy, greetings:</p>

<p>... I hesitated not a little to write to you, beloved Robert, not that I
feared lest so great a sunderance in time and place had worn away
anything of your affection towards me, but because you are in a
country where even the house-walls are more learned and more
eloquent than are our men here, so that what is here reckoned
polished, fine and delectable cannot there appear anything but crude,
mean and insipid. Wherefore your England assuredly expects you to
return not merely very learned in the law but also equally eloquent
in both the Greek and the Latin tongues. You would have seen me
also there long since, had not my friend Mountjoy carried me off to
his country when I was already packed for the journey into Italy.
Whither indeed shall I not follow a youth so polite, so kindly, so
lovable? I swear I would follow him even into Hades. You indeed
had most handsomely commended him and, in a word, precisely
delineated him; but believe me, he every day surpasses both your
commendation and my opinion of him.</p>

<p>But you ask how England pleases me. If you have any confidence
in me, dear Robert, I would have you believe me when I say that I
have never yet liked anything so well. I have found here a climate as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span>
delightful as it is wholesome; and moreover so much humane learning,
not of the outworn, commonplace sort, but the profound,
accurate, ancient Greek and Latin learning, that I now scarcely miss
Italy, but for the sight of it. When I listen to my friend Colet, I seem
to hear Plato himself. Who would not marvel at the perfection of
encyclopaedic learning in Grocyn?<a name="FNanchor_26_26" id="FNanchor_26_26"></a><a href="#Footnote_26_26" class="fnanchor">[26]</a> What could be keener or nobler
or nicer than Linacre's<a name="FNanchor_27_27" id="FNanchor_27_27"></a><a href="#Footnote_27_27" class="fnanchor">[27]</a> judgement? What has Nature ever fashioned
gentler or sweeter or happier than the character of Thomas More?
But why should I catalogue the rest? It is marvellous how thick upon
the ground the harvest of ancient literature is here everywhere
flowering forth: all the more should you hasten your return hither.
Your friend's affection and remembrance of you is so strong that he
speaks of none so often or so gladly. Farewell. Written in haste in
London on the 5th of December.</p>


<h3>IV. TO JAMES BATT<a name="FNanchor_28_28" id="FNanchor_28_28"></a><a href="#Footnote_28_28" class="fnanchor">[28]</a></h3>

<p>Orl&eacute;ans [<i>c.</i> 12 December] 1500</p>

<p>... If you care sincerely what becomes of your Erasmus, do you
act thus: plead my shyness before my Lady<a name="FNanchor_29_29" id="FNanchor_29_29"></a><a href="#Footnote_29_29" class="fnanchor">[29]</a> in pleasant phrases, as if
I had not been able to bring myself to reveal my poverty to her in
person. But you must write that I am now in a state of extreme
poverty, owing to the great expense of this flight to Orl&eacute;ans, as I had
to leave people from whom I was making some money. Tell her that
Italy is by far the most suitable place in which to take the Degree of
Doctor, and that it is impossible for a fastidious man to go to Italy
without a large sum of money; particularly because I am not even
at liberty to live meanly, on account of my reputation, such as it is,
for learning. You will explain how much greater fame I am likely to
bring my Lady by my learning than are the other theologians maintained
by her. They compose commonplace harangues: I write works
destined to live for ever. Their ignorant triflings are heard by one or
two persons in church: my books will be read by Latins, Greeks, by<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span>
every race all over the world. Tell her that this kind of unlearned
theologian is to be found in hordes everywhere, whereas a man like
myself is hardly to be found once in many centuries; unless indeed
you are so superstitious that you scruple to employ a few harmless
lies to help a friend. Then you must point out that she will not be a
whit the poorer if, with a few gold pieces, she helps to restore the
corrupt text of St. Jerome and the true Theology, when so much of
her wealth is being shamelessly dissipated. After dilating on this with
your customary ingenuity and writing at length on my character, my
expectations, my affection for my Lady and my shyness, you must
then add that I have written to say that I need 200 francs in all, and
request her to grant me next year's payment now; I am not inventing
this, my dear Batt; to go to Italy with 100 francs, no, less than
100 francs, seems to me a hazardous enterprise, unless I want to enslave
myself to someone once more; may I die before I do this. Then how
little difference it will make to her whether she gives me the money
this year or next, and how much it means to me! Next urge her to
look out for a benefice for me, so that on my return I may have some
place where I can pursue learning in peace. Do not stop at this, but
devise on your own the most convenient method of indicating to her
that she should promise me, before all the other candidates, at least a
reasonable, if not a splendid, benefice which I can change as soon as a
better one appears. I am well aware that there are many candidates
for benefices; but you must say that I am the one man, whom, compared
with the rest, etc., etc. You know your old way of lying profusely
about Erasmus.... You will add at the end that I have made
the same complaint in my letter which Jerome makes more than once
in his letters, that study is tearing my eyes out, that things look as if
I shall have to follow his example and begin to study with my ears
and tongue only; and persuade her, in the most amusing words at
your command, to send me some sapphire or other gem wherewith
to fortify my eyesight. I would have told you myself which gems
have this virtue, but I have not Pliny at hand; get the information out
of your doctor.... Let me tell you what else I want you to attempt
still further&mdash;to extract a grant from the Abbot. You know him&mdash;invent
some modest and persuasive argument for making this request.
Tell him that I have a great design in hand&mdash;to constitute in its
entirety the text of Jerome, which has been corrupted, mutilated, and
thrown into disorder through the ignorance of the theologians (I
have detected many false and spurious pieces among his writings),<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span>
and to restore the Greek.<a name="FNanchor_30_30" id="FNanchor_30_30"></a><a href="#Footnote_30_30" class="fnanchor">[30]</a> I shall reveal [in him] an ingenuity and a
knowledge of antiquities which no one, I venture to claim, has yet
realized. Explain that for this undertaking many books are needed,
also Greek works, so that I may receive a grant. Here you will not
be lying, Batt; I am wholly engaged on this work. Farewell, my best
and dearest Batt, and put all of Batt into this business. I mean Batt the
friend, not Batt the slowcoach.</p>


<h3>V. TO ANTONY OF BERGEN<a name="FNanchor_31_31" id="FNanchor_31_31"></a><a href="#Footnote_31_31" class="fnanchor">[31]</a></h3>

<p>[Paris?] [16 March? 1501]</p>

<p>To the most illustrious prelate Antony, Abbot of St. Bertin, greetings:</p>

<p>... I have accidentally happened upon some Greek books, and am
busy day and night secretly copying them out. I shall be asked why I
am so delighted with Cato the Censor's example that I want to turn
Greek at my age. Indeed, most excellent Father, if in my boyhood I
had been of this mind, or rather if time had not been wanting, I
should be the happiest of men. As things are, I think it better to learn,
even if a little late, than not to know things which it is of the first
importance to have at one's command. I have already tasted of Greek
literature in the past, but merely (as the saying goes) sipped at it;
however, having lately gone a little deeper into it, I perceive&mdash;as one
has often read in the best authorities&mdash;that Latin learning, rich as it is,
is defective and incomplete without Greek; for we have but a few
small streams and muddy puddles, while they have pure springs and
rivers rolling gold. I see that it is utter madness even to touch the
branch of theology which deals chiefly with the mysteries unless one
is also provided with the equipment of Greek, as the translators of the
Scriptures, owing to their conscientious scruples, render Greek forms
in such a fashion that not even the primary sense (what our theologians
call the <i>literal</i> sense) can be understood by persons ignorant of
Greek. Who could understand the sentence in the Psalm [Ps. 50.4<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span>
(51.3)] <i>Et peccatum meum contra me est semper</i>,<a name="FNanchor_32_32" id="FNanchor_32_32"></a><a href="#Footnote_32_32" class="fnanchor">[32]</a> unless he has read the
Greek? This runs as follows:
&kappa;&alpha;&iota; '&eta; '&alpha;&mu;&alpha;&rho;&tau;&iota;&alpha;
&mu;&omicron;&upsilon; &epsilon;&nu;&omega;&pi;&iota;&omicron;&nu; &mu;&omicron;&upsilon;
&epsilon;&sigma;&tau;&iota; &delta;&iota;&alpha;&pi;&alpha;&nu;&tau;&omicron;&sigmaf;.
At this point some theologian will spin a long story of
how the flesh is perpetually in conflict with the spirit, having been
misled by the double meaning of the preposition, that is, <i>contra</i>, when
the word &epsilon;&nu;&omega;&pi;&iota;&omicron;&nu;
refers not to <i>conflict</i> but to <i>position</i>, as if you were to
say <i>opposite</i>, i.e., <i>in sight</i>: so that the Prophet's meaning was that his
fault was so hateful to him that the memory of it never left him, but
floated always before his mind as if it were present. Further in a
passage elsewhere [Ps. 91 (92. 14)], <i>Bene patientes erunt ut annuncient</i>,
everyone will be misled by the deceptive form, unless he has learned
from the Greek that, just as according to Latin usage we say <i>bene
facere</i> of those who <i>do good to</i> someone, so the Greeks call
&epsilon;&upsilon;&pi;&alpha;&theta;&omicron;&upsilon;&nu;&tau;&alpha;&sigmaf;
(<i>bene patientes</i>) those who <i>suffer good to be done them</i>. So that the sense
is, 'They will be well treated and will be helped by my benefactions,
so that they will make mention of my beneficence towards them'.
But why do I pick out a few trifling examples from so many important
ones, when I have on my side the venerable authority of the papal
Curia? There is a Curial Decree<a name="FNanchor_33_33" id="FNanchor_33_33"></a><a href="#Footnote_33_33" class="fnanchor">[33]</a> still extant in the Decretals, ordaining
that persons should be appointed in the chief academies (as they were
then) capable of giving accurate instruction in Hebrew, Greek, and
Latin literature, since, as they believed, the Scriptures could not be
understood, far less discussed, without this knowledge. This most
sound and most holy decree we so far neglect that we are perfectly
satisfied with the most elementary knowledge of the Latin language,
being apparently convinced that everything can be extracted from
Duns Scotus, as it were from a cornucopia.</p>

<p>For myself I do not fight with men of this sort; each man to his
taste, as far as I am concerned; let the old man marry the old woman.
It is my delight to set foot on the path into which Jerome and the
splendid host of so many ancients summon me; so help me God, I
would sooner be mad with them than as sane as you like with the
mob of modern theologians. Besides I am attempting an arduous and,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span>
so to say, Phaethontean task&mdash;to do my best to restore the works of
Jerome, which have been partly corrupted by those half-learned
persons, and are partly&mdash;owing to the lack of knowledge of antiquities
and of Greek literature&mdash;forgotten or mangled or mutilated or at least
full of mistakes and monstrosities; not merely to restore them but to
elucidate them with commentaries, so that each reader will acknowledge
to himself that the great Jerome, considered by the ecclesiastical
world as the most perfect in both branches of learning, the sacred and
the profane, can indeed be read by all, but can only be understood by
the most learned. As I am working hard on this design and see that
I must in the first place acquire Greek, I have decided to study for
some months under a Greek teacher,<a name="FNanchor_34_34" id="FNanchor_34_34"></a><a href="#Footnote_34_34" class="fnanchor">[34]</a> a real Greek, no, twice a
Greek, always hungry,<a name="FNanchor_35_35" id="FNanchor_35_35"></a><a href="#Footnote_35_35" class="fnanchor">[35]</a> who charges an immoderate fee for his
lessons. Farewell.</p>


<h3>VI. TO WILLIAM WARHAM<a name="FNanchor_36_36" id="FNanchor_36_36"></a><a href="#Footnote_36_36" class="fnanchor">[36]</a></h3>

<p>London, 24 January [1506]</p>

<p>To the Reverend Father in Christ, William, Archbishop of Canterbury,
Primate of England, many greetings from Erasmus of
Rotterdam, Canon of the Order of St. Augustine:</p>

<p>... Having made up my mind, most illustrious prelate, to translate the
Greek authors and by so doing to revive or, if you will, promote as
far as I could theological studies&mdash;and God immortal, how miserably
they have been corrupted by sophistical nonsensicalities!&mdash;I did not
wish to give the impression that I was attempting forthwith to learn
the potter's art on a winejar<a name="FNanchor_37_37" id="FNanchor_37_37"></a><a href="#Footnote_37_37" class="fnanchor">[37]</a> (as the Greek adage goes) and rushing
in with unwashen feet, as they say, on so vast an undertaking; so I
decided to begin by testing how far I had profited by my studies in
both languages, and that in a material difficult indeed, but not sacred;
so that the difficulty of the undertaking might be useful for practice
and at the same time if I made any mistakes these mistakes should<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span>
involve only the risk of my talent and leave the Holy Scriptures undamaged.
And so I endeavoured to render in Latin two tragedies of
Euripides, the <i>Hecuba</i> and the <i>Iphigeneia in Aulis</i>, in the hope that
perchance some god might favour so bold a venture with fair breezes.
Then, seeing that a specimen of the work begun found favour with
persons excellently well versed in both tongues (assuredly England by
now possesses several of these, if I may acknowledge the truth without
envy, men deserving of the admiration even of all Italy in any branch
of learning), I brought the work to a finish, with the good help of
the Muses, within a few short months. At what a cost in exertion,
those will best feel who enter the same lists.</p>

<p>Why so? Because the mere task of putting real Greek into real
Latin is such that it requires an extraordinary artist, and not only a
man with a rich store of scholarship in both languages at his fingertips,
but one exceedingly alert and observant; so that for several
centuries now none has appeared whose efforts in this field were
unanimously approved by scholars. It is surely easy then to conjecture
what a heavy task it has proved to render verse in verse, particularly
verse so varied and unfamiliar, and to do this from a writer not
merely so remote in time, and withal a tragedian, but also marvellously
concise, taut and unadorned, in whom there is nothing
otiose, nothing which it would not be a crime to alter or remove; and
besides, one who treats rhetorical topics so frequently and so acutely
that he appears to be everywhere declaiming. Add to all this the
choruses, which through I know not what striving after effect are so
obscure that they need not so much a translator as an Oedipus or
priest of Apollo to interpret them. In addition there is the corrupt
state of the manuscripts, the dearth of copies, the absence of any
translators to whom one can have recourse. So I am not so much
surprised that even in this most prolific age none of the Italians has
ventured to attempt the task of translating any tragedy or comedy,
whereas many have set their hand to Homer (among these even
Politian<a name="FNanchor_38_38" id="FNanchor_38_38"></a><a href="#Footnote_38_38" class="fnanchor">[38]</a> failed to satisfy himself); one man<a name="FNanchor_39_39" id="FNanchor_39_39"></a><a href="#Footnote_39_39" class="fnanchor">[39]</a> has essayed Hesiod, and
that without much success; another<a name="FNanchor_40_40" id="FNanchor_40_40"></a><a href="#Footnote_40_40" class="fnanchor">[40]</a> has attempted Theocritus,
but with even far more unfortunate results: and finally Francesco
Filelfo has translated the first scene of the Hecuba in one of his funeral<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span>
orations.<a name="FNanchor_41_41" id="FNanchor_41_41"></a><a href="#Footnote_41_41" class="fnanchor">[41]</a> (I first learned this after I had begun my version), but in
such a way that, great as he is, his work gave me courage enough to
proceed, overprecise as I am in other respects.</p>

<p>Then for me the lure of this poet's more than honeyed eloquence,
which even his enemies allow him, proved stronger than the deterrent
of these great examples and the many difficulties of the work, so
that I have been bold to attack a task never before attempted, in the
hope that, even if I failed, my honest readers would consider even this
poor effort of mine not altogether unpraiseworthy, and the more
grudging would at least be lenient to an inexperienced translator of a
work so difficult: in particular because I have deliberately added no
light burden to my other difficulties through my conscientiousness as
a translator, in attempting so far as possible to reproduce the shape
and as it were contours of the Greek verse, by striving to render line
for line and almost word for word, and everywhere seeking with the
utmost fidelity to convey to Latin ears the force and value of the
sentence: whether it be that I do not altogether approve of the freedom
in translation which Cicero allows others and practised himself
(I would almost say to an immoderate degree), or that as an inexperienced
translator I preferred to err on the side of seeming over-scrupulous
rather than over-free&mdash;hesitating on the sandy shore
instead of wrecking my ship and swimming in the midst of the
billows; and I preferred to run the risk of letting scholars complain of
lack of brilliance and poetic beauty in my work rather than of lack
of fidelity to the original. Finally I did not want to set myself up as a
paraphraser, thus securing myself that retreat which many use to cloak
their ignorance, wrapping themselves like the cuttle-fish in darkness
of their own making to avoid detection. Now, if readers do not find
here the grandiloquence of Latin tragedy, 'the bombast and the words
half a yard long,' as Horace calls it, they must not blame me if in
performing my function of translator I have preferred to reproduce
the concise simplicity and elegance of my original, and not the
bombast to which he is a stranger, and which I do not greatly admire
at any time.</p>

<p>Furthermore, I am encouraged to hope with all certainty that these
labours of mine will be most excellently protected against the calumnies
of the unjust, as their publication will be most welcome to the
honest and just, if you, most excellent Father, have voted them your
approval. For me it was not difficult to select you from the great host<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span>
of illustrious and distinguished men to be the recipient of this product
of my vigils, as the one man I have observed to be&mdash;aside from the
brilliance of your fortune&mdash;so endowed, adorned and showered with
learning, eloquence, good sense, piety, modesty, integrity, and lastly
with an extraordinary liberality towards those who cultivate good
letters, that the word Primate suits none better than yourself, who
hold the first place not solely by reason of your official dignity, but
far more because of all your virtues, while at the same time you are
the principal ornament of the Court and the sole head of the ecclesiastical
hierarchy. If I have the fortune to win for this my work the
commendation of a man so highly commended I shall assuredly not
repent of the exertions I have so far expended, and will be forward to
promote theological studies with even more zeal for the future.</p>

<p>Farewell, and enrol Erasmus in the number of those who are wholeheartedly
devoted to Your Fathership.</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100%;">
<a href="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:john-huizinga-erasmus-and-the-age-of-reformation-plate-xxvii-1.png">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:john-huizinga-erasmus-and-the-age-of-reformation-plate-xxvii-1.png" width="40%" alt="" title=""/>
</a></div>
<p class="center">Plate XXVII. PORTRAIT MEDAL OF ERASMUS AT THE AGE OF 53</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100%;">
<a href="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:john-huizinga-erasmus-and-the-age-of-reformation-plate-xxvii-2.png">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:john-huizinga-erasmus-and-the-age-of-reformation-plate-xxvii-2.png" width="40%" alt="" title=""/>
</a></div>
<p class="center">On the reverse his device and motto</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100%;">
<a href="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:john-huizinga-erasmus-and-the-age-of-reformation-plate-xxviii.png">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:john-huizinga-erasmus-and-the-age-of-reformation-plate-xxviii.png" width="40%" alt="" title=""/>
</a></div>
<p class="center">Plate XXVIII. ERASMUS AT THE AGE OF ABOUT 57</p>


<h3>VII. TO ALDUS MANUTIUS<a name="FNanchor_42_42" id="FNanchor_42_42"></a><a href="#Footnote_42_42" class="fnanchor">[42]</a></h3>

<p>Bologna, 28 October [1507]</p>


<p>To Aldus Manutius of Rome, many greetings:</p>

<p>... I have often wished, most learned Manutius, that the light you
have cast on Greek and Latin literature, not by your printing alone
and your splendid types, but by your brilliance and your uncommon
learning, could have been matched by the profit you in your turn
drew from them. So far as <i>fame</i> is concerned, the name of Aldus
Manutius will without doubt be on the lips of all devotees of sacred
literature unto all posterity; and your memory will be&mdash;as your fame
now is&mdash;not merely illustrious but loved and cherished as well,
because you are engaged, as I hear, in reviving and disseminating the
good authors&mdash;with extreme diligence but not at a commensurate
profit&mdash;undergoing truly Herculean labours, labours splendid indeed
and destined to bring you immortal glory, but meanwhile more
profitable to others than to yourself. I hear that you are printing Plato<a name="FNanchor_43_43" id="FNanchor_43_43"></a><a href="#Footnote_43_43" class="fnanchor">[43]</a>
in Greek types; very many scholars eagerly await the book. I should
like to know what medical authors you have printed; I wish you
would give us Paul of Aegina.<a name="FNanchor_44_44" id="FNanchor_44_44"></a><a href="#Footnote_44_44" class="fnanchor">[44]</a> I wonder what has prevented you from<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span>
publishing the New Testament<a name="FNanchor_45_45" id="FNanchor_45_45"></a><a href="#Footnote_45_45" class="fnanchor">[45]</a> long since&mdash;a work which would
delight even the common people (if I conjecture aright) but particularly
my own class, the theologians.</p>

<p>I send you two tragedies<a name="FNanchor_46_46" id="FNanchor_46_46"></a><a href="#Footnote_46_46" class="fnanchor">[46]</a> which I have been bold enough to translate,
whether with success you yourself shall judge. Thomas Linacre,
William Grocyn, William Latimer, Cuthbert Tunstall, friends of
yours as well as of mine, thought highly of them; you know yourself
that they are too learned to be deceived in their judgement, and too
sincere to want to flatter a friend&mdash;unless their affection for me has
somewhat blinded them; the Italians to whom I have so far shown my
attempt do not condemn it. It has been printed by Badius, successfully
as far as he is concerned, so he writes, for he has now sold all the
copies to his satisfaction. But my reputation has not been enhanced
thereby, so full is it all of mistakes, and in fact he offers his services to
repair the first edition by printing a second. But I am afraid of his
mending ill with ill, as the Sophoclean saying goes. I should consider
my labours to have been immortalized if they could come out printed
in your types, particularly the smaller types, the most beautiful of all.
This will result in the volume being very small and the business being
concluded at little expense. If you think it convenient to undertake
the affair, I will supply you with a corrected copy, which I send by
the bearer, <i>gratis</i>, except that you may wish to send me a few volumes
as gifts for my friends.</p>

<p>I should not have hesitated to attempt the publication at my own
risk and expense, were it not that I have to leave Italy within a few
months: so I should much like to have the business concluded as soon
as possible; in fact it is hardly ten days' work. If you insist on my
taking a hundred or two hundred volumes, though the god of gain
does not usually favour me and it will be most inconvenient to transport
the package, I shall not refuse, if only you fix a horse as the price.
Farewell, most learned Aldus, and reckon Erasmus as one of your
well-wishers.</p>

<p>If you have any rare authors in your press, I shall be obliged if you
will indicate this&mdash;my learned British friends have asked me to search
for them. If you decide not to print the <i>Tragedies</i>, will you return the
copy to the bearer to bring back to me?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span></p>

<h3>VIII. TO THOMAS MORE<a name="FNanchor_47_47" id="FNanchor_47_47"></a><a href="#Footnote_47_47" class="fnanchor">[47]</a></h3>

<p>[Paris?] 9 June [1511]</p>

<p>To his friend Thomas More, greetings:</p>

<p>... In days gone by, on my journey back from Italy into England, in
order not to waste all the time that must needs be spent on horseback
in dull and unlettered gossiping, I preferred at times either to turn
over in my mind some topic of our common studies or to give myself
over to the pleasing recollection of the friends, as learned as they
are beloved, whom I had left behind me in England. You were among
the very first of these to spring to mind, my dear More; indeed I used
to enjoy the memory of you in absence even as I was wont to delight
in your present company, than which I swear I never in my life met
anything sweeter. Therefore, since I thought that I must at all hazards
do <i>something</i>, and that time seemed ill suited to serious meditation,
I determined to amuse myself with the <i>Praise of Folly</i>. You will ask
what goddess put this into my mind. In the first place it was your
family name of More, which comes as near to the word <i>moria</i> [folly]
as you yourself are far from the reality&mdash;everyone agrees that you are
far removed from it. Next I suspected that you above all would
approve this <i>jeu d'esprit</i> of mine, in that you yourself do greatly
delight in jests of this kind, that is, jests learned (if I mistake not) and
at no time insipid, and altogether like to play in some sort the Democritus<a name="FNanchor_48_48" id="FNanchor_48_48"></a><a href="#Footnote_48_48" class="fnanchor">[48]</a>
in the life of society. Although you indeed, owing to your
incredibly sweet and easy-going character, are both able and glad to be
all things to all men, even as your singularly penetrating intellect
causes you to dissent widely from the opinions of the herd. So you
will not only gladly accept this little declamation as a memento of
your comrade, but will also take it under your protection, inasmuch
as it is dedicated to you and is now no longer mine but yours.</p>

<p>And indeed there will perhaps be no lack of brawlers to represent
that trifles are more frivolous than becomes a theologian, or more
mordant than suits with Christian modesty, and they will be crying
out that I am reviving the Old Comedy or Lucian and assailing everything
with biting satire. But I would have those who are offended
by the levity and sportiveness of my theme reflect that it was not I
that began this, but that the same was practised by great writers in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span>
former times; seeing that so many centuries ago Homer made his
trifle <i>The Battle of Frogs and Mice</i>, Virgil his <i>Gnat</i>
and <i>Dish of Herbs</i>
and Ovid his <i>Nut</i>; seeing that Busiris was praised by Polycrates and
his critic Isocrates, Injustice by Glaucon, Thersites and the Quartan
Fever by Favorinus, Baldness by Synesius, the Fly and the Art of
Being a Parasite by Lucian; and that Seneca devised the Apotheosis of
the Emperor Claudius, Plutarch the Dialogue of Gryllus and Ulysses,
Lucian and Apuleius the Ass, and someone unknown the Testament
of Grunnius Corocotta the Piglet, mentioned even by St. Jerome.</p>

<p>So, if they will, let my detractors imagine that I have played an
occasional game of draughts for a pastime or, if they prefer, taken a
ride on a hobby-horse. How unfair it is truly, when we grant every
calling in life its amusements, not to allow the profession of learning
any amusement at all, particularly if triflings bring serious thoughts
in their train and frivolous matters are so treated that a reader not
altogether devoid of perception wins more profit from these than
from the glittering and portentous arguments of certain persons&mdash;as
when for instance one man eulogizes rhetoric or philosophy in a painfully
stitched-together oration, another rehearses the praises of some
prince, another urges us to begin a war with the Turks, another foretells
the future, and another proposes a new method of splitting hairs.
Just as there is nothing so trifling as to treat serious matters triflingly,
so there is nothing so delightful as to treat trifling matters in such
fashion that it appears that you have been doing anything but trifle.
As to me, the judgement is in other hands&mdash;and yet, unless I am altogether
misled by self-love, I have sung the praise of Folly and that not
altogether foolishly.</p>

<p>And now to reply to the charge of mordacity. It has ever been the
privilege of wits to satirize the life of society with impunity, provided
that licence does not degenerate into frenzy. Wherefore the more do
I marvel at the fastidiousness of men's ears in these times, who by now
can scarce endure anything but solemn appellations. Further, we see
some men so perversely religious that they will suffer the most
hideous revilings against Christ sooner than let prince or pope be
sullied by the lightest jest, particularly if this concerns monetary gain.
But if a man censures men's lives without reproving anyone at all by
name, pray do you think this man a satirist, and not rather a teacher
and admonisher? Else on how many counts do I censure myself?
Moreover he who leaves no class of men unmentioned is clearly foe
to no man but to all vices. Therefore anyone who rises up and cries<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span>
out that he is insulted will be revealing a bad conscience, or at all
events fear. St. Jerome wrote satire in this kind far more free and
biting, not always abstaining from the mention of names, whereas I
myself, apart from not mentioning anyone by name, have moreover
so tempered my pen that the sagacious reader will easily understand
that my aim has been to give pleasure, not pain; for I have at no point
followed Juvenal's example in 'stirring up the murky bilge of crime',
and I have sought to survey the laughable, not the disgusting. If there
is anyone whom even this cannot appease, at least let him remember
that it is a fine thing to be reviled by Folly; in bringing her upon the
stage I had to suit the words to the character. But why need I say all
this to you, an advocate so remarkable that you can defend excellently
even causes far from excellent? Farewell, most eloquent More,
and be diligent in defending your <i>moria</i>.</p>


<h3>IX. TO JOHN COLET<a name="FNanchor_49_49" id="FNanchor_49_49"></a><a href="#Footnote_49_49" class="fnanchor">[49]</a></h3>

<p>Cambridge, 29 October [1511]</p>

<p>To his friend Colet, greetings:</p>

<p>... Something came into my mind which I know will make you
laugh. In the presence of several Masters [of Arts] I was putting
forward a view on the Assistant Teacher, when one of them, a man
of some repute, smiled and said: 'Who could bear to spend his life in
that school among boys, when he could live anywhere in any way he
liked?' I answered mildly that it seemed to me a very honourable task
to train young people in manners and literature, that Christ himself
did not despise the young, that no age had a better right to help, and
that from no quarter was a richer return to be expected, seeing that
young people were the harvest-field and raw material of the nation.
I added that all truly religious people felt that they could not better
serve God in any other duty than the bringing of children to Christ.
He wrinkled his nose and said with a scornful gesture: 'If any man
wishes to serve Christ altogether, let him go into a monastery and
enter a religious order.' I answered that St. Paul said that true religion
consisted in the offices of charity&mdash;charity consisting in doing our
best to help our neighbours. This he rejected as an ignorant remark.
'Look,' said he, 'we have forsaken everything: in this is perfection.'
'That man has not forsaken everything,' said I, 'who, when he could<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span>
help very many by his labours, refuses to undertake a duty because it
is regarded as humble.' And with that, to prevent a quarrel arising, I
let the man go. There you have the dialogue. You see the Scotist
philosophy! Once again, farewell.</p>


<h3>X. TO SERVATIUS ROGER</h3>

<p>Hammes Castle [near Calais],</p>

<p>8 July 1514</p>

<p>To the Reverend Father Servatius, many greetings:</p>

<p>... Most humane father, your letter has at last reached me, after passing
through many hands, when I had already left England, and it has
afforded me unbelievable delight, as it still breathes your old affection
for me. However, I shall answer briefly, as I am writing just after the
journey, and shall reply in particular on those matters which are, as
you write, strictly to the point. Men's thoughts are so varied, 'to each
his own bird-song', that it is impossible to satisfy everyone. My own
feelings are that I want to follow what is best to do, God is my witness.
Those feelings which I had in my youth have been corrected partly
by age, partly by experience of the world. I have never intended to
change my mode of life or my habit&mdash;not that I liked them, but to
avoid scandal. You are aware that I was not so much led as driven
to this mode of life by the obstinate determination of my guardians and
the wrongful urgings of others, and that afterwards, when I realized
that this kind of life was quite unsuited to me (for not all things suit
all men), I was held back by Cornelius of Woerden's reproaches and
by a certain boyish sense of shame. I was never able to endure fasting,
through some peculiarity of my constitution. Once roused from sleep
I could never fall asleep again for several hours. I was so drawn towards
literature, which is not practised in the monastery, that I do not
doubt that if I had chanced on some free mode of life I could have
been numbered not merely among the happy but even among the
good.</p>

<p>So, when I realized that I was by no means fit for this mode of life,
that I had taken it up under compulsion and not of my own free will,
nevertheless, as public opinion in these days regards it as a crime to
break away from a mode of life once taken up, I had resolved to
endure with fortitude this part of my unhappiness also&mdash;you know
that I am in many things unfortunate. But I have always regarded this
one thing as harder than all the rest, that I had been forced into a mode
of life for which I was totally unfit both in body and in mind: in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span>
mind, because I abhorred ritual and loved liberty; in body, because
even had I been perfectly satisfied with the life, my constitution could
not endure such labours. One may object that I had a year of probation,
as it is called, and that I was of ripe age. Ridiculous! As if anyone
could expect a boy of sixteen, particularly one with a literary training,
to know himself (an achievement even for an old man), or to
have succeeded in learning in a single year what many do not yet
understand in their grey hairs. Though I myself never liked the life,
still less after I had tried it, but was trapped in the way I have mentioned;
although I confess that the truly good man will live a good
life in any calling. And I do not deny that I was prone to grievous
vices, but not of so utterly corrupt a nature that I could not have come
to some good, had I found a kindly guide, a true Christian, not one
given to Jewish scruples.</p>

<p>Meanwhile I looked about to find in what kind of life I could be
least bad, and I believe indeed that I have attained this. I have spent
my life meantime among sober men, in literary studies, which have
kept me off many vices. I have been able to associate with true
followers of Christ, whose conversation has made me a better man. I
do not now boast of my books, which you at Steyn perhaps despise.</p>

<p>But many confess that they have become not merely more knowledgeable,
but even better men through reading them. Passion for
money has never affected me. I am quite untouched by the thirst for
fame. I have never been a slave to pleasures, although I was formerly
inclined to them. Over-indulgence and drunkenness I have ever
loathed and avoided. But whenever I thought of returning to your
society, I remembered the jealousy of many, the contempt of all, the
conversations how dull, how foolish, how un-Christlike, the feasts
how unclerical! In short the whole way of life, from which if you
remove the ritual, I do not see what remains that one could desire.
Lastly I remembered my frail constitution, now weakened by age,
disease and hard work, as a result of which I should fail to satisfy you
and kill myself. For several years now I have been subject to the stone,
a severe and deadly illness, and for several years I have drunk nothing
but wine, and not all kinds of wine at that, owing to my disease; I
cannot endure all kinds of food nor indeed all climates. The illness is
very liable to recur and demands a very careful regimen; and I know
the climate in Holland and your style of living, not to mention your
ways. So, had I come back to you, all I would have achieved would
have been to bring trouble on you and death on myself.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span></p>

<p>But perhaps you think it a great part of happiness to die amid one's
fellow-brethren? This belief deceives and imposes not on you alone
but on nearly everyone. We make Christian piety depend on place,
dress, style of living and on certain little rituals. We think a man lost
who changes his white dress for black, or his cowl for a cap, or occasionally
moves from place to place. I should dare to say that Christian
piety has suffered great damage from these so-called religious practices,
although it may be that their first introduction was due to pious
zeal. They then gradually increased and divided into thousands of
distinctions; this was helped by a papal authority which was too lax
and easy-going in many cases. What more defiled or more impious
than these lax rituals? And if you turn to those that are commended,
no, to the most highly commended, apart from some dreary Jewish
rituals, I know not what image of Christ one finds in them. It is these
on which they preen themselves, these by which they judge and
condemn others. How much more in conformity with the spirit of
Christ to consider the whole Christian world one home and as it
were one monastery, to regard all men as one's fellow-monks and
fellow-brethren, to hold the sacrament of Baptism as the supreme rite,
and not to consider where one lives but how well one lives! You want
me to settle on a permanent abode, a course which my very age also
suggests. But the travellings of Solon, Pythagoras and Plato are
praised; and the Apostles, too, were wanderers, in particular Paul.
St. Jerome also was a monk now in Rome, now in Syria, now in
Antioch, now here, now there, and even in his old age pursued
literary studies.</p>

<p>But I am not to be compared with St. Jerome&mdash;I agree; yet I have
never moved unless forced by the plague or for reasons of study or
health, and wherever I have lived (I shall say this of myself, arrogantly
perhaps, but truthfully) I have been commended by the most
highly commended and praised by the most praised. There is no land,
neither Spain nor Italy nor Germany nor France nor England nor
Scotland, which does not summon me to partake of its hospitality.
And if I am not liked by all (which is not my aim), at all events I am
liked in the highest places of all. At Rome there was no cardinal who
did not welcome me like a brother; in particular the Cardinal of St.
George,<a name="FNanchor_50_50" id="FNanchor_50_50"></a><a href="#Footnote_50_50" class="fnanchor">[50]</a> the Cardinal of Bologna,<a name="FNanchor_51_51" id="FNanchor_51_51"></a><a href="#Footnote_51_51" class="fnanchor">[51]</a> Cardinal Grimani, the Cardinal<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span>
of Nantes,<a name="FNanchor_52_52" id="FNanchor_52_52"></a><a href="#Footnote_52_52" class="fnanchor">[52]</a> and the present Pope,<a name="FNanchor_53_53" id="FNanchor_53_53"></a><a href="#Footnote_53_53" class="fnanchor">[53]</a> not to mention bishops, archdeacons
and men of learning. And this honour was not a tribute to
wealth, which even now I neither possess nor desire; nor to ambition,
a failing to which I have ever been a stranger; but solely to learning,
which our countrymen ridicule, while the Italians worship it. In
England there is no bishop who is not glad to be greeted by me, who
does not desire my company, who does not want me in his home. The
King himself, a little before his father's death, when I was in Italy,
wrote a most affectionate letter to me with his own hand, and now too
speaks often of me in the most honourable and affectionate terms; and
whenever I greet him he welcomes me most courteously and looks at
me in a most friendly fashion, making it plain that his feelings for me
are as friendly as his speeches. And he has often commissioned his
Almoner<a name="FNanchor_54_54" id="FNanchor_54_54"></a><a href="#Footnote_54_54" class="fnanchor">[54]</a> to find a benefice for me. The Queen sought to take me as
her tutor. Everyone knows that, if I were prepared to live even a few
months at Court, he would heap on me as many benefices as I cared
for; but I put my leisure and my learned labours before everything.
The Archbishop of Canterbury, the Primate of all England and
Chancellor of the Realm, a good and learned man, could not treat me
with more affection were I his father or brother. And that you may
understand that he is sincere in this, he gave me a living of nearly
100 nobles, which afterwards at my wish he changed into a pension
of 100 crowns on my resignation; in addition he has given me more
than 400 nobles during the last few years, although I never asked for
anything. He gave me 150 nobles in one day. I received more than
100 nobles from other bishops in freely offered gifts. Mountjoy, a
baron of the realm, formerly my pupil, gives me annually a pension
of 100 crowns. The King and the Bishop of Lincoln, who has great
influence through the King, make many splendid promises. There are
two universities in England, Oxford and Cambridge, and both of
them want me; at Cambridge I taught Greek and sacred literature for
several months, for nothing, and have resolved always to do this.
There are colleges here so religious, and of such modesty in living,
that you would spurn any other religious life, could you see them. In
London there is John Colet, Dean of St. Paul's, who has combined
great learning with a marvellous piety, a man greatly respected by all.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span>
He is so fond of me, as all know, that he prefers my company above
all others'; I do not mention many others, lest I doubly vex you with
my loquacity as well as my boasting.</p>

<p>Now to say something of my works&mdash;I think you have read the
<i>Enchiridion</i>,<a name="FNanchor_55_55" id="FNanchor_55_55"></a><a href="#Footnote_55_55" class="fnanchor">[55]</a> through which not a few confess themselves inspired to
the study of piety; I make no claim for myself, but give thanks to
Christ for any good which has come to pass through me by His
giving. I do not know whether you have seen the <i>Adagia</i>,<a name="FNanchor_56_56" id="FNanchor_56_56"></a><a href="#Footnote_56_56" class="fnanchor">[56]</a> printed by
Aldus. It is not a theological work, but most useful for every branch
of learning; at least it cost me countless labours and sleepless nights.
I have published a work <i>De rerum verborumque copia</i>,<a name="FNanchor_57_57" id="FNanchor_57_57"></a><a href="#Footnote_57_57" class="fnanchor">[57]</a> dedicated to my
friend Colet, very useful for those who desire to speak in public; but
all these are despised by those who despise all good learning. During
the last two years, apart from much else, I have emended the <i>Letters</i>
of St. Jerome, obelizing what was false and spurious and explaining
the obscure passages with notes. I have corrected the whole of the
New Testament from collations of the Greek and ancient manuscripts,
and have annotated more than a thousand passages, not without
some benefit to theologians. I have begun commentaries on the
<i>Epistles</i> of St. Paul, which I shall complete when I have published
these. For I have resolved to live and die in the study of the Scriptures.
I make these my work and my leisure. Men of consequence say
that I can do what others cannot in this field; in your mode of life I
shall be able to do nothing. Although I have been intimate with so
many grave and learned men, here and in Italy and France, I have not
yet found anyone who advised me to return to you or thought this
the better course. Nay, even Nicholas Werner of blessed memory,
your predecessor, would always dissuade me from this, advising me
to attach myself rather to some bishop; he would add that he knew
my mind and his little brothers' ways: those were the words he used,
in the vernacular. In the life I live now I see what I should avoid, but
do not see what would be a better course.</p>

<p>It now remains to satisfy you on the question of my dress. I have
always up to now worn the canon's dress, and when I was at Louvain
I obtained permission from the Bishop of Utrecht to wear a linen
scapular instead of a complete linen garment, and a black capuce<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span>
instead of a black cloak, after the Parisian custom. But on my journey
to Italy, seeing the monks all along the way wearing a black garment
with a scapular, I there took to wearing black, with a scapular, to
avoid giving offence by any unusual dress. Afterwards the plague
broke out at Bologna, and there those who nurse the sick of the plague
customarily wear a white linen cloth depending from the shoulder&mdash;these
avoid contact with people. Consequently when one day I went
to call on a learned friend some rascals drew their swords and were
preparing to set about me, and would have done so, had not a certain
matron warned them that I was an ecclesiastic. Again the next day,
when I was on my way to visit the Treasurer's sons, they rushed at me
with bludgeons from all directions and attacked me with horrible
cries. So on the advice of good men I concealed my scapular, and
obtained a dispensation from Pope Julius II allowing me to wear the
religious dress or not, as seemed good, provided that I wore clerical
garb; and in this document he condoned any previous offences in the
matter. In Italy I continued to wear clerical garb, lest the change cause
offence to anyone. On my return to England I decided to wear my
usual dress, and I invited to my lodging a friend of excellent repute
for his learning and mode of life and showed him the dress I had
decided to wear; I asked him whether this was suitable in England. He
approved, so I appeared in public in this dress. I was at once warned
by other friends that this dress could not be tolerated in England,
that I had better conceal it. I did so; and as it cannot be concealed
without causing scandal if it is eventually discovered, I stored it away
in a box, and up to now have taken advantage of the Papal dispensation
received formerly. Ecclesiastical law excommunicates anyone
who casts off the religious habit so as to move more freely in secular
society. I put it off under compulsion in Italy, to escape being killed;
and likewise under compulsion in England, because it was not tolerated
there, although myself I should much prefer to have worn it.
To adopt it again now would cause more scandal than did the change
itself.</p>

<p>There you have an account of my whole life, there you have my
plans. I should like to change even this present mode of life, if I see a
better. But I do not see what I am to do in Holland. I know that the
climate and way of living will not agree with me; I shall have everyone
looking at me. I shall return a white-haired old man, having gone
away as a youth&mdash;I shall return a valetudinarian; I shall be exposed to
the contempt of the lowest, used as I am to the respect of the highest.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span>
I shall exchange my studies for drinking-parties. As to your promising
me your help in finding me a place where I can live with an excellent
income, as you write, I cannot conjecture what this can be, unless
perhaps you intend to place me among some community of nuns, to
serve women&mdash;I who have never been willing to serve kings nor
archbishops. I want no pay; I have no desire for riches, if only I have
money enough to provide for my health and my literary leisure, to
enable me to live without burdening anyone. I wish we could discuss
these things together face to face; it cannot be done in a letter conveniently
or safely. Your letter, although it was sent by most reliable
persons, went so far astray that if I had not accidentally come to this
castle I should never have seen it; and many people had looked at it
before I received it. So do not mention anything secret unless you
know for certain where I am and have a very trustworthy messenger.
I am now on my way to Germany, that is, Basle, to have my works
published, and this winter I shall perhaps be in Rome. On my return
journey I shall see to it that we meet and talk somewhere. But now the
summer is nearly over and it is a long journey. Farewell, once my
sweetest comrade, now my esteemed father.</p>


<h3>XI. TO WOLFGANG FABRICIUS CAPITO<a name="FNanchor_58_58" id="FNanchor_58_58"></a><a href="#Footnote_58_58" class="fnanchor">[58]</a></h3>

<p>Antwerp, 26 February 1516/17</p>

<p>To the distinguished theologian Wolfgang Fabricius Capito of
Hagenau, skilled in the three languages, greetings:</p>

<p>... Now that I see that the mightiest princes of the earth, King Francis
of France, Charles the Catholic King, King Henry of England and the
Emperor Maximilian have drastically cut down all warlike preparations
and concluded a firm and, I hope, unbreakable treaty of peace,
I feel entitled to hope with confidence that not only the moral virtues
and Christian piety but also the true learning, purified of corruption,
and the fine disciplines will revive and blossom forth; particularly as
this aim is being prosecuted with equal zeal in different parts of the
world, in Rome by Pope Leo, in Spain by the Cardinal of Toledo,<a name="FNanchor_59_59" id="FNanchor_59_59"></a><a href="#Footnote_59_59" class="fnanchor">[59]</a>
in England by King Henry VIII, himself no mean scholar, here by
King Charles, a young man admirably gifted, in France by King<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span>
Francis, a man as it were born for this task, who besides offers splendid
rewards to attract and entice men distinguished for virtue and learning
from all parts, in Germany by many excellent princes and bishops
and above all by the Emperor Maximilian, who, wearied in his old age
of all these wars, has resolved to find rest in the arts of peace: a resolve
at once more becoming to himself at his age and more fortunate for
Christendom. It is to these men's piety then that we owe it that all
over the world, as if on a given signal, splendid talents are stirring and
awakening and conspiring together to revive the best learning. For
what else is this but a conspiracy, when all these great scholars from
different lands share out the work among themselves and set about
this noble task, not merely with enthusiasm but with a fair measure of
success, so that we have an almost certain prospect of seeing all
disciplines emerge once more into the light of day in a far purer and
more genuine form? In the first place polite letters, for long reduced
almost to extinction, are being taken up and cultivated by the Scots,
the Danes and the Irish. As for medicine, how many champions has
she found! Nicholas Leonicenus<a name="FNanchor_60_60" id="FNanchor_60_60"></a><a href="#Footnote_60_60" class="fnanchor">[60]</a> in Rome, Ambrose Leo of Nola<a name="FNanchor_61_61" id="FNanchor_61_61"></a><a href="#Footnote_61_61" class="fnanchor">[61]</a> at
Venice, William Cop<a name="FNanchor_62_62" id="FNanchor_62_62"></a><a href="#Footnote_62_62" class="fnanchor">[62]</a> and John Ruell<a name="FNanchor_63_63" id="FNanchor_63_63"></a><a href="#Footnote_63_63" class="fnanchor">[63]</a> in France, and Thomas
Linacre in England. Roman law is being revived in Paris by William
Budaeus<a name="FNanchor_64_64" id="FNanchor_64_64"></a><a href="#Footnote_64_64" class="fnanchor">[64]</a> and in Germany by Ulrich Zasius,<a name="FNanchor_65_65" id="FNanchor_65_65"></a><a href="#Footnote_65_65" class="fnanchor">[65]</a> mathematics at Basle by
Henry Glareanus.<a name="FNanchor_66_66" id="FNanchor_66_66"></a><a href="#Footnote_66_66" class="fnanchor">[66]</a></p>

<p>In theology there was more to do, for up till now its professors
have almost always been men with an ingrained loathing for good
learning, men who conceal their ignorance the more successfully as
they do this on what they call a religious pretext, so that the ignorant
herd is persuaded by them to believe it a violation of religion if anyone
proceeds to attack their barbarism; for they prefer to wail for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span>
help to the uneducated mob and incite it to stone-throwing if they see
any danger of their ignorance on any point coming to light. But I am
confident that here, too, all will go well as soon as the knowledge of
the three languages [Greek, Latin and Hebrew] becomes accepted
publicly in the schools, as it has begun to be.... The humblest share
in this work has fallen on me, as is fitting; I know not whether I have
contributed anything of value; at all events I have infuriated those
who do not want the world to come to its senses, so that it seems as if
my poor efforts also have not been ineffective: although I have not
undertaken the work in the belief that, I could teach anything magnificent,
but I wanted to open a road for others, destined to attempt
greater things, that they might with greater ease ascend the shining
heights without running into so many rough and quaggy places. Yet
this humble diligence of mine is not disdained by the honest and
learned, and none complain of it but a few so stupid that they are
hissed off the stage by even ordinary persons of any intelligence. Here
not long ago someone complained tearfully before the people, in a
sermon of course, that it was all over with the Scriptures and the
theologians who had hitherto upheld the Christian faith on their
shoulders, now that men had arisen to emend the Holy Gospel and
the very words of Our Lord: just as if I was rebuking Matthew or
Luke instead of those whose ignorance or negligence had corrupted
what they wrote correctly. In England one or two persons complain
loudly that it is a shameful thing that <i>I</i> should dare to teach a great
man like St. Jerome: as if I had changed what St. Jerome wrote,
instead of restoring it!</p>

<p>Yet those who snarl out suchlike dirges, which any laundryman
with a little sense would scoff at, think themselves great theologians ...
Not that I want the kind of theology which is customary in the
schools nowadays consigned to oblivion; I wish it to be rendered more
trustworthy and more correct by the accession of the old, true learning.
It will not weaken the authority of the Scriptures or theologians
if certain passages hitherto considered corrupt are henceforth read in
an emended form, or if passages are more correctly understood on
which up till now the mass of theologians have entertained delusions:
no, it will give greater weight to their authority, the more genuine
their understanding of the Scriptures. I have sustained the shock of the
first meeting, which Terence calls the sharpest.... One doubt still
troubles me; I fear that under cover of the rebirth of ancient learning
paganism may seek to rear its head, as even among Christians there<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span>
are those who acknowledge Christ in name only, but in their hearts
are Gentiles; or that with the renascence of Hebrew studies Judaism
may seek to use this opportunity of revival; and there can be nothing
more contrary or more hostile to the teaching of Christ than this
plague. This is the nature of human affairs&mdash;nothing good has ever so
flourished but some evil has attempted to use it as a pretext for insinuating
itself. I could wish that those dreary quibblings could be
either done away with or at least cease to be the sole activity of theologians,
and that the simplicity and purity of Christ could penetrate
deeply into the minds of men; and this I think can best be brought to
pass if with the help provided by the three languages we exercise our
minds in the actual sources. But I pray that we may avoid this evil
without falling into another perhaps graver error. Recently several
pamphlets have been published reeking of unadulterated Judaism.</p>


<h3>XII. TO THOMAS MORE</h3>

<p>Louvain, 5 March 1518</p>

<p>To his friend More, greeting:</p>

<p>... First of all I ask you to entrust to the bearer, my servant John, any
letters of mine or yours which you consider fit for publication with
the alteration of some passages; I am simply compelled to publish my
letters whether I like it or not. Send off the lad so that he returns here
as quickly as possible. If you discover that Urswick is ill-disposed
towards me perhaps he should not be troubled; otherwise, help me
in the matter of a horse&mdash;I shall need one just now when I am about
to go to Basle or Venice, chiefly for the purpose of bringing out the
New Testament.<a name="FNanchor_67_67" id="FNanchor_67_67"></a><a href="#Footnote_67_67" class="fnanchor">[67]</a> Such is my fate, dear More. I shall enact this part
of my play also. Afterwards, I almost feel inclined to sing 'for myself
and the Muses'; my age and my health, which grows daily worse,
almost require this. Over here scoundrels in disguise are so all-powerful,
and no one here makes money but innkeepers, advocates, and
begging friars. It is unendurable when many speak ill and none do good.</p>

<p>At Basle they make the elegant preface added by Budaeus the
excuse for the delay over your Utopia. They have now received it
and have started on the work. Then Froben's father-in-law Lachner
died. But Froben's press will be sweating over our studies none the
less. I have not yet had a chance of seeing Linacre's <i>Therapeutice</i>,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span><a name="FNanchor_68_68" id="FNanchor_68_68"></a><a href="#Footnote_68_68" class="fnanchor">[68]</a>
through some conspiracy of the Parisians against me. Inquire courteously
of Lupset on the Appendix<a name="FNanchor_69_69" id="FNanchor_69_69"></a><a href="#Footnote_69_69" class="fnanchor">[69]</a> to my <i>Copia</i> and send it.</p>

<p>The Pope and the princes are up to some new tricks on the pretext
of the savagery of the war against the Turks. Wretched Turks! May
we Christians not be too cruel! Even wives are affected. All married
men between the ages of twenty-six and fifty will be compelled to
take up arms. Meanwhile the Pope forbids the wives of men absent
at the war to indulge in pleasure at home; they are to eschew elegant
apparel, must not wear silk, gold or any jewellery, must not touch
rouge or drink wine, and must fast every other day, that God may
favour their husbands engaged in this cruel war. If there are men tied
at home by necessary business, their wives must none the less observe
the same rules as they would have had to observe if their husbands
had gone to the war. They are to sleep in the same room but in
different beds; and not a kiss is to be given meanwhile until this
terrible war reaches a successful conclusion under Christ's favour. I
know that these enactments will irritate wives who do not sufficiently
ponder the importance of the business; though I know that
your wife, sensible as she is, and obedient in regard to a matter of
Christian observance, will even be glad to obey.</p>

<p>I send Pace's pamphlet, the <i>Conclusions on Papal Indulgences</i>,<a name="FNanchor_70_70" id="FNanchor_70_70"></a><a href="#Footnote_70_70" class="fnanchor">[70]</a> and the
<i>Proposal for Undertaking a War against the Turks</i>,<a name="FNanchor_71_71" id="FNanchor_71_71"></a><a href="#Footnote_71_71" class="fnanchor">[71]</a> as I suspect that they
have not yet reached England. They write from Cologne that some
pamphlet about an argument between Julius and Peter at the gates of
Paradise<a name="FNanchor_72_72" id="FNanchor_72_72"></a><a href="#Footnote_72_72" class="fnanchor">[72]</a> has now been printed; they do not add the author's name.
The German presses will not cease from their mad pranks until their
rashness is restrained by some law; this does me much harm, who am
endeavouring to help the world....</p>

<p>I beg you to let my servant sleep one or two nights with yours, to
prevent his chancing on an infected house, and to afford him anything
he may need, although I have supplied him with travelling money
myself. I have at last seen the <i>Utopia</i> at Paris printed, but with many<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span>
misprints. It is now in the press at Basle; I had threatened to break
with them unless they took more trouble with that business than with
mine. Farewell, most sincere of friends.</p>


<h3>XIII. TO BEATUS RHENANUS<a name="FNanchor_73_73" id="FNanchor_73_73"></a><a href="#Footnote_73_73" class="fnanchor">[73]</a></h3>

<p>Louvain [<i>c.</i> 15 October] 1518</p>

<p>To his friend Rhenanus, greetings:</p>

<p>... Let me describe to you, my dear Beatus, the whole tragi-comedy of
my journey. I was still weak and listless, as you know, when I left
Basle, not having come to terms with the climate, after skulking at
home so long, and occupied in uninterrupted labors at that. The
river voyage was not unpleasant, but that around midday the heat of
the sun was somewhat trying. We had a meal at Breisach, the most
unpleasant meal I have ever had. The smell of food nearly finished
me, and then the flies, worse than the smell. We sat at table doing
nothing for more than half an hour, waiting for them to produce
their banquet, if you please. In the end nothing fit to eat was served;
filthy porridge with lumps in it and salt fish reheated not for the first
time, enough to make one sick. I did not call on Gallinarius. The man
who brought word that he was suffering from a slight fever also told
me a pretty story; that Minorite theologian with whom I had disputed
about <i>heceitas</i><a name="FNanchor_74_74" id="FNanchor_74_74"></a><a href="#Footnote_74_74" class="fnanchor">[74]</a> had taken it on himself to pawn the church
chalices. Scotist ingenuity! Just before nightfall we were put out at a
dull village; I did not feel like discovering its name, and if I knew I
should not care to tell you it. I nearly perished there. We had supper
in a small room like a sweating-chamber, more than sixty of us, I
should say, an indiscriminate collection of rapscallions, and this went
on till nearly ten o'clock; oh, the stench, and the noise, particularly
after they had become intoxicated! Yet we had to remain sitting to
suit their clocks.</p>

<p>In the morning while it was still quite dark we were driven from
bed by the shouting of the sailors. I went on board without having
either supped or slept. We reached Strasbourg before lunch, at about<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span>
nine o'clock; there we had a more comfortable reception, particularly
as Sch&uuml;rer produced some wine. Some of the Society<a name="FNanchor_75_75" id="FNanchor_75_75"></a><a href="#Footnote_75_75" class="fnanchor">[75]</a> were
there, and afterwards they all came to greet me, Gerbel outdoing all
the rest in politeness. Gebwiler and Rudolfingen did not want me to
pay, no new thing with them. Thence we proceeded on horseback as
far as Speyer; we saw no sign of soldiers anywhere, although there
had been alarming rumours. The English horse completely collapsed
and hardly got to Speyer; that criminal smith had handled him so
badly that he ought to have both his ears branded with red-hot iron.
At Speyer I slipped away from the inn and took myself to my
neighbour Maternus. There Decanus, a learned and cultivated man,
entertained me courteously and agreeably for two days. Here I
accidentally found Hermann Busch.</p>

<p>From Speyer I travelled by carriage to Worms, and from there
again to Mainz. There was an Imperial secretary, Ulrich Varnb&uuml;ler,<a name="FNanchor_76_76" id="FNanchor_76_76"></a><a href="#Footnote_76_76" class="fnanchor">[76]</a>
travelling by chance in the same carriage. He devoted himself to me
with incredible assiduity over the whole journey, and at Mainz would
not allow me to go into the inn but took me to the house of a canon;
on my departure he accompanied me to the boat. The voyage was
not unpleasant as the weather was fine, excepting that the crew took
care to make it somewhat long; in addition to this the stench of the
horses incommoded me. For the first day John Langenfeld, who
formerly taught at Louvain, and a lawyer friend of his came with me
as a mark of politeness. There was also a Westphalian, John, a canon
at St. Victor's outside Mainz, a most agreeable and entertaining man.</p>

<p>After arriving at Boppard, as I was taking a walk along the bank
while a boat was being procured, someone recognized me and betrayed
me to the customs officer, 'That is the man.' The customs
officer's name is, if I mistake not, Christopher Cinicampius, in the
common speech Eschenfelder. You would not believe how the man
jumped for joy. He dragged me into his house. Books by Erasmus
were lying on a small table amongst the customs agreements. He
exclaimed at his good fortune and called in his wife and children and
all his friends. Meanwhile he sent out to the sailors who were calling
for me two tankards of wine, and another two when they called out
again, promising that when he came back he would remit the toll to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span>
the man who had brought him a man like myself. From Boppard
John Flaminius, chaplain to the nuns there, a man of angelic purity,
of sane and sober judgement and no common learning, accompanied
me as far as Coblenz. At Coblenz Matthias, Chancellor to the Bishop,
swept us off to his house&mdash;he is a young man but of staid manners,
and has an accurate knowledge of Latin, besides being a skilled lawyer.
There we supped merrily.</p>

<p>At Bonn the canon left us, to avoid Cologne: I wanted to avoid
Cologne myself, but the servant had preceded me thither with the
horses, and there was no reliable person in the boat whom I could
have charged with the business of calling back my servant; I did not
trust the sailors. So we docked at Cologne before six o'clock in the
morning on a Sunday, the weather being by now pestilential. I went
into an inn and gave orders to the ostlers to hire me a carriage and
pair, ordering a meal to be made ready by ten o'clock. I attended
Divine Service, the lunch was delayed. I had no luck with the carriage
and pair. I tried to hire a horse; my own were useless. Everything
failed. I realized what was up; they were trying to make me stop there.
I immediately ordered my horses to be harnessed, and one bag to be
loaded; the other bag I entrusted to the innkeeper, and on my lame
horse rode quickly to the Count of Neuenahr's<a name="FNanchor_77_77" id="FNanchor_77_77"></a><a href="#Footnote_77_77" class="fnanchor">[77]</a>&mdash;a five-hour journey.
He was staying at Bedburg.</p>

<p>With the Count I stayed five days very pleasantly, in such peace
and quiet that while staying with him I completed a good part of the
revision&mdash;I had taken that part of the New Testament with me.
Would that you knew him, my dear Beatus! He is a young man but
of rare good sense, more than you would find in an old man; he speaks
little, but as Homer says of Menelaus, he speaks 'in clear tones,' and
intelligently too; he is learned without pretentiousness in more than
one branch of study, wholly sincere and a good friend. By now I was
strong and lusty, and well pleased with myself, and was hoping to be
in a good state when I visited the Bishop of Li&eacute;ge and to return hale
and hearty to my friends in Brabant. What dinner-parties, what
felicitations, what discussions I promised myself! But ah, deceptive
human hopes! ah, the sudden and unexpected vicissitudes of human
affairs! From these high dreams of happiness I was hurled to the
depths of misfortune.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span></p>

<p>I had hired a carriage and pair for the next day. My companion, not
wanting to say goodbye before night, announced that he would see
me in the morning before my departure. That night a wild hurricane
sprang up, which had passed before the next morning. Nevertheless
I rose after midnight, to make some notes for the Count: when it was
already seven o'clock and the Count did not emerge, I asked for him
to be waked. He came, and in his customary shy and modest way
asked me whether I meant to leave in such bad weather, saying he
was afraid for me. At that point, my dear Beatus, some god or bad
angel deprived me, not of the half of my senses, as Hesiod says, but of
the whole: for he had deprived me of half my senses when I risked
going to Cologne. I wish that either my friend had warned me more
sharply or that I had paid more attention to his most affectionate remonstrances!
I was seized by the power of fate: what else am I to say?
I climbed into an uncovered carriage, the wind blowing 'strong as
when in the high mountains it shivers the trembling holm-oaks.' It
was a south wind and blowing like the very pest. I thought I was well
protected by my wrappings, but it went through everything with its
violence. Towards nightfall a light rain came on, more noxious than
the wind that preceded it: I arrived at Aachen exhausted from the
shaking of the carriage, which was so trying to me on the stone-paved
road that I should have preferred sitting on my horse, lame as he was.
Here I was carried off from the inn by a canon, to whom the Count
had recommended me, to Suderman's house. There several canons
were holding their usual drinking-party. My appetite had been
sharpened by a very light lunch; but at the time they had nothing by
them but carp, and cold carp at that. I ate to repletion. The drinking
went on well into the night. I excused myself and went to bed, as I
had had very little sleep the night before.</p>

<p>On the following day I was taken to the Vice-Provost's house; it
was his turn to offer hospitality. As there was no fish there apart from
eel (this was certainly the fault of the storm, as he is a magnificent
host otherwise) I lunched off a fish dried in the open air, which the
Germans call <i>Stockfisch</i>, from the rod used to beat it&mdash;it is a fish which
I enjoy at other times: but I discovered that part of this one had not
been properly cured. After lunch, as the weather was appalling, I took
myself off to the inn and ordered a fire to be lit. The canon whom I
mentioned, a most cultured man, stayed talking with me for about an
hour and a half. Meanwhile I began to feel very uncomfortable inside;
as this continued, I sent him away and went to the privy. As this gave<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span>
my stomach no relief I inserted my finger into my mouth, and the
uncured fish came up, but that was all. I lay down afterwards, not so
much sleeping as resting, without any pain in my head or body; then,
having struck a bargain with the coachman over the bags, I received
an invitation to the evening compotation. I excused myself, without
success. I knew that my stomach would not stand anything but a few
sups of warmed liquor.... On this occasion there was a magnificent
spread, but it was wasted on me. After comforting my stomach with
a sup of wine, I went home; I was sleeping at Suderman's house. As
soon as I went out of doors my empty body shivered fearfully in the
night air.</p>

<p>On the morning of the next day, after taking a little warmed ale
and a few morsels of bread, I mounted my horse, who was lame and
ailing, which made riding more uncomfortable. By now I was in such
a state that I would have been better keeping warm in bed than
mounted on horseback. But that district is the most countrified,
roughest, barren and unattractive imaginable, the inhabitants are so
idle; so that I preferred to run away. The danger of brigands&mdash;it was
very great in those parts&mdash;or at least my fear of them, was driven out
of my mind by the discomfort of my illness.... After covering four
miles on this ride I reached Maastricht. There after a drink to soothe
my stomach I remounted and came to Tongres, about three miles
away. This last ride was by far the most painful to me. The awkward
gait of the horse gave me excruciating pains in the kidneys. It would
have been easier to walk, but I was afraid of sweating, and there was a
danger of the night catching us still out in the country. So I reached
Tongres with my whole body in a state of unbelievable agony. By
now, owing to lack of food and the exertion in addition, all my
muscles had given way, so that I could not stand or walk steadily. I
concealed the severity of my illness by my tongue&mdash;that was still
working. Here I took a sup of ale to soothe my stomach and retired
to bed.</p>

<p>In the morning I ordered them to hire a carriage. I decided to go
on horseback, on account of the paving stones, until we reached an
unpaved road. I mounted the bigger horse, thinking that he would go
better on the paving and be more sure-footed. I had hardly mounted
when I felt my eyes clouding over as I met the cold air, and asked for
a cloak. But soon after this I fainted; I could be roused by a touch.
Then my servant John and the others standing by let me come to
myself naturally, still sitting on the horse. After coming to myself I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span>
got into the carriage.... By now we were approaching the town of
St. Trond. I mounted once more, not to appear an invalid, riding in
a carriage. Once again the evening air made me feel sick, but I did not
faint. I offered the coachman double the fare if he would take me the
next day as far as Tirlemont, a town six miles from Tongres. He
accepted the terms. Here a guest whom I knew told me how ill the
Bishop of Li&eacute;ge had taken my leaving for Basle without calling on
him. After soothing my stomach with a drink I went to bed, and had
a very bad night.... Here by chance I found a coach going to
Louvain, six miles away, and threw myself into it. I made the journey
in incredible and almost unendurable discomfort; however we reached
Louvain by seven o'clock on that day.</p>

<p>I had no intention of going to my own room, whether because I
had a suspicion that all would be cold there, or that I did not want to
run the risk of interfering with the amenities of the College in any
way, if I started a rumour of the plague. I went to Theodoric the
printer's.... During the night a large ulcer broke without my feeling
it, and the pain had died down. The next day I called a surgeon. He
applied poultices. A third ulcer had appeared on my back, caused by
a servant at Tongres when he was anointing me with oil of roses for
the pain in the kidneys and rubbed one of my ribs too hard with a
horny finger.... The surgeon on his way out told Theodoric and his
servant secretly that it was the plague; he would send poultices, but
would not come to see me himself.... When the surgeon failed to
return after a day or two, I asked Theodoric the reason. He made
some excuse. But I, suspecting what the matter was, said 'What, does
he think it is the plague?' 'Precisely,' said he, 'he insists that you have
three plague-sores.' I laughed, and did not allow myself even to
imagine that I had the plague. After some days the surgeon's father
came, examined me, and assured me that it was the true plague. Even
so, I could not be convinced. I secretly sent for another doctor who
had a great reputation. He examined me, and being something of a
clown said, 'I should not be afraid to sleep with you&mdash;and make love
to you too, if you were a woman....' [Still another doctor is summoned
but does not return as promised, sending his servant instead.]
I dismissed the man and losing my temper with the doctors, commended
myself to Christ as my doctor.</p>

<p>My appetite came back within three days.... I then immediately
returned to my studies and completed what was still wanting to my
New Testament.... I had given orders as soon as I arrived that no<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span>
one was to visit me unless summoned by name, lest I should frighten
anyone or suffer inconvenience from anyone's assiduity; but Dorp
forced his way in first of all, then Ath. Mark Laurin and Paschasius
Berselius, who came every day, did much to make me well with their
delightful company.</p>

<p>My dear Beatus, who would have believed that this meagre delicate
body of mine, weakened now by age also, could have succeeded, after
all the troubles of travel and all my studious exertions, in standing up
to all these physical ills as well? You know how ill I was not long ago
at Basle, more than once. I was beginning to suspect that that year
would be fatal to me: illness followed illness, always more severe. But,
at the very time when this illness was at its height, I felt no torturing
desire to live and no trepidation at the fear of death. My whole hope
was in Christ alone, and I prayed only that he would give me what he
judged most salutary for me. In my youth long ago, as I remember, I
would shiver at the very name of death. This at least I have achieved
as I have grown older, that I do not greatly fear death, and I do not
measure man's happiness by number of days. I have passed my fiftieth
year; as so few out of so many reach this age, I cannot rightly complain
that I have not lived long enough. And then, if this has any
relevance, I have by now already prepared a monument to bear
witness to posterity that I have lived. And perhaps if, as the poets tell,
jealousy falls silent after death, fame will shine out the more brightly:
although it ill becomes a Christian heart to be moved by human
glory; may I have the glory of pleasing Christ! Farewell, my dearest
Beatus. The rest you will learn from my letter to Capito.</p>


<h3>XIV. TO MARTIN LUTHER</h3>

<p>Louvain, 30 May 1519</p>

<p>Best greetings, most beloved brother in Christ. Your letter was
most welcome to me, displaying a shrewd wit and breathing a
Christian spirit.</p>

<p>I could never find words to express what commotions your books
have brought about here. They cannot even now eradicate from their
minds the most false suspicion that your works were composed with
my aid, and that I am the standard-bearer of this party, as they call it.
They thought that they had found a handle wherewith to crush good
learning&mdash;which they mortally detest as threatening to dim the
majesty of theology, a thing they value far above Christ&mdash;and at the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span>
same time to crush me, whom they consider as having some influence
on the revival of studies. The whole affair was conducted with such
clamourings, wild talk, trickery, detraction and cunning that, had I
not been present and witnessed, nay, <i>felt</i> all this, I should never have
taken any man's word for it that theologians could act so madly. You
would have thought it some mortal plague. And yet the poison of
this evil beginning with a few has spread so far abroad that a great
part of this University was running mad with the infection of this not
uncommon disease.</p>

<p>I declared that you were quite unknown to me, that I had not yet
read your books, and accordingly neither approved nor disapproved
of anything in them. I only warned them not to clamour before the
populace in so hateful a manner without having yet read your books:
this matter was <i>their</i> concern, whose judgement should carry the
greatest weight. Further I begged them to consider also whether it
were expedient to traduce before a mixed multitude views which
were more properly refuted in books or discussed between educated
persons, particularly as the author's way of life was extolled by one
and all. I failed miserably; up to this day they continue to rave in their
insinuating, nay, slanderous disputations. How often have we agreed
to make peace! How often have they stirred up new commotions
from some rashly conceived shred of suspicion! And these men think
themselves theologians! Theologians are not liked in Court circles here;
this too they put down to me. The bishops all favour me greatly.
These men put no trust in books, their hope of victory is based on
cunning alone. I disdain them, relying on my knowledge that I am
in the right. They are becoming a little milder towards yourself. They
fear my pen, because of their bad conscience; and I would indeed
paint them in their true colours, as they deserve, did not Christ's
teaching and example summon me elsewhere. Wild beasts can be
tamed by kindness, which makes these men wild.</p>

<p>There are persons in England, and they in the highest positions, who
think very well of your writings. Here, too, there are people, among
them the Bishop of Li&eacute;ge, who favour your followers. As for me, I
keep myself as far as possible neutral, the better to assist the new
flowering of good learning; and it seems to me that more can be done
by unassuming courteousness than by violence. It was thus that Christ
brought the world under His sway, and thus that Paul made away
with the Jewish Law, by interpreting all things allegorically. It is
wiser to cry out against those who abuse the Popes' authority than<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span>
against the Popes themselves: and I think that we should act in the
same way with the Kings. As for the schools, we should not so much
reject them as recall them to more reasonable studies. Where things
are too generally accepted to be suddenly eradicated from men's
minds, we must argue with repeated and efficacious proofs and not
make positive assertions. The poisonous contentions of certain
persons are better ignored than refuted. We must everywhere take
care never to speak or act arrogantly or in a party spirit: this I believe
is pleasing to the spirit of Christ. Meanwhile we must preserve our
minds from being seduced by anger, hatred or ambition; these feelings
are apt to lie in wait for us in the midst of our strivings after piety.</p>

<p>I am not advising you to do this, but only to continue doing what
you are doing. I have looked into your Commentaries on the Psalms;<a name="FNanchor_78_78" id="FNanchor_78_78"></a><a href="#Footnote_78_78" class="fnanchor">[78]</a>
I am delighted with them, and hope that they will do much good. At
Antwerp we have the Prior of the Monastery,<a name="FNanchor_79_79" id="FNanchor_79_79"></a><a href="#Footnote_79_79" class="fnanchor">[79]</a> a Christian without
spot, who loves you exceedingly, an old pupil of yours as he says. He
is almost alone of them all in preaching Christ: the others preach
human trivialities or their own gain.</p>

<p>I have written to Melanchthon. The Lord Jesus impart you His
spirit each day more bountifully, to His own glory and the good of
all. I had not your letter at hand when writing this.</p>


<h3>XV. TO ULRICH HUTTEN<a name="FNanchor_80_80" id="FNanchor_80_80"></a><a href="#Footnote_80_80" class="fnanchor">[80]</a></h3>

<p>Antwerp, 23 July 1519</p>

<p>To the illustrious knight Ulrich Hutten, greetings:</p>

<p>... As to your demand for a complete portrait, as it were, of More,
would that I could execute it with a perfection to match the intensity
of your desire! It will be a pleasure, for me as well, to dwell for a
space on the contemplation of by far the sweetest friend of all. But in
the first place, it is not given to every man to explore all More's gifts.
And then I wonder whether he will tolerate being depicted by an
indifferent artist; for I think it no less a task to portray More than it
would be to portray Alexander the Great or Achilles, and they were
no more deserving of immortality than he is. Such a subject requires
in short the pencil of an Apelles; but I fear that I am more like<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span>
Horace's gladiators<a name="FNanchor_81_81" id="FNanchor_81_81"></a><a href="#Footnote_81_81" class="fnanchor">[81]</a> than Apelles. Nevertheless, I shall try to sketch
you an image rather than a full portrait of the whole man, so far as
my observation or recollection from long association with him in his
home has made this possible. If ever you meet him on some embassy
you will then for the first time understand how unskilled an artist you
have chosen for this commission; and I am downright afraid of your
accusing me of jealousy or blindness, that out of so many excellences so
few have been perceived by my poor sight or recorded by my jealousy.</p>

<p>But to begin with that side of More of which you know nothing,
in height and stature he is not tall, nor again noticeably short, but
there is such symmetry in all his limbs as leaves nothing to be desired
here. He has a fair skin, his complexion glowing rather than pale,
though far from ruddy, but for a very faint rosiness shining through.
His hair is of a darkish blond, or if you will, a lightish brown, his
beard scanty, his eyes bluish grey, with flecks here and there: this
usually denotes a happy nature and is also thought attractive by the
English, whereas we are more taken by dark eyes. It is said that no
type of eyes is less subject to defects. His expression corresponds to his
character, always showing a pleasant and friendly gaiety, and rather
set in a smiling look; and, to speak honestly, better suited to merriment
than to seriousness and solemnity, though far removed from
silliness or buffoonery. His right shoulder seems a little higher than
the left, particularly when he is walking: this is not natural to him but
due to force of habit, like many of the little habits which we pick up.
There is nothing to strike one in the rest of his body; only his hands
are somewhat clumsy, but only when compared with the rest of his
appearance. He has always from a boy been very careless of everything
to do with personal adornment, to the point of not greatly
caring for those things which according to Ovid's teaching should be
the sole care of men. One can tell even now, from his appearance in
maturity, how handsome he must have been as a young man: although
when I first came to know him he was not more than three and
twenty years old, for he is now barely forty.<a name="FNanchor_82_82" id="FNanchor_82_82"></a><a href="#Footnote_82_82" class="fnanchor">[82]</a></p>

<p>His health is not so much robust as satisfactory, but equal to all
tasks becoming an honourable citizen, subject to no, or at least very
few, diseases: there is every prospect of his living long, as he has a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span>
father of great age<a name="FNanchor_83_83" id="FNanchor_83_83"></a><a href="#Footnote_83_83" class="fnanchor">[83]</a>&mdash;but a wondrously fresh and green old age. I
have never yet seen anyone less fastidious in his choice of food. Until
he grew up he liked water to drink; in this he took after his father.
But so as to avoid irritating anyone over this, he would deceive his
comrades by drinking from a pewter pot ale that was very nearly all
water, often pure water. Wine&mdash;the custom in England is to invite
each other to drink from the same goblet&mdash;he would often sip with
his lips, not to give the appearance of disliking it, and at the same time
to accustom himself to common ways. He preferred beef, salt fish,
and bread of the second quality, well risen, to the foods commonly
regarded as delicacies: otherwise he was by no means averse to all
sources of innocent pleasure, even to the appetite. He has always had
a great liking for milk foods and fruit: he enjoys eating eggs. His
voice is neither strong nor at all weak, but easily audible, by no means
soft or melodious, but the voice of a clear speaker; for he seems to
have no natural gift for vocal music, although he delights in every
kind of music. His speech is wonderfully clear and distinct, with no
trace of haste or hesitation.</p>

<p>He likes to dress simply and does not wear silk or purple or gold
chains, excepting where it would not be decent not to wear them.
It is strange how careless he is of the formalities by which the vulgar
judge good manners. He neither insists on these from any, nor does
he anxiously force them on others whether at meetings or at entertainments,
although he knows them well enough, should he choose
to indulge in them; but he considers it effeminate and not becoming
masculine dignity to waste a good part of one's time in suchlike
inanities.</p>

<p>Formerly he disliked Court life and the company of princes, for the
reason that he has always had a peculiar loathing for tyranny, just as
he has always loved equality. (Now you will hardly find any court so
modest that has not about it much noisy ostentation, dissimulation
and luxury, while yet being quite free of any kind of tyranny.) Indeed
it was only with great difficulty that he could be dragged into the
Court of Henry VIII, although nothing more courteous and unassuming
than this prince could be desired. He is by nature somewhat
greedy of independence and leisure; but while he gladly takes advantage
of leisure when it comes his way, none is more careful or patient
whenever business demands it.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span></p>

<p>He seems born and created for friendship, which he cultivates most
sincerely and fosters most steadfastly. He is not one to be afraid of the
'abundance of friends' which Hesiod does not approve; he is ready to
enter into friendly relations with any. He is in no way fastidious in
choosing friends, accommodating in maintaining them, constant in
keeping them. If he chances on anyone whose defects he cannot
mend, he dismisses him when the opportunity offers, not breaking
but gradually dissolving the friendship. Whenever he finds any sincere
and suited to his disposition he so delights in their company and
conversation that he appears to make this his chief pleasure in life.
He loathes ball-games, cards and gambling, and the other games with
which the ordinary run of men of rank are used to kill time. Furthermore,
while he is somewhat careless of his own affairs, there is none
more diligent in looking after his friends' affairs. Need I continue?
Should anyone want a finished example of true friendship he could
not do better than seek it in More.</p>

<p>In social intercourse he is of so rare a courtesy and charm of manners
that there is no man so melancholy that he does not gladden, no subject
so forbidding that he does not dispel the tedium of it. From his
boyhood he has loved joking, so that he might seem born for this, but
in his jokes he has never descended to buffoonery, and has never
loved the biting jest. As a youth he both composed and acted in little
comedies. Any witty remark he would still enjoy, even were it
directed against himself, such is his delight in clever sallies of ingenious
flavour. As a result he wrote epigrams as a young man, and delighted
particularly in Lucian; indeed he was responsible for my writing the
<i>Praise of Folly</i>, that is for making the camel dance.</p>

<p>In human relations he looks for pleasure in everything he comes
across, even in the gravest matters. If he has to do with intelligent and
educated men, he takes pleasure in their brilliance; if with the
ignorant and foolish, he enjoys their folly. He is not put out by perfect
fools, and suits himself with marvellous dexterity to all men's
feelings. For women generally, even for his wife, he has nothing but
jests and merriment. You could say he was a second Democritus, or
better, that Pythagorean philosopher who saunters through the
market-place with a tranquil mind gazing on the uproar of buyers and
sellers. None is less guided by the opinion of the herd, but again none
is less remote from the common feelings of humanity.</p>

<p>He takes an especial pleasure in watching the appearance, characters
and behaviour of various creatures; accordingly there is almost no<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span>
kind of bird which he does not keep at his home, and various other
animals not commonly found, such as apes, foxes, ferrets, weasels and
their like. Added to this, he eagerly buys anything foreign or otherwise
worth looking at which comes his way, and he has the whole
house stocked with these objects, so that wherever the visitor looks
there is something to detain him; and his own pleasure is renewed
whenever he sees others enjoying these sights.</p>

<p>When he was of an age for it, he was not averse to love-affairs with
young women, but kept them honourable, preferring the love that
was offered to that which he must chase after, and was more drawn by
spiritual than by physical intercourse.</p>

<p>He had devoured classical literature from his earliest years. As a lad
he applied himself to the study of Greek literature and philosophy;
his father, so far from helping him (although he is otherwise a good
and sensible man), deprived him of all support in this endeavour; and
he was almost regarded as disowned, because he seemed to be deserting
his father's studies&mdash;the father's profession is English jurisprudence.
This profession is quite unconnected with true learning, but in
Britain those who have made themselves authorities in it are particularly
highly regarded, and this is there considered the most suitable
road to fame, since most of the nobility of that island owe their origin
to this branch of study. It is said that none can become perfect in it
without many years of hard work. So, although the young man's
mind born for better things not unreasonably revolted from it, nevertheless,
after sampling the scholastic disciplines he worked at the law
with such success that none was more gladly consulted by litigants,
and he made a better living at it than any of those who did nothing
else, so quick and powerful was his intellect.</p>

<p>He also devoted much strenuous attention to studying the ecclesiastical
writers. He lectured publicly to a crowded audience on Augustine's
<i>City of God</i> while still little more than a lad; and priests and
elderly men were neither sorry nor ashamed to learn sacred matters
from a youthful layman. For a time he gave his whole mind to the
study of piety, practising himself for the priesthood in watchings,
fastings and prayer, and other like preliminary exercises; in which
matter he was far more sensible than most of those who rashly hurl
themselves into this arduous calling without having previously made
any trial of themselves. The only obstacle to his devoting himself to
this mode of life was his inability to shake off his longing for a wife. He
therefore chose to be a chaste husband rather than an unchaste priest.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span></p>

<p>Still, he married a girl,<a name="FNanchor_84_84" id="FNanchor_84_84"></a><a href="#Footnote_84_84" class="fnanchor">[84]</a> as yet very young, of good family, but still
untrained&mdash;she had always lived in the country with her parents and
sisters&mdash;so that he could better fashion her to his own ways. He had
her taught literature and made her skilled in all kinds of music; and he
had really almost made her such as he would have cared to spend all
his life with, had not an untimely death carried her off while still a girl,
but after she had borne him several children: of whom there survive
three girls, Margaret, Alice<a name="FNanchor_85_85" id="FNanchor_85_85"></a><a href="#Footnote_85_85" class="fnanchor">[85]</a> and Cecily, and one boy, John. He
would not endure to live long a widower, although his friends counselled
otherwise. Within a few months of his wife's death he married
a widow,<a name="FNanchor_86_86" id="FNanchor_86_86"></a><a href="#Footnote_86_86" class="fnanchor">[86]</a> more for the care of the household than for his pleasure, as
she was not precisely beautiful nor, as he jokingly says himself, a girl,
but a keen and watchful housewife;<a name="FNanchor_87_87" id="FNanchor_87_87"></a><a href="#Footnote_87_87" class="fnanchor">[87]</a> with whom he yet lives as
pleasantly and agreeably as if she were a most charming young girl.
Hardly any husband gets so much obedience from his wife by stern
orders as he does by jests and cajolery. How could he fail to do so,
after having induced a woman on the verge of old age, also by no
means a docile character, and lastly most attentive to her business, to
learn to play the cithern, the lute, the monochord and the recorders,
and perform a daily prescribed exercise in this at her husband's wish?</p>

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</a></div>
<p class="center">Plate XXIX. SIR THOMAS MORE AND HIS FAMILY, 1527</p>

<p>He rules his whole household as agreeably, no quarrels or disturbances
arise there. If any quarrel does arise he at once heals or settles
the difference; and he has never let anyone leave his house in anger.
His house seems blest indeed with a lucky fate, for none has lived there
without rising to better fortune, and none has ever acquired a stain on
his reputation there. One would be hard put to it to find any agree as
well with their mothers as he with his stepmother&mdash;his father had
already given him two, and he loved both of them as truly as he loved
his mother. Recently his father gave him a third stepmother: More
swears his Bible oath he has never seen a better. Moreover, he is so
disposed towards his parents and children as to be neither tiresomely
affectionate nor ever failing in any family duty.</p>

<p>He has a mind altogether opposed to sordid gain. He has put aside
from his fortune for his children an amount which he considers sufficient<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span>
for them; the rest he gives away lavishly. While he still made his
living at the Bar he gave sincere and friendly counsel to all, considering
his clients' interests rather than his own; he would persuade most
of them to settle their differences&mdash;this would be cheaper. If he failed
to achieve this, he would then show them a method of going to law
at the least possible expense&mdash;some people here are so minded that
they actually enjoy litigation. In the City of London, where he was
born, he acted for some years as a judge in civil causes.<a name="FNanchor_88_88" id="FNanchor_88_88"></a><a href="#Footnote_88_88" class="fnanchor">[88]</a> This office is
not at all onerous&mdash;the court sits only on Thursday mornings&mdash;but is
regarded as one of the most honourable. None dealt with so many
cases as he, nor behaved with such integrity; he usually remitted the
charge customarily due from litigants (as before the formal entering
of the suit the plaintiff pays into court three shillings, the defendant
likewise, and it is incorrect to demand more). By this behaviour he
won the deep affection of the City.</p>

<p>He had made up his mind to rest content with this position, which
was sufficiently influential and yet not exposed to grave dangers.
Twice he was forced into embassies; as he acted in these with great
sagacity. King Henry VIII would not rest until he could drag More
to Court. Why not call it 'drag'? No man ever worked so assiduously
to gain admission to the Court as he studied to escape it. But
when the King decided to fill his household with men of weight,
learning, sagacity and integrity, More was one of the first among
many summoned by him: he regards More so much as one of his
intimate circle that he never lets him depart from him. If serious
matters are to be discussed, there is none more skilled than he; or if
the King decides to relax in pleasant gossiping, there is no merrier
companion. Often difficult affairs require a weighty and sagacious
arbitrator; More solves these matters with such success that both
parties are grateful. Yet no one has ever succeeded in persuading him
to accept a present from anyone. How happy the states would be if
the ruler everywhere put magistrates like More in office! Meanwhile
he has acquired no trace of haughtiness.</p>

<p>Amid all these official burdens he does not forget his old friends and
from time to time returns to his beloved literature. All the authority
of his office, all his influence with the King, is devoted to the service
of the State and of his friends. His mind, eager to serve all and
wondrously prone to pity, has ever been present to help: he will now
be better able to help others, as he has greater power. Some he assists<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span>
with money, some he protects with his authority, others he advances
by introductions; those whom he cannot help otherwise he aids with
counsel, and he has never sent anyone away disappointed. You might
call More the common advocate of all those in need. He regards himself
as greatly enriched when he assists the oppressed, extricates the
perplexed and involved, or reconciles the estranged. None confers a
benefit so gladly, none is so slow to upbraid. And although he is
fortunate on so many counts, and good fortune is often associated
with boastfulness, it has never yet been my lot to meet any man so far
removed from this vice.</p>

<p>But I must return to recounting his studies&mdash;it was these which
chiefly brought More and myself together. In his youth he chiefly
practised verse composition, afterwards he worked hard and long to
polish his prose, practising his style in all kinds of composition. What
that style is like, I need not describe&mdash;particularly not to you, who
always have his books in your hands. He especially delighted in composing
declamations, and in these liked paradoxical themes, for the
reason that this offers keener practice to the wits. This caused him,
while still a youth, to compose a dialogue in which he defended
Plato's Communism, even to the community of wives. He wrote a
rejoinder to Lucian's <i>Tyrannicide</i>; in this theme he desired to have me
as his antagonist, to make a surer trial of his progress in this branch of
letters. His <i>Utopia</i> was published with the aim of showing the causes
of the bad condition of states; but was chiefly a portrait of the British
State, which he has thoroughly studied and explored. He had written
the second book first in his leisure hours, and added the first book on
the spur of the moment later, when the occasion offered. Some of the
unevenness of the style is due to this.</p>

<p>One could hardly find a better <i>ex tempore</i> speaker: a happy talent
has complete command of a happy turn of speech. He has a present
wit, always flying ahead, and a ready memory; and having all this
ready to hand, he can promptly and unhesitatingly produce whatever
the subject or occasion requires. In arguments he is unimaginably
acute, so that he often puzzles the best theologians on their own
ground. John Colet, a man of keen and exact judgement, often observes
in intimate conversation that Britain has only one genius:
although this island is rich in so many fine talents.</p>

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</a></div>
<p class="center">Plate XXX. ERASMUS AT THE AGE OF 54</p>

<p>He diligently cultivates true piety, while being remote from all
superstitious observance. He has set hours in which he offers to God
not the customary prayers but prayers from the heart. With his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span>
friends he talks of the life of the world to come so that one sees that
he speaks sincerely and not without firm hope. Such is More even in
the Court. And then there are those who think that Christians are to
be found only in monasteries!... There you have a portrait not very
well drawn by a very bad artist from a most excellent model. You
will like it less if you happen to come to know More better. But for
the time being I have prevented your being able to cast in my teeth
my failure to obey you, and always accusing me of writing too short
letters. Still, this did not seem long to me as I was writing it, and
I know that you will not find it long drawn out as you read it: our
friend More's charm will see to that. Farewell.</p>



<h3>XVI. TO WILLIBALD PIRCKHEIMER<a name="FNanchor_89_89" id="FNanchor_89_89"></a><a href="#Footnote_89_89" class="fnanchor">[89]</a></h3>

<p>Basle, 14 March 1525</p>

<p>To the illustrious Willibald Pirckheimer, greetings:</p>

<p>... I received safely the very pretty ring which you desired me to have
as a memento of you. I know that gems are prized as bringing safety
when one has a fall. But they say too, that if the fall was likely to be
fatal, the evil is diverted on to the gem, so that it is seen to be broken
after the accident. Once in Britain I fell with my horse from a fairly
high bank: no damage was found to me or my horse, yet the gem I
was wearing was whole. It was a present from Alexander, Archbishop
of St. Andrews,<a name="FNanchor_90_90" id="FNanchor_90_90"></a><a href="#Footnote_90_90" class="fnanchor">[90]</a> whom I think you know from my writings. When
I left him at Siena, he drew it off his finger and handing it to me said:
'Take this as a pledge of our friendship that will never die.' And I
kept my pledged faith with him even after his death, celebrating my
friend's memory in my writings. There is no part of life into which
magical superstition has not insinuated itself: if gems have some great
virtue, I could have wished in these days for a ring with an efficacious
remedy against 'slander's tooth.' As to the belief about falls, I shall
follow your advice&mdash;I shall prefer to believe rather than risk myself.</p>

<p>Portraits are less precious than jewels&mdash;I have received from you a
medallic and a painted portrait&mdash;but at least they bring my Willibald
more vividly before me. Alexander the Great would only allow himself
to be painted by Apelles's hand. You have found your Apelles in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span>
Albrecht D&uuml;rer,<a name="FNanchor_91_91" id="FNanchor_91_91"></a><a href="#Footnote_91_91" class="fnanchor">[91]</a> an artist of the first rank and no less to be admired
for his remarkable good sense. If only you had likewise found some
Lysippus<a name="FNanchor_92_92" id="FNanchor_92_92"></a><a href="#Footnote_92_92" class="fnanchor">[92]</a> to cast the medal! I have the medal of you on the righthand
wall of my bedroom, the painting on the left; whether writing
or walking up and down, I have Willibald before my eyes, so that if
I wanted to forget you I could not. Though I have a more retentive
memory for friends than for anything else. Certainly Willibald could
not be forgotten by me, even were there no memento, no portraits,
no letters to refresh my memory of him. There is another very
pleasant thing&mdash;the portraits often occasion a talk about you when my
friends come to visit me. If only our letters travelled safely, how little
we should miss of each other! You have a medal of me. I should not
object to having my portrait painted by D&uuml;rer,<a name="FNanchor_93_93" id="FNanchor_93_93"></a><a href="#Footnote_93_93" class="fnanchor">[93]</a> that great artist; but
how this can be done I do not see. Once at Brussels he sketched me,
but after a start had been made the work was interrupted by callers
from the Court. Though I have long been a sad model for painters,
and am likely to become a sadder one still as the days go on.<a name="FNanchor_94_94" id="FNanchor_94_94"></a><a href="#Footnote_94_94" class="fnanchor">[94]</a> I read
with pleasure what you write, as witty as it is wise, on the agitations of
certain persons who are destroying the evangelical movement, to
which they imagine themselves to be doing splendid service: and I
have much to tell you in my turn about this. But this will be another
time, when I have more leisure. Farewell.</p>


<h3>XVII. TO MARTIN LUTHER</h3>

<p>Basle, 11 April 1526</p>

<p>To Martin Luther, greetings:</p>

<p>... Your letter has been delivered too late;<a name="FNanchor_95_95" id="FNanchor_95_95"></a><a href="#Footnote_95_95" class="fnanchor">[95]</a> but had it arrived in the
best of time, it would not have moved me one whit. I am not so<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span>
simple as to be appeased by one or two pleasantries or soothed by
flattery after receiving so many more than mortal wounds. Your
nature is by now known to all the world, but you have so tempered
your pen that never have you written against anyone so frenziedly,
nay, what is more abominable, so maliciously. Now it occurs to you
that you are a weak sinner, whereas at other times you insist almost on
being taken for God. You are a man, as you write, of violent temperament,
and you take pleasure in this remarkable argument. Why then
did you not pour forth this marvellous piece of invective on the
Bishop of Rochester<a name="FNanchor_96_96" id="FNanchor_96_96"></a><a href="#Footnote_96_96" class="fnanchor">[96]</a> or on Cochleus?<a name="FNanchor_97_97" id="FNanchor_97_97"></a><a href="#Footnote_97_97" class="fnanchor">[97]</a> They attack you personally
and provoke you with insults, while my <i>Diatribe</i><a name="FNanchor_98_98" id="FNanchor_98_98"></a><a href="#Footnote_98_98" class="fnanchor">[98]</a> was a courteous
disputation. And what has all this to do with the subject&mdash;all this
facetious abuse, these slanderous lies, charging me with atheism,
Epicureanism, scepticism in articles of the Christian profession,
blasphemy, and what not&mdash;besides many other points on which I<a name="FNanchor_99_99" id="FNanchor_99_99"></a><a href="#Footnote_99_99" class="fnanchor">[99]</a>
am silent? I take these charges the less hardly, because in all this there
is nothing to make my conscience disturb me. If I did not think as a
Christian of God and the Holy Scriptures, I could not wish my life
prolonged even until tomorrow. If you had conducted your case with
your usual vehemence, without frenzied abuse, you would have provoked
fewer men against you: as things are, you have been pleased to
fill more than a third part of the volume with such abuse, giving free
rein to your feelings. How far you have given way to me the facts
themselves show&mdash;so many palpable crimes do you fasten on me;
while my <i>Diatribe</i> was not even intended to stir up those matters
which the world itself knows of.</p>

<p>You imagine, I suppose, that Erasmus has no supporters. More than
you think. But it does not matter what happens to us two, least
of all to myself who must shortly go hence, even if the whole world
were applauding us: it is <i>this</i> that distresses me, and all the best spirits
with me, that with that arrogant, impudent, seditious temperament
of yours you are shattering the whole globe in ruinous discord, exposing
good men and lovers of good learning to certain frenzied
Pharisees, arming for revolt the wicked and the revolutionary, and in
short so carrying on the cause of the Gospel as to throw all things
sacred and profane into chaos; as if you were eager to prevent this<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span>
storm from turning at last to a happy issue; I have ever striven towards
such an opportunity. What you owe me, and in what coin you have
repaid me&mdash;I do not go into that. All that is a private matter; it is the
public disaster which distresses me, and the irremediable confusion of
everything, for which we have to thank only your uncontrolled
nature, that will not be guided by the wise counsel of friends, but
easily turns to any excess at the prompting of certain inconstant
swindlers. I know not whom you have saved from the power of
darkness; but you should have drawn the sword of your pen against
those ungrateful wretches and not against a temperate disputation. I
would have wished you a better mind, were you not so delighted
with your own. Wish me what you will, only not your mind, unless
God has changed it for you.</p>


<h3>XVIII. TO THEOPHRASTUS PARACELSUS<a name="FNanchor_100_100" id="FNanchor_100_100"></a><a href="#Footnote_100_100" class="fnanchor">[100]</a></h3>

<p>Basle, <i>c.</i> March 1527</p>

<p>To the most skilled physician Theophrastus of Einsiedeln, etc., greetings:</p>

<p>... It is not incongruous to wish continued spiritual health to the
medical man through whom God gives us physical health. I wonder
how you know me so thoroughly, having seen me once only. I
recognize how very true are your dark sayings, not by the art of
medicine, which I have never learned, but from my own wretched
sensations. I have felt pains in the region of the liver in the past, and
could not divine the source of the trouble. I have seen the fat from the
kidneys in my water many years ago. Your third point<a name="FNanchor_101_101" id="FNanchor_101_101"></a><a href="#Footnote_101_101" class="fnanchor">[101]</a> I do not
quite understand, nevertheless it appears to be convincing.</p>

<p>As I told you, I have no time for the next few days to be doctored,
or to be ill, or to die, so overwhelmed am I with scholarly work. But
if there is anything which can alleviate the trouble without weakening
the body, I beg you to inform me. If you will be so good as to
explain at greater length your very concise and more than laconic
notes, and prescribe other remedies which I can take until I am free,
I cannot promise you a fee to match your art or the trouble you have
taken, but I do at least promise you a grateful heart.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span></p>

<p>You have resurrected Froben<a name="FNanchor_102_102" id="FNanchor_102_102"></a><a href="#Footnote_102_102" class="fnanchor">[102]</a>, that is, my other half: if you restore
me also, you will have restored both of us by treating each of us
singly. May we have the good fortune to keep you in Basle!</p>

<p>I fear you may not be able to read this letter dashed off immediately
[after receiving yours]. Farewell.</p>

<p>Erasmus of Rotterdam, by his own hand.</p>


<h3>XIX. TO MARTIN BUCER<a name="FNanchor_103_103" id="FNanchor_103_103"></a><a href="#Footnote_103_103" class="fnanchor">[103]</a></h3>

<p>Basle, 11 November 1527</p>

<p>Best greetings:</p>

<p>You plead the cause of Capito with some rhetorical skill; but I see
that, eloquent advocate as you are otherwise, you are not sufficiently
well equipped to undertake his defence. Were I to advance my battle-line
of conjectures and proofs, you would realize that you had to
devise a different speech. But I have had too much of squabbling, and
do not easily bestir myself against men whom I once sincerely loved.
What the Knight of Eppendorff<a name="FNanchor_104_104" id="FNanchor_104_104"></a><a href="#Footnote_104_104" class="fnanchor">[104]</a> ventures or does not venture to do
is his concern; only that he returns too frequently to this game. I shall
not involve Capito in the drama unless he involves himself again; let
him not think me such a fool as not to know what is in question. But
I have written myself on these matters. Furthermore, as to your
pleading your own cause and that of your church, I think it better not
to give any answer, because this matter would require a very lengthy
oration, even if it were not a matter of controversy. This is merely a
brief answer on scattered points.</p>

<p>The person who informed me about 'languages'<a name="FNanchor_105_105" id="FNanchor_105_105"></a><a href="#Footnote_105_105" class="fnanchor">[105]</a> is one whose
trustworthiness not even you would have esteemed lightly; and he
thinks no ill of you. Indeed I have never disliked you as far as concerns
private feelings. There are persons living in your town who were
chattering here about 'all the disciplines having been invented by<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span>
godforsaken wretches'. Certainly persons of this description, whatever
name must be given them, are in the ascendancy everywhere, all
studies are neglected and come to a standstill. At Nuremberg the City
Treasury has hired lecturers, but there is no one to attend their lectures.</p>

<p>You assemble a number of conjectures as to why I have not joined
your church. But you must know that the first and most important
of all the reasons which withheld me from associating myself with
it was my conscience: if my conscience could have been persuaded
that this movement proceeded from God, I should have been now
long since a soldier in your camp. The second reason is that I see
many in your group who are strangers to all Evangelical soundness.
I make no mention of rumours and suspicions, I speak of things
learned from experience, nay, learned to my own injury; things experienced
not merely from the mob, but from men who appear to be
of some worth, not to mention the leading men. It is not for me to
judge of what I know not: the world is wide. I know some as excellent
men before they became devotees of your faith, what they are now like
I do not know: at all events I have learned that several of them have
become worse and none better, so far as human judgement can discern.</p>

<p>The third thing which deterred me is the intense discord between
the leaders of the movement. Not to mention the Prophets and the
Anabaptists, what embittered pamphlets Zwingli, Luther and
Osiander write against each other! I have never approved the ferocity
of the leaders, but it is provoked by the behaviour of certain persons;
when they ought to have made the Gospel acceptable by holy and
forbearing conduct, if you really had what you boast of. Not to speak
of the others, of what use was it for Luther to indulge in buffoonery
in that fashion against the King of England, when he had undertaken
a task so arduous with the general approval? Was he not reflecting as
to the role he was sustaining? Did he not realize that the whole world
had its eyes turned on him alone? And this is the chief of this movement;
I am not particularly angry with him for treating me so scurrilously:
but his betrayal of the cause of the Gospel, his letting loose
princes, bishops, pseudo-monks and pseudo-theologians against good
men, his having made doubly hard our slavery, which is already intolerable&mdash;that
is what tortures my mind. And I seem to see a cruel
and bloody century ahead, if the provoked section gets its breath
again, which it is certainly now doing. You will say that there is no
crowd without an admixture of wicked men. Certainly it was the
duty of the principal men to exercise special care in matters of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span>
conduct, and not be even on speaking terms with liars, perjurors,
drunkards and fornicators. As it is I hear and almost <i>see</i>, that things
are far otherwise. If the husband had found his wife more amenable,
the teacher his pupil more obedient, the magistrate the citizen more
tractable, the employer his workman more trustworthy, the buyer
the seller less deceitful, it would have been great recommendation
for the Gospels. As things are, the behaviour of certain persons has had
the effect of cooling the zeal of those who at first, owing to their
love of piety and abhorrence of Pharisaism, looked with favour on
this movement; and the princes, seeing a disorderly host springing
up in its wake made up of vagabonds, fugitives, bankrupts, naked,
wretched and for the most part even wicked men, are cursing, even
those who in the beginning had been hopeful.</p>

<p>It is not without deep sorrow that I speak of all this, not only
because I foresee that a business wrongly handled will go from bad to
worse, but also because at last I shall myself have to suffer for it.
Certain rascals say that my writings are to blame for the fact that the
scholastic theologians and monks are in several places becoming less
esteemed than they would like, that ceremonies are neglected, and
that the supremacy of the Roman Pontiff is disregarded; when it is
quite dear from what source this evil has sprung. They were stretching
too tight the rope which is now breaking. They almost set the Pope's
authority above Christ's, they measured all piety by ceremonies, and
tightened the hold of the confession to an enormous extent, while the
monks lorded it without fear of punishment, by now meditating open
tyranny. As a result 'the stretched string snapped', as the proverb has
it; it could not be otherwise. But I sorely fear that the same will
happen one day to the princes, if they too continue to stretch <i>their</i>
rope too tightly. Again, the other side having commenced the action
of their drama as they did, no different ending was possible. May we
not live to see worse horrors!</p>

<p>However it was the duty of the leaders of this movement, if Christ
was their goal, to refrain not only from vice, but even from every
appearance of evil; and to offer not the slightest stumbling block to
the Gospel, studiously avoiding even practices which, although
allowed, are yet not expedient. Above all they should have guarded
against all sedition. If they had handled the matter with sincerity and
moderation, they would have won the support of the princes and
bishops: for they have not all been given up for lost. And they should
not have heedlessly wrecked anything without having something<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span>
better ready to put in its place. As it is, those who have abandoned the
Hours do not pray at all. Many who have put off pharisaical clothing
are worse in other matters than they were before. Those who disdain
the episcopal regulations do not even obey the commandments of
God. Those who disregard the careful choice of foods indulge in
greed and gluttony. It is a long-drawn-out tragedy, which every day
we partly hear ourselves and partly learn of from others. I never
approved of the abolition of the Mass, even though I have always disliked
these mean and money-grabbing mass-priests. There were other
things also which could have been altered without causing riots. As
things are, certain persons are not satisfied with any of the accepted
practices; as if a new world could be built of a sudden. There will always
be things which the pious must endure. If anyone thinks that Mass
ought to be abolished because many misuse it, then the Sermon should
be abolished also, which is almost the only custom accepted by your
party. I feel the same about the invocation of the saints and about images.</p>

<p>Your letter demanded a lengthy reply, but even this letter is very
long, with all that I have to do. I am told that you have a splendid
gift for preaching the Word of the Gospel, and that you conduct
yourself more courteously than do many. So I could wish that with
your good sense you would strive to the end that this movement,
however it began, may through firmness and moderation in doctrine
and integrity of conduct be brought to a conclusion worthy of the
Gospel. To this end I shall help you to the best of my ability. As it is,
although the host of monks and certain theologians assail me with all
their artifices, nothing will induce me wittingly to cast away my soul.
You will have the good sense not to circulate this letter, lest it cause
any disturbance. We would have more discussions if we could meet.
Farewell. I had no time to read this over.</p>

<p>Erasmus of Rotterdam, by my own hand.</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 300px;">
<a href="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:john-huizinga-erasmus-and-the-age-of-reformation-plate-xxxi.png">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:john-huizinga-erasmus-and-the-age-of-reformation-plate-xxxi-th.png" width="300" height="390" alt="" title=""/>
</a></div>
<p class="center">Plate XXXI. ERASMUS AT THE AGE OF 60</p>


<h3>XX. TO ALFONSO VALDES<a name="FNanchor_106_106" id="FNanchor_106_106"></a><a href="#Footnote_106_106" class="fnanchor">[106]</a></h3>

<p>Basle, 1 August 1528</p>

<p>To the most illustrious Alfonso Valdes, Secretary to His Imperial
Majesty, greetings:</p>

<p>... I have learned very plainly from other men's letters what you indicate
very discreetly, as is your way&mdash;that there are some who seek to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span>
make <i>Terminus</i>,<a name="FNanchor_107_107" id="FNanchor_107_107"></a><a href="#Footnote_107_107" class="fnanchor">[107]</a> the seal on my ring, an occasion for slander, protesting
that the addition of the device <i>Concedo nulli</i> [I yield to none]
shows intolerable arrogance. What is this but some fatal malady,
consisting in misrepresenting everything? Momus<a name="FNanchor_108_108" id="FNanchor_108_108"></a><a href="#Footnote_108_108" class="fnanchor">[108]</a> is ridiculed for criticizing
Venus's slipper; but these men outdo Momus himself, finding
something to carp at in a ring. I would have called <i>them</i> Momuses,
but Momus carps at nothing but what he has first carefully inspected.
These fault-finders, or rather false accusers, criticize with their eyes
shut what they neither see nor understand: so violent is the disease.
And meanwhile they think themselves pillars of the Church, whereas
all they do is to expose their stupidity combined with a malice no less
extreme, when they are already more notorious than they should be.
They are dreaming if they think it is Erasmus who says <i>Concedo
nulli</i>. But if they read my writings they would see that there is none
so humble that I rank myself above him, being more liable to yield to
all than to none.</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 300px;">
<a href="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:john-huizinga-erasmus-and-the-age-of-reformation-plate-xxxii.png">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:john-huizinga-erasmus-and-the-age-of-reformation-plate-xxxii-th.png" width="300" height="465" alt="" title=""/>
</a></div>
<p class="center">Plate XXXII. ERASMUS'S DEVICE</p>

<p>Now those who know me intimately from close association will
attribute any vice to me sooner than arrogance, and will acknowledge
that I am closer to the Socratic utterance, 'This alone I know, that I
know nothing,' than to this, 'I yield to none.' But if they imagine that
I have so insolent a mind as to put myself before all others, do they
also think me such a fool as to profess this in a device? If they had any
Christian feeling they would understand those words either as not
mine or as bearing another meaning. They see there a sculptured
figure, in its lower part a stone, in its upper part a youth with flying
hair. Does this look like Erasmus in any respect? If this is not enough,
they see written on the stone itself <i>Terminus</i>: if one takes this as the
last word, that will make an iambic dimeter acatalectic, <i>Concedo
nulli Terminus</i>; if one begins with this word, it will be a trochaic
dimeter acatalectic, <i>Terminus concedo nulli</i>. What if I had painted
a lion and added as a device 'Flee, unless you prefer to be torn to
pieces'? Would they attribute these words to me instead of the lion?
But what they are doing now is just as foolish; for if I mistake not, I
am more like a lion than a stone.</p>

<p>They will argue, 'We did not notice that it was verse, and we know
nothing about Terminus.' Is it then to be a crime henceforward
to have written verse, because <i>they</i> have not learned the theory of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span>
metre? At least, as they knew that in devices of this kind one actually
aims at a certain degree of obscurity in order to exercise the guessing
powers of those who look at them, if they did not know of Terminus&mdash;although
they could have learned of him from the books of
Augustine or Ambrose&mdash;they should have inquired of experts in this
kind of matter. In former times field boundaries were marked
with some sign. This was a stone projecting above the earth, which
the laws of the ancients ordered never to be moved; here belongs the
Platonic utterance, 'Remove not what thou hast not planted.' The
law was reinforced by a religious awe, the better to deter the ignorant
multitude from daring to remove the stone, by making it believe that
to violate the stone was to violate a god in it, whom the Romans call
Terminus, and to him there was also dedicated a shrine and a festival,
the Terminalia. This god Terminus, as the Roman historian has it, was
alone in refusing to yield to Jupiter because 'while the birds allowed
the deconsecration of all the other sanctuaries, in the shrine of
Terminus alone they were unpropitious.'<a name="FNanchor_109_109" id="FNanchor_109_109"></a><a href="#Footnote_109_109" class="fnanchor">[109]</a> Livy tells this story in the
first book of his <i>History</i>, and again in Book 5 he narrates how 'when
after the taking of auguries the Capitol was being cleared, Juventas
[Youth] and Terminus would not allow themselves to be moved.'<a name="FNanchor_110_110" id="FNanchor_110_110"></a><a href="#Footnote_110_110" class="fnanchor">[110]</a>
This omen was welcomed with universal rejoicing, for they believed
that it portended an eternal empire. The <i>youth</i> is useful for war, and
<i>Terminus</i> is fixed.</p>

<p>Here they will exclaim perchance, 'What have <i>you</i> to do with a
mythical god?' He came to me, I did not adopt him. When I was
called to Rome, and Alexander, titular Archbishop of St. Andrews,<a name="FNanchor_111_111" id="FNanchor_111_111"></a><a href="#Footnote_111_111" class="fnanchor">[111]</a>
was summoned home from Siena by his father King James of
Scotland, as a grateful and affectionate pupil he gave me several rings
for a memento of our time together. Among these was one which
had <i>Terminus</i> engraved on the jewel; an Italian interested in antiquities
had pointed this out, which I had not known before. I seized
on the omen and interpreted it as a warning that the term of my
existence was not far off&mdash;at that time I was in about my fortieth year.
To keep this thought in my mind I began to seal my letters with this<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span>
sign. I added the verse, as I said before. And so from a heathen god I
made myself a device, exhorting me to correct my life. For Death is
truly a boundary which knows no yielding to any. But in the medal
there is added in Greek,
&Omega;&rho;&alpha; &tau;&epsilon;&lambda;&omicron;&sigmaf;
&mu;&alpha;&kappa;&rho;&omicron;&upsilon; &beta;&iota;&omicron;&upsilon;,
that is, 'Consider the
end of a long life,' in Latin <i>Mors ultima linea rerum</i>. They will say,
'You could have carved on it a dead man's skull.' Perhaps I should
have accepted that, if it had come my way: but this pleased me,
because it came to me by chance, and then because it had a double
charm for me; from the allusion to an ancient and famous story, and
from its obscurity, a quality specially belonging to devices.</p>

<p>There is my defence on <i>Terminus</i>, or better say on hair-splitting.
And if only they would at last set a <i>term</i> to their misrepresentations!
I will gladly come to an agreement with them to change my
device, if they will change their malady. Indeed by so doing they
would be doing more for their own authority, which they complain
is being undermined by the lovers of good learning. I myself am
assuredly so far from desiring to injure their reputation that I am
deeply pained at their delivering themselves over to the ridicule of the
whole world by these stupid tricks, and not blushing to find themselves
confuted with mockery on every occasion. The Lord keep you safe in
body and soul, my beloved friend in Christ.</p>


<h3>XXI. TO CHARLES BLOUNT<a name="FNanchor_112_112" id="FNanchor_112_112"></a><a href="#Footnote_112_112" class="fnanchor">[112]</a></h3>

<p>Freiburg im Breisgau, 1 March 1531</p>

<p>To the noble youth Charles Mountjoy, greetings:</p>

<p>... I have determined to dedicate to you Livy, the prince of Latin
history; already many times printed, but never before in such a
magnificent or accurate edition: and if this is not enough, augmented
by five books recently discovered; these were found by some good
genius in the library of the monastery at Lorsch by Simon Grynaeus,<a name="FNanchor_113_113" id="FNanchor_113_113"></a><a href="#Footnote_113_113" class="fnanchor">[113]</a>
a man at once learned without arrogance in all branches of literature
and at the same time born for the advancement of liberal studies. Now
this monastery was built opposite Worms, or Berbethomagium, by
Charlemagne seven hundred years and more ago, and equipped with
great store of books; for this was formerly the special care of princes,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span>
and this is usually the most precious treasure of the monasteries. The
original manuscript was one of marvellous antiquity, painted<a name="FNanchor_114_114" id="FNanchor_114_114"></a><a href="#Footnote_114_114" class="fnanchor">[114]</a> in the
antique fashion with the letters in a continuous series, so that it has
proved very difficult to separate word from word, unless one is
knowledgeable, careful and trained for this very task. This caused
much trouble in preparing a copy to be handed to the printer's men
for their use; a careful and faithful watch was kept to prevent any
departure from the original in making the copy. So if the poor fragment
which came to us recently from Mainz was justly welcomed by
scholars with great rejoicing,<a name="FNanchor_115_115" id="FNanchor_115_115"></a><a href="#Footnote_115_115" class="fnanchor">[115]</a> what acclamation should greet this large
addition to Livy's <i>History</i>?</p>

<p>Would to God that this author could be restored to us complete and
entire. There are rumours flying round that give some hope of this:
men boast of unpublished Liviana existing, now in Denmark, now in
Poland, now in Germany. At least now that fortune has given us these
remnants against all men's expectations, I do not see why we should
despair of the possibility of finding still more. And here, in my
opinion at least, the princes would be acting worthily if they offered
rewards and attracted scholars to the search for such a treasure, or
prevailed upon them to publish&mdash;if there are perchance any who are
suppressing and hiding away to the great detriment of studies something
in a fit state to be of public utility. For it seems perfectly absurd
that men will dig through the bowels of the earth almost down to
Hades at vast peril and expense in order to find a little gold or silver:
and yet will utterly disregard treasures of this kind, as far above those
others in value as the soul excels the body, and not consider them
worth searching for. This is the spirit of Midases, not of princes; and
as I know that your character is utterly at variance with this spirit, I
doubt not that you will most eagerly welcome this great gain. Now,
there are chiefly two considerations which remove all possible doubt
as to this half-decade's being genuinely by Livy: in the first place that
of the diction itself, which in all features recalls its author: secondly
that of the arguments or epitomes of Floras, which correspond exactly
with these books.</p>

<p>And so, knowing that there is no kind of reading more fitting for
men of note than that of the historians, of whom Livy is easily the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span>
chief (I speak of the Roman historians), particularly as we have
nothing of Sallust beyond two fragments, and bearing in mind what
an insatiable glutton, so to speak, your father has always been for
history (and I doubt not that you resemble him in this also): I thought
I should not be acting incongruously in publishing these five books
with a special dedication to you. Although in this point I should not
wish you to resemble your father too closely. He is in the way of
poring over his books every day from dinner until midnight, which
is wearisome to his wife and attendants and a cause of much grumbling
among the servants; so far he has been able to do this without
loss of health; still, I do not think it wise for you to take the
same risk, which may not turn out as successfully. Certainly when
your father was studying along with the present king while still a
young man, they read chiefly history, with the strong approval of
his father Henry VII, a king of remarkable judgement and good sense.</p>

<p>Joined to this edition is the Chronology of Henry Glareanus, a man
of exquisite and many-sided learning, whose indefatigable industry
refines, adorns and enriches with the liberal disciplines not the renowned
Gymnasium at Freiburg alone, but this whole region as well.
The Chronology shows the order of events, the details of the wars,
and the names of persons, in which up till now there has reigned
astonishing confusion, brought about through the fault of the scribes
and dabblers in learning. Yet this was the sole guiding light of history!
Without this Pole star our navigation on the ocean of history is
completely blind: and without this thread to help him, the reader
becomes involved in an inextricable maze, learned though he be, in
these labyrinths of events. If you consider your letter well repaid by
this gift, it will now be your turn to write me a letter. Farewell.</p>


<h3>XXII. TO BARTHOLOMEW LATOMUS<a name="FNanchor_116_116" id="FNanchor_116_116"></a><a href="#Footnote_116_116" class="fnanchor">[116]</a></h3>

<p>Basle, 24 August 1535</p>

<p>To Bartholomew Latomus, greetings:</p>

<p>... In apologizing for your silence you are wasting your time,
believe me; I am not in the habit of judging tried friends by this
common courtesy. It would be impudent of me to charge you with
an omission which you have an equal right to accuse me of in turn....
The heads of the colleges are not doing anything new. They are afraid<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span>
of their own revenues suffering, this being the sole aim of most of
them. You would scarcely believe to what machinations they stooped
at Louvain in their efforts to prevent a trilingual college being established.
I worked strenuously in the matter, and have made myself
accordingly very unpopular. There was an attempt to set up a chair
of languages at Tournai, but the University of Louvain and the
Franciscans at Tournai did not rest until the project was abandoned.
The house erected for this purpose overlooked the Franciscans'
garden&mdash;that was the cause of the trouble....</p>

<p>I have had a long life, counting in years; but were I to calculate the
time spent in wrestling with fever, the stone and the gout, I have not
lived long. But we must patiently bear whatever the Lord has sent
upon us, Whose will no one can resist, and Who alone knows what is
good for us.... The glory [of an immortal name] moves me not at
all, I am not anxious over the applause of posterity. My one concern
and desire is to depart hence with Christ's favour.</p>

<p>Many French nobles have fled here for fear of the winter storm,
after having been recalled.<a name="FNanchor_117_117" id="FNanchor_117_117"></a><a href="#Footnote_117_117" class="fnanchor">[117]</a> 'The lion shall roar, who shall not fear?'
says the Prophet.<a name="FNanchor_118_118" id="FNanchor_118_118"></a><a href="#Footnote_118_118" class="fnanchor">[118]</a> A like terror has seized the English, from an unlike
cause. Certain monks have been beheaded and among them a monk
of the Order of St. Bridget<a name="FNanchor_119_119" id="FNanchor_119_119"></a><a href="#Footnote_119_119" class="fnanchor">[119]</a> was dragged along the ground, then
hanged, and finally drawn and quartered. There is a firm and probable
rumour here that the news of the Bishop of Rochester having
been co-opted by Paul III as a cardinal caused the King to hasten his
being dragged out of prison and beheaded&mdash;his method of conferring
the scarlet hat. It is all too true that Thomas More has been long in
prison and his fortune confiscated. It was being said that he too had
been executed, but I have no certain news as yet.<a name="FNanchor_120_120" id="FNanchor_120_120"></a><a href="#Footnote_120_120" class="fnanchor">[120]</a> Would that he had
never embroiled himself in this perilous business and had left the
theological cause to the theologians. The other friends who from time
to time honoured me with letters and gifts now send nothing and
write nothing from fear, and accept nothing from anyone, as if under
every stone there slept a scorpion.</p>

<p>It seems that the Pope is seriously thinking of a Council here. But
I do not see how it is to meet in the midst of such dissension between
princes and lands. The whole of Lower Germany is astonishingly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span>
infected with Anabaptists: in Upper Germany they pretend not to
notice them. They are pouring in here in droves; some are on their
way to Italy. The Emperor is besieging Goletta; in my opinion there
is more danger from the Anabaptists.</p>

<p>I do not think that France is entirely free of this plague; but they are
silent there for fear of the cudgel....</p>

<p>Now I must tell you something about my position which will
amuse you. I had written to Paul III at the instance of Louis Ber,
the distinguished theologian. Before unsealing the letter he spoke of
me with great respect. And as he had to make several scholars cardinals
for the coming Council, the name of Erasmus was proposed among
others. But obstacles were mentioned, my health, not strong enough
for the duties, and my low income; for they say there is a decree which
excludes from this office those whose annual income is less than
3,000 ducats. Now they are busy heaping benefices on me, so that I
can acquire the proper income from these and receive the red hat.
The proverbial cat in court-dress. I have a friend in Rome who is
particularly active in the business; in vain have I warned him more
than once by letter that I want no cures or pensions, that I am a man
who lives from day to day, and every day expecting death, often
longing for it, so horrible sometimes are the pains. It is hardly safe
for me to put a foot outside my bedroom, and even the merest
trifle upsets me.<a name="FNanchor_121_121" id="FNanchor_121_121"></a><a href="#Footnote_121_121" class="fnanchor">[121]</a> With my peculiar, emaciated body I can only
stand warm air. And in this condition they want to push me forward
as a candidate for benefices and cardinals' hats! But meanwhile I am
gratified by the Supreme Pontiff's delusions about me and his
feelings towards me. But I am being more wordy than I intended. I
should easily forgive your somewhat lengthy letter, if you were to
repeat that fault often.... Farewell.</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span></p>
<h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_21_21" id="Footnote_21_21"></a><a href="#FNanchor_21_21"><span class="label">[21]</span></a> Servatius Roger (d. 1540), whom Erasmus came to know as a young monk
soon after his entry into Steyn, became eighth Prior of Steyn; it was as Prior
that he wrote to Erasmus in 1514 to urge him to return to the monastery,
see pp. 11, 87 f., 212 ff.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_22_22" id="Footnote_22_22"></a><a href="#FNanchor_22_22"><span class="label">[22]</span></a> Juvenal, ix. 18-20.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_23_23" id="Footnote_23_23"></a><a href="#FNanchor_23_23"><span class="label">[23]</span></a> N. Werner (d. 5 September 1504), later Prior of Steyn.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_24_24" id="Footnote_24_24"></a><a href="#FNanchor_24_24"><span class="label">[24]</span></a> Probably James Stuart, brother of James IV of Scotland, Archbishop of St.
Andrews, 1497, aged about twenty-one at this time.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_25_25" id="Footnote_25_25"></a><a href="#FNanchor_25_25"><span class="label">[25]</span></a> Relative of John Fisher, Bishop of Rochester. Took his doctor's degree in
Italy, returned to England 1507.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_26_26" id="Footnote_26_26"></a><a href="#FNanchor_26_26"><span class="label">[26]</span></a> William Grocyn (<i>c.</i> 1446-1519), Fellow of New College, one of the first
to teach Greek in Oxford.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_27_27" id="Footnote_27_27"></a><a href="#FNanchor_27_27"><span class="label">[27]</span></a> Thomas Linacre (<i>c.</i> 1460-1524), Fellow of All Souls College, Oxford,
1484. Translator of Galen. Helped to found the College of Physicians, 1518.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_28_28" id="Footnote_28_28"></a><a href="#FNanchor_28_28"><span class="label">[28]</span></a> James Batt (1464?-1502), secretary to the council of the town of Bergen.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_29_29" id="Footnote_29_29"></a><a href="#FNanchor_29_29"><span class="label">[29]</span></a> Anne of Burgundy, the Lady of Veere (1469?-1518), patroness
of Erasmus until 1501-2, when she remarried.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_30_30" id="Footnote_30_30"></a><a href="#FNanchor_30_30"><span class="label">[30]</span></a> i.e. to replace Greek words either corrupted or omitted.
Erasmus is here referring probably to the text of the <i>Letters</i> of
Jerome; he uses the same expression in his letter of 21 May 1515 to Leo
X (Allen 335, v. 268 ff.): 'I have purified the text of the Letters ...
and carefully restored the Greek, which was either missing altogether or
inserted incorrectly'.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_31_31" id="Footnote_31_31"></a><a href="#FNanchor_31_31"><span class="label">[31]</span></a> Brother of Henry of Bergen (Bishop of Cambrai) and by this time Abbot
of St. Bertin at St. Omer, where he was forcibly installed by his brother the
bishop in 1493.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_32_32" id="Footnote_32_32"></a><a href="#FNanchor_32_32"><span class="label">[32]</span></a> 'And my sin is ever before me,' where <i>contra</i> could
be rendered as either 'before' or 'against'; the ambiguity is resolved
by referring to the Greek, where &epsilon;&nu;&omega;&pi;&omicron;&nu;
= face to face with.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_33_33" id="Footnote_33_33"></a><a href="#FNanchor_33_33"><span class="label">[33]</span></a> Apparently a loose statement of the <i>Constitutions</i> of
Clement V, promulgated after the Council of Vienne, 1311-12, Bk. 5, tit.
1, cap. 1, in which for the better conversion of infidels it was
ordained that two teachers for each of the three languages, Hebrew,
Arabic, and Chaldaean be appointed in each of the four Universities,
Paris, Oxford, Bologna and Salamanca. Greek was included in the original
list, but afterwards omitted.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_34_34" id="Footnote_34_34"></a><a href="#FNanchor_34_34"><span class="label">[34]</span></a> Probably George Hermonymus of Sparta.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_35_35" id="Footnote_35_35"></a><a href="#FNanchor_35_35"><span class="label">[35]</span></a> Cf. Juvenal, iii.78. (<i>Graeculus esuriens</i>.)</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_36_36" id="Footnote_36_36"></a><a href="#FNanchor_36_36"><span class="label">[36]</span></a> William Warham (1450?-1532) became Archbishop of Canterbury
in 1503, Lord Chancellor of England, 1504-15, Chancellor of Oxford
University from 1506. This letter forms the preface to <i>Hecuba</i> in
<i>Euripidis</i> ... <i>Hecuba et Iphigenia; Latinae factae Erasmo
Roterodamo interprete</i>, Paris, J. Badius, September 1506.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_37_37" id="Footnote_37_37"></a><a href="#FNanchor_37_37"><span class="label">[37]</span></a>
&epsilon;&nu; &tau;&omega; &pi;&iota;&theta;&omega; &tau;&eta;&nu;
&kappa;&epsilon;&rho;&alpha;&mu;&epsilon;&iota;&alpha;&nu;,
i.e., to run before one
can walk, to make a winejar being the most advanced job in pottery.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_38_38" id="Footnote_38_38"></a><a href="#FNanchor_38_38"><span class="label">[38]</span></a> Politian translated parts of Iliad, 2-5 into Latin
hexameters, dedicating the work to Lorenzo dei Medici. Published by A.
Mai, Spicilegium Romanum, ii.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_39_39" id="Footnote_39_39"></a><a href="#FNanchor_39_39"><span class="label">[39]</span></a> Nicholas de Valle translated the <i>Works and Days</i>
(<i>Georgica</i>), Bonninus Mombritius the <i>Theogonia</i>.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_40_40" id="Footnote_40_40"></a><a href="#FNanchor_40_40"><span class="label">[40]</span></a> Martin Phileticus.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_41_41" id="Footnote_41_41"></a><a href="#FNanchor_41_41"><span class="label">[41]</span></a> No. 3; his Funeral Orations were printed <i>c.</i> 1481 at Milan.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_42_42" id="Footnote_42_42"></a><a href="#FNanchor_42_42"><span class="label">[42]</span></a> Aldus Manutius (1449-1515) founded the Aldine Press at
Venice, 1494.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_43_43" id="Footnote_43_43"></a><a href="#FNanchor_43_43"><span class="label">[43]</span></a> Published by Aldus, 1513.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_44_44" id="Footnote_44_44"></a><a href="#FNanchor_44_44"><span class="label">[44]</span></a> Published by Aldus, 1528.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_45_45" id="Footnote_45_45"></a><a href="#FNanchor_45_45"><span class="label">[45]</span></a> Published by Aldus, 1518, although projected in 1499.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_46_46" id="Footnote_46_46"></a><a href="#FNanchor_46_46"><span class="label">[46]</span></a> <i>Euripidis ... Hecuba et Iphigenia</i> [in Aulide];
<i>Latinae factae Erasmo Roterodamo interprete</i>, Paris, J. Badius, 13
September 1506. Reprinted by Aldus at Venice, December 1507 (and by
Froben at Basle in 1518 and 1524).</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_47_47" id="Footnote_47_47"></a><a href="#FNanchor_47_47"><span class="label">[47]</span></a> Thomas More (1478-1535). This letter is the preface to the <i>Moriae
Encomium</i>, published by Gilles Gourmont at Paris without date, reprinted by
Sch&uuml;rer at Strasbourg, August 1511.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_48_48" id="Footnote_48_48"></a><a href="#FNanchor_48_48"><span class="label">[48]</span></a> The Greek 'laughing philosopher'.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_49_49" id="Footnote_49_49"></a><a href="#FNanchor_49_49"><span class="label">[49]</span></a> John Colet (1466?-1519), Dean of St. Paul's 1504, had founded St. Paul's
School in the previous year (1510).</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_50_50" id="Footnote_50_50"></a><a href="#FNanchor_50_50"><span class="label">[50]</span></a> Raffaele Riario (1461-1521), Leo X's most formidable rival in the election
of 1513.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_51_51" id="Footnote_51_51"></a><a href="#FNanchor_51_51"><span class="label">[51]</span></a> Francesco Alidosi of Imola, d. 1511.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_52_52" id="Footnote_52_52"></a><a href="#FNanchor_52_52"><span class="label">[52]</span></a> Robert Guib&eacute;(<i>c.</i> 1456-1513), Cardinal of St. Anastasia and Bishop of
Nantes (1507).</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_53_53" id="Footnote_53_53"></a><a href="#FNanchor_53_53"><span class="label">[53]</span></a> Leo X.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_54_54" id="Footnote_54_54"></a><a href="#FNanchor_54_54"><span class="label">[54]</span></a> Wolsey.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_55_55" id="Footnote_55_55"></a><a href="#FNanchor_55_55"><span class="label">[55]</span></a> <i>Enchiridion militis Christiani</i>, printed in
<i>Lucubratiunculae</i>, 1503.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_56_56" id="Footnote_56_56"></a><a href="#FNanchor_56_56"><span class="label">[56]</span></a> A new and enlarged edition under the title <i>Adagiorum
Chiliades</i>, printed by Aldus in 1508.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_57_57" id="Footnote_57_57"></a><a href="#FNanchor_57_57"><span class="label">[57]</span></a> <i>De duplici copia verborum ac rerum commentarii duo</i>,
Paris, Badius, 1512.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_58_58" id="Footnote_58_58"></a><a href="#FNanchor_58_58"><span class="label">[58]</span></a> The Hebrew scholar, who adhered to the Reformation, 1523.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_59_59" id="Footnote_59_59"></a><a href="#FNanchor_59_59"><span class="label">[59]</span></a> F. Ximenes (1436-1517), confessor of Queen Isabella, Archbishop of
Toledo, 1495, founded Alcal&aacute; University, 1500; he promoted the Polyglot
Bible.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_60_60" id="Footnote_60_60"></a><a href="#FNanchor_60_60"><span class="label">[60]</span></a> (1428-1524), taught medicine at Ferrara and made translations from
Aristotle, Dio Cassius, Galen and Hippocrates.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_61_61" id="Footnote_61_61"></a><a href="#FNanchor_61_61"><span class="label">[61]</span></a> (d. 1525) Professor of Medicine at Naples, and from 1507 at Venice;
physician to Aldus's household, where he met Erasmus.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_62_62" id="Footnote_62_62"></a><a href="#FNanchor_62_62"><span class="label">[62]</span></a> (1466-1532), physician, astronomer and humanist; learned Greek with
Erasmus in Paris. He was physician to the Court of Francis I.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_63_63" id="Footnote_63_63"></a><a href="#FNanchor_63_63"><span class="label">[63]</span></a> (1479-1537), Dean of the Medical Faculty at Paris, 1508-9, and Physician
to Francis I.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_64_64" id="Footnote_64_64"></a><a href="#FNanchor_64_64"><span class="label">[64]</span></a> (1467/8-1540), the Parisian humanist, whose <i>Annotationes
in xxiv Pandectarum libros</i> were published by Badius in 1508.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_65_65" id="Footnote_65_65"></a><a href="#FNanchor_65_65"><span class="label">[65]</span></a> Ulrich Z&auml;si or Zasius (1461-1535) Lector Ordinarius in Laws at Freiburg
from 1506 until his death.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_66_66" id="Footnote_66_66"></a><a href="#FNanchor_66_66"><span class="label">[66]</span></a> Henry Loriti of canton Glarus, usually known as Glareanus (1488-1563),
had an academy at Basle where he took in thirty boarders.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_67_67" id="Footnote_67_67"></a><a href="#FNanchor_67_67"><span class="label">[67]</span></a> Published at Basle, March 1519.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_68_68" id="Footnote_68_68"></a><a href="#FNanchor_68_68"><span class="label">[68]</span></a> A translation of Galen's <i>Methodus medendi</i>, not
printed until June 1519. Lupset supervised the printing.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_69_69" id="Footnote_69_69"></a><a href="#FNanchor_69_69"><span class="label">[69]</span></a> This may be the <i>De pueris statim ac liberaliter
instituendis</i>, composed in Italy. More writes to Erasmus in 1516
(Allen 502) that he has received part of the MS. from Lupset, but it was
not published until 1529.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_70_70" id="Footnote_70_70"></a><a href="#FNanchor_70_70"><span class="label">[70]</span></a> Luther's <i>Theses</i>, posted 31 October 1517 and printed
shortly afterwards at Wittenberg.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_71_71" id="Footnote_71_71"></a><a href="#FNanchor_71_71"><span class="label">[71]</span></a> The proposals for a crusade drawn up at Rome, 16 November
1517.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_72_72" id="Footnote_72_72"></a><a href="#FNanchor_72_72"><span class="label">[72]</span></a> The <i>Julius Exclusus</i>, an attack on Pope Julius II,
who died 1513. Erasmus never directly denied his authorship, and More
speaks of a copy in Erasmus's hand (Allen 502).</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_73_73" id="Footnote_73_73"></a><a href="#FNanchor_73_73"><span class="label">[73]</span></a> Beat Bild (1485-1547), whose family came from Rheinau near Schlettstadt,
became M.A., Paris, in 1505. He worked as a corrector at Henry
Stephanus's press in Paris, with Sch&uuml;rer in Strasbourg, and from 1511 for fifteen
years with Amerbach and Froben in Basle, where he edited and superintended
the publication of numerous books.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_74_74" id="Footnote_74_74"></a><a href="#FNanchor_74_74"><span class="label">[74]</span></a> Haecceity, 'thisness', 'individuality', t.t. of Scotistic
philosophy, cf. quiddity, 'essence'.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_75_75" id="Footnote_75_75"></a><a href="#FNanchor_75_75"><span class="label">[75]</span></a> I.e. the Literary Society of Strasbourg. A letter survives, addressed to
Erasmus in the name of this Society, dated 1 September 1514, in which occur
all the names mentioned here, with the exception of Gerbel's.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_76_76" id="Footnote_76_76"></a><a href="#FNanchor_76_76"><span class="label">[76]</span></a> A portrait drawing of Varnb&uuml;ler by Albrecht D&uuml;rer is in the Albertina,
Vienna; D&uuml;rer made also a woodcut from it.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_77_77" id="Footnote_77_77"></a><a href="#FNanchor_77_77"><span class="label">[77]</span></a> Hermann, Count of Neuenahr (1492-1530), a pupil of Caesarius, with
whom he visited Italy in 1508-9. In 1517 he lectured in Cologne on Greek and
Hebrew, and became later Chancellor of the University. Among his works is a
letter in defence of Erasmus.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_78_78" id="Footnote_78_78"></a><a href="#FNanchor_78_78"><span class="label">[78]</span></a> <i>Operationes in Psalmos</i>. Wittenberg, 1519.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_79_79" id="Footnote_79_79"></a><a href="#FNanchor_79_79"><span class="label">[79]</span></a> James Probst or Proost (Pr&aelig;positus) of Ypres (1486-1562).</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_80_80" id="Footnote_80_80"></a><a href="#FNanchor_80_80"><span class="label">[80]</span></a> Ulrich Hutten (1488-1523), the German knight and humanist.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_81_81" id="Footnote_81_81"></a><a href="#FNanchor_81_81"><span class="label">[81]</span></a> Satires 2, vii. 96 (where however the gladiators are the
subject, and not the artists, of a crude charcoal sketch).</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_82_82" id="Footnote_82_82"></a><a href="#FNanchor_82_82"><span class="label">[82]</span></a> Sir Thomas More's portrait at the age of fifty was painted by Hans Holbein;
it is now in the Frick Collection, New York. Two portrait drawings of him
by Holbein are in the Royal Library at Windsor Castle. See also p. 236, note 4.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_83_83" id="Footnote_83_83"></a><a href="#FNanchor_83_83"><span class="label">[83]</span></a> John More (1453?-1530), at this time a Judge of Common Pleas, promoted
to the King's Bench in 1523.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_84_84" id="Footnote_84_84"></a><a href="#FNanchor_84_84"><span class="label">[84]</span></a> Jane Colt (<i>c.</i> 1487-1511).</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_85_85" id="Footnote_85_85"></a><a href="#FNanchor_85_85"><span class="label">[85]</span></a> More's second daughter was Elizabeth; Alice was the name of
his stepdaughter.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_86_86" id="Footnote_86_86"></a><a href="#FNanchor_86_86"><span class="label">[86]</span></a> Alice Middleton.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_87_87" id="Footnote_87_87"></a><a href="#FNanchor_87_87"><span class="label">[87]</span></a> A group portrait of Sir Thomas More with his entire family was painted
by Hans Holbein about 1527-8 at More's house in Chelsea. It was commissioned
from the artist at the recommendation of Erasmus. The original has been lost;
see Plate XXIX and p. 260.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_88_88" id="Footnote_88_88"></a><a href="#FNanchor_88_88"><span class="label">[88]</span></a> More was elected Under-Sheriff, 1510.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_89_89" id="Footnote_89_89"></a><a href="#FNanchor_89_89"><span class="label">[89]</span></a> W. Pirckheimer (1470-1530), humanist. After studying law and Greek in
Italy he settled at Nuremberg. Some of his works were illustrated by D&uuml;rer.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_90_90" id="Footnote_90_90"></a><a href="#FNanchor_90_90"><span class="label">[90]</span></a> Alexander Stewart (<i>c.</i> 1493-1513), natural son of
James IV of Scotland, fell at Flodden. Erasmus was his tutor in Italy in
1508-9. For details of this ring see p. 247 f.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_91_91" id="Footnote_91_91"></a><a href="#FNanchor_91_91"><span class="label">[91]</span></a> D&uuml;rer made three portraits of him, two drawings (now in Berlin and in
Brunswick) and an engraving.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_92_92" id="Footnote_92_92"></a><a href="#FNanchor_92_92"><span class="label">[92]</span></a> The Greek sculptor, <i>c.</i> 350 <span class="smcap">B.C.</span> In a letter to Pirckheimer
dated 8 January
1523-4 (Allen 1408, 29 n.) Erasmus appears dissatisfied with the reverse of the
medal cast by Metsys in 1519. Extant examples all show a reverse revised in
accordance with his suggestions.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_93_93" id="Footnote_93_93"></a><a href="#FNanchor_93_93"><span class="label">[93]</span></a> A drawing of Erasmus was made by D&uuml;rer in 1520 (now in the Louvre),
and an engraving in 1526.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_94_94" id="Footnote_94_94"></a><a href="#FNanchor_94_94"><span class="label">[94]</span></a> Erasmus had his portrait painted by Holbein several times in 1523-4 and
1530-1. A number of originals and copies are still extant.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_95_95" id="Footnote_95_95"></a><a href="#FNanchor_95_95"><span class="label">[95]</span></a> Luther's letter, in which he evidently attempted to mitigate Erasmus's
indignation against his <i>De Servo Arbitrio</i> (The Will not free), which was a reply
to Erasmus's <i>De Libero Arbitrio</i> (On free Will), 1524. Luther's letter came 'too
late' because Erasmus had already composed the <i>Hyperaspistes Diatribe adversus
Servum Arbitrium Martini Lutheri</i>, Basle, Froben, 1526.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_96_96" id="Footnote_96_96"></a><a href="#FNanchor_96_96"><span class="label">[96]</span></a> John Fisher (1459?-1535).</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_97_97" id="Footnote_97_97"></a><a href="#FNanchor_97_97"><span class="label">[97]</span></a> John Dobeneck of Wendelstein.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_98_98" id="Footnote_98_98"></a><a href="#FNanchor_98_98"><span class="label">[98]</span></a> i.e., the <i>De Libero Arbitrio</i>.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_99_99" id="Footnote_99_99"></a><a href="#FNanchor_99_99"><span class="label">[99]</span></a> Reading <i>reticeo</i> for <i>retices</i>.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_100_100" id="Footnote_100_100"></a><a href="#FNanchor_100_100"><span class="label">[100]</span></a> Theophrastus Bombast of Einsiedeln (also known as Theophrastus of
Hohenheim, whence his ancestors came), 1493-1541. The name Paracelsus may
be a translation of Hohenheim, or may signify a claim to be greater than
Celsus, the Roman physician. Appointed <i>physicus et ordinarius Basiliensis</i> in 1527.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_101_101" id="Footnote_101_101"></a><a href="#FNanchor_101_101"><span class="label">[101]</span></a> Paracelsus had diagnosed the stone, from which Erasmus suffered, as being
due to crystallization of salt in the kidneys.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_102_102" id="Footnote_102_102"></a><a href="#FNanchor_102_102"><span class="label">[102]</span></a> Froben died before the year was out.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_103_103" id="Footnote_103_103"></a><a href="#FNanchor_103_103"><span class="label">[103]</span></a> Martin Butzer (<i>c.</i> 1491-1551), later Bucer, a Dominican, who obtained
dispensation from his vows in 1521 and adhered to the Reformation. At this
time he was a member of the Strasbourg party, and this letter is probably an
answer to a request for an interview for Bucer and other Strasbourg delegates on
their way through Basle to Berne. He eventually became Regius Professor of
Divinity at Cambridge under Edward VI.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_104_104" id="Footnote_104_104"></a><a href="#FNanchor_104_104"><span class="label">[104]</span></a> Henry of Eppendorff, a former friend who followed Hutten on his quarrel
with Erasmus.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_105_105" id="Footnote_105_105"></a><a href="#FNanchor_105_105"><span class="label">[105]</span></a> Erasmus stated in the <i>Responsio</i> of 1 August 1530, that in the Reformed
schools little was taught beyond <i>dogmata et linguae</i> and it may be some such
criticism, based on what he had heard from a reliable source (perhaps Pirckheimer
at Nuremberg), to which Bucer had taken exception in his letter.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_106_106" id="Footnote_106_106"></a><a href="#FNanchor_106_106"><span class="label">[106]</span></a> Alfonso Valdes (1490?-1532), a devoted admirer of Erasmus, was from
1522 onwards one of Charles V's secretaries. He wrote two dialogues in
defence of the Emperor.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_107_107" id="Footnote_107_107"></a><a href="#FNanchor_107_107"><span class="label">[107]</span></a> On this gem see Edgar Wind, 'Aenigma Termini,' in <i>Journ. of the Warburg
Institute</i>, I (1937-8), p. 66.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_108_108" id="Footnote_108_108"></a><a href="#FNanchor_108_108"><span class="label">[108]</span></a> Greek god of ridicule.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_109_109" id="Footnote_109_109"></a><a href="#FNanchor_109_109"><span class="label">[109]</span></a> Livy, I, 55, 3. Livy refers to the clearing of the Tarpeian
rock by Tarquinius Superbus (534-510 <span class="smcap">B.C.</span>), involving the
deconsecration of existing shrines, as a preliminary to the building of
the temple of Juppiter Capitolinus. The auguries allowed the evacuation
of the other gods, Terminus and Juventas alone refusing to depart.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_110_110" id="Footnote_110_110"></a><a href="#FNanchor_110_110"><span class="label">[110]</span></a> Livy, 5, 54, 7.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_111_111" id="Footnote_111_111"></a><a href="#FNanchor_111_111"><span class="label">[111]</span></a> See p. 66.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_112_112" id="Footnote_112_112"></a><a href="#FNanchor_112_112"><span class="label">[112]</span></a> Preface to <i>T. Livii ... histori&aelig;</i>, Basle, Froben,
1531. Charles Blount (b. 1518), eldest son of William Blount, Lord
Mountjoy.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_113_113" id="Footnote_113_113"></a><a href="#FNanchor_113_113"><span class="label">[113]</span></a> <i>c.</i> 1495-1541, Professor of Greek at Basle, 1529. He
found the MS. containing Livy, Bks. 41-5, in 1527.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_114_114" id="Footnote_114_114"></a><a href="#FNanchor_114_114"><span class="label">[114]</span></a> Not 'illuminated.' Erasmus refers elsewhere (Allen 919. 55)
to a codex as <i>non scripto sed picto</i>.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_115_115" id="Footnote_115_115"></a><a href="#FNanchor_115_115"><span class="label">[115]</span></a> The MS., now lost, containing Bks. 33, 17-49 and 40, 37-59,
found in the cathedral library at Mainz, published in Mainz, J.
Schoeffer, November 1518.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_116_116" id="Footnote_116_116"></a><a href="#FNanchor_116_116"><span class="label">[116]</span></a> (1498?-1570). Taught Latin and Greek at Freiburg and became
head of a college there; in 1534 became the first Professor of Latin in
the Coll&egrave;ge de France. Retired to Coblenz in 1542.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_117_117" id="Footnote_117_117"></a><a href="#FNanchor_117_117"><span class="label">[117]</span></a> By the Edict of Courcy.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_118_118" id="Footnote_118_118"></a><a href="#FNanchor_118_118"><span class="label">[118]</span></a> Amos iii. 8.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_119_119" id="Footnote_119_119"></a><a href="#FNanchor_119_119"><span class="label">[119]</span></a> Richard Reynolds of the Bridgettine Syon College at Isleworth.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_120_120" id="Footnote_120_120"></a><a href="#FNanchor_120_120"><span class="label">[120]</span></a> More had been executed 6 July 1535.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_121_121" id="Footnote_121_121"></a><a href="#FNanchor_121_121"><span class="label">[121]</span></a>
Lit. 'not even the peeping of an ass is safe.' This Greek proverb, used of those
who go to law about trifles, refers to the story of a potter whose wares were
smashed by a donkey in the workshop going to look out of the window. In
court the potter, asked of what he complained, replied: 'Of the peeping of an
ass.' See Apuleius, <i>Met.</i> <span class="smcap">IX.</span>, 42.</p></div>




<h2><a name="illustrations" id="illustrations"></a>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</h2>

<p><span class="smcap">I</span>. PORTRAIT OF ERASMUS. By Quentin Metsys. 1517. Rome, Galleria
Corsini. <i>Facing p. 14</i></p>

<p>One half of a diptych, the pendant being a portrait of Erasmus's friend,
Pierre Gilles (Petrus Aegidius), town clerk of Antwerp. The diptych was sent
to Sir Thomas More in London; the portrait of Gilles is now in the collection
of the Earl of Radnor at Longford Castle.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">II</span>. VIEW OF ROTTERDAM at the beginning of the sixteenth century. Contemporary
engraving, hand-coloured. <i>Facing p. 15</i></p>

<p><span class="smcap">III</span>. PORTRAIT BUST OF JOHN COLET, Dean of St. Paul's (1467-1519). By
Pietro Torrigiano. St. Paul's School, Hammersmith, London. <i>Facing p. 30</i></p>

<p>John Colet, a close friend of Erasmus (see pp. 30-1), founded St. Paul's
School. The artist, a Florentine sculptor, was active in London for many years
and is best known for his effigies on some of the royal tombs in Westminster
Abbey. The attribution of this bust is due to F. Grossmann (<i>Journal of the
Warburg and Courtauld Institutes</i>, <span class="smcap">XIII</span>, July 1950),
who identified it as a cast
from Torrigiano's original bust on Colet's tomb (destroyed in the Great Fire
of 1666) and also pointed out that Holbein's drawing of Colet in the Royal
Library at Windsor Castle (No. 12199) was made from the lost monument
after Colet's death.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">IV</span>. PORTRAIT OF SIR THOMAS MORE (1477-1535). Dated 1527. By Hans
Holbein. New York, Frick Collection. <i>Facing p. 31</i></p>

<p>See also Holbein's drawing of Thomas More with his family, Pl. <span class="smcap">XXIX</span>.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">V</span>. Pen and ink sketches by Erasmus. 1514. Basle, University Library (MS
A. <span class="smcap">IX</span>. 56). <i>Facing p. 46</i></p>

<p>These doodles of grotesque heads and other scribbles are found in Erasmus's
manuscript copy of the <i>Scholia to the Letters of St. Jerome</i>, preserved in the
Library of Basle University and published by Emil Major (<i>Handzeichnungen
des Erasmus von Rotterdam</i>, Basle, 1933). Erasmus worked on this manuscript
shortly after his arrival in Basle in August 1514. His edition of the <i>Letters of
Jerome</i> was published by Froben in 1516 (see p. 90).</p>

<p><span class="smcap">VI</span>. A Manuscript Page of Erasmus. Basle, University Library. <i>Facing p. 47</i></p>

<p>See note on Pl. <span class="smcap">V.</span></p>

<p><span class="smcap">VII</span>. Title-page of the <i>Adagia</i>, printed by Aldus Manutius in 1508. <i>Facing p. 62</i></p>

<p>The printing of this edition was supervised by Erasmus during his visit to
Venice (see pp. 64-5). On this title-page is the emblem of the Aldine Press,
which is found again on the reverse of Aldus's portrait medal (Pl. IX).</p>

<p><span class="smcap">VIII</span>. VIEW OF VENICE, 1493. Woodcut. <i>After p. 62</i></p>

<p>From Schedel's <i>Weltchronik</i>, Nuremberg, 1493.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span></p>

<p><span class="smcap">IX</span>. PORTRAIT MEDAL OF ALDUS MANUTIUS. By an unknown Venetian
medallist. Venice, Museo Correr. <i>After p. 62</i></p>

<p>On the reverse, the emblem adopted by Aldus in 1495 from an antique coin,
an anchor entwined by a dolphin. The Greek inscription,
&sigma;&pi;&epsilon;&upsilon;&delta;&epsilon;
&beta;&rho;&alpha;&delta;&epsilon;&omicron;&sigmaf;
(Hasten slowly), is also of antique origin. Cf. Hill, <i>Corpus of Italian Medals</i>,
1930, No. 536.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">X</span>. A page from the printed copy of the <i>Praise of Folly</i> with a drawing by Hans
Holbein. Basle, &Ouml;ffentliche Kunstsammlung (Print Room). <i>Facing p. 63</i></p>

<p>This copy of the <i>Laus Stultitiae</i>, which Holbein decorated with marginal
drawings in 1515, belonged at that time to Oswald Myconius, a friend of
Froben's. Apparently not all the drawings in the book are by Hans Holbein.</p>

<p>The drawing shows Erasmus working at his desk, fol. S.3 recto. Above
this thumbnail sketch there is a Latin note in the handwriting of Myconius:
'When Erasmus came here and saw this portrait, he exclaimed, "Heigh-ho,
if Erasmus still looked like that, he would quickly find himself a wife!"'</p>

<p><span class="smcap">XI</span>. A page from the printed copy of the <i>Praise of Folly</i> with a drawing by
Hans Holbein. Basle, &Ouml;ffentliche Kunstsammlung (Print Room). <i>Facing p. 78</i></p>

<p>See note on Pl. <span class="smcap">X</span>. This is the last page of the book, fol. X.4 recto; the
drawing shows Folly descending from the pulpit at the close of her discourse.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">XII</span>. THE PRINTING PRESS OF JOSSE BADIUS. Woodcut by Albrecht D&uuml;rer,
1520-1. <i>Facing p. 79</i></p>

<p>Josse Badius of Brabant had established in Paris the Ascensian Press (named
after his native place, Assche); he printed many books by Erasmus. See pp. 60,
79-83.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">XIII</span>. PORTRAIT OF JOHANNES FROBEN (1460-1527). By Hans Holbein.
About 1522-3. Hampton Court, H.M. The Queen. <i>Facing p. 86</i></p>

<p>On this portrait of Erasmus's printer, publisher and friend, see Paul Ganz,
<i>The Paintings of Hans Holbein</i>, 1950, Cat. No. 33.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">XIV</span>. DESIGN FOR THE PRINTER'S EMBLEM OF JOHANNES FROBEN.
Tempera on canvas, heightened with gold. By Hans Holbein. 1523. Basle,
&Ouml;ffentliche Kunstsammlung (Print Room). <i>Facing p. 87</i></p>

<p>The emblem shows the wand of Mercury, and two serpents with a dove,
an allusion to the Gospel of St. Matthew, x. 16: 'Be ye therefore wise as
serpents and harmless as doves.'</p>

<p><span class="smcap">XV</span>. THE HANDS OF ERASMUS. Drawing by Hans Holbein. 1523. Paris,
Louvre. <i>Facing p. 102</i></p>

<p>These studies were used by Holbein for his portraits of Erasmus now at
Longford Castle (Pl. <span class="smcap">XVI</span>) and in the Louvre (Pl. <span class="smcap">XXVIII</span>).</p>

<p><span class="smcap">XVI</span>. PORTRAIT OF ERASMUS AT THE AGE OF 57. Dated 1523. By Hans
Holbein. Longford Castle, Earl of Radnor. <i>Facing p. 103</i></p>

<p>The Greek inscription, 'The Labours of Hercules', alludes to Erasmus's own
view of his life (see p. 125). On this portrait see P. Ganz, op. cit., Cat. No. 34.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span></p>

<p><span class="smcap">XVII</span>. VIEW OF BASLE. Woodcut. <i>Facing p. 134</i></p>

<p>From the <i>Chronik</i> by Johann Stumpf, 1548.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">XVIII</span>. Title-page of the New Testament, printed by Froben in 1520. Designed
by Hans Holbein. <i>Facing p. 135</i></p>

<p><span class="smcap">XIX</span>. THE ERASMUS HOUSE AT ANDERLECHT NEAR BRUSSELS. <i>Facing p. 150</i></p>

<p>From May to November 1521 Erasmus stayed here as the guest of his friend,
the canon Pierre Wichmann. The house was built in 1515 under the sign of
the Swan. It is now a museum in which are preserved numerous relics of
Erasmus and his age.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">XX</span>. The Room used by Erasmus as study during his stay at
Anderlecht. <i>Facing p. 151</i></p>

<p><span class="smcap">XXI</span>. PORTRAIT OF MARTIN LUTHER AS A MONK. Engraving by Lucas
Cranach. 1520. <i>Facing p. 158</i></p>

<p><span class="smcap">XXII</span>. PORTRAIT OF ULRICH VON HUTTEN (1488-1523). Anonymous
German woodcut. <i>Facing p. 159</i></p>

<p><span class="smcap">XXIII</span>. THE HOUSE 'ZUM WALFISCH' AT FREIBURG-IM-BREISGAU.
<i>Facing p. 174</i></p>

<p>When Erasmus arrived in Freiburg in 1529, he was invited by the Town
Council to live in this house, which had been built for the Emperor Maximilian.
See p. 176.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">XXIV</span>. PORTRAIT OF CARDINAL HIERONYMUS ALEANDER. Drawing.
Arras, Library. <i>Facing p. 175</i></p>

<p>One of the 280 portrait drawings collected in the codex known as the <i>Recueil
d'Arras</i>.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">XXV</span>. PORTRAIT OF ERASMUS. By Hans Holbein. 1531-2. Basle, &Ouml;ffentliche
Kunstsammlung (Print Room). <i>Facing p. 190</i></p>

<p>'Holbein may have painted this little roundel on the occasion of a visit to
Erasmus at Freiburg' (P. Ganz, op. cit.).</p>

<p><span class="smcap">XXVI</span>. ERASMUS DICTATING TO HIS SECRETARY. Woodcut, 1530.
<i>Facing p. 191</i></p>

<p>The woodcut shows the aged Erasmus dictating to his amanuensis Gilbertus
Cognatus in a room of the University of Freiburg. From <i>Effigies Desiderii
Erasmi Roterdami ... &amp; Gilberti Cognati Nozereni</i>, Basle, Joh. Oporinus, 1533.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">XXVII</span>. PORTRAIT MEDAL OF ERASMUS. By Quentin Metsys. 1519.
London, British Museum. <i>Facing p. 206</i></p>

<p>The reverse shows Erasmus's device, Terminus, and the motto <i>Concedo
nulli</i>, both of which were also engraved on his sealing ring. For Erasmus's
own interpretation see his letter, pp. 246-8. The Greek inscription means,
'His writings will give you a better picture of him'.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span></p>

<p><span class="smcap">XXVIII</span>. PORTRAIT OF ERASMUS. After 1523. By Hans Holbein. Paris,
Louvre. <i>Facing p. 207</i></p>

<p><span class="smcap">XXIX</span>. THOMAS MORE AND HIS FAMILY. Pen and ink sketch by Hans
Holbein, 1527. Basle, &Ouml;ffentliche Kunstsammlung (Print Room). <i>Facing p. 238</i></p>

<p>'The portrait, probably commissioned on the occasion of the scholar's
fiftieth birthday, shows him surrounded by his large family. It is the first
example of an intimate group portrait not of devotional or ceremonial
character painted this side of the Alps. At that time Thomas More was living
in his country house at Chelsea with his second wife, Alice, his father, his only
son and his son's fianc&eacute;e, three married daughters, eleven grandchildren and a
relative, Margaret Giggs. The artist, who had been recommended to him by
his friend Erasmus, was also enjoying his hospitality.' (P. Ganz, op. cit., Cat.
No. 175).</p>

<p>The original painting is lost; a copy by Richard Locky, dated 1530, is at
Nostell Priory. The drawing was sent by More to Erasmus at Basle so as to
introduce his family, for which purpose the names and ages were inscribed.
In two letters to Sir Thomas and his daughter, dated 5 and 6 September 1530,
Erasmus sent his enthusiastic thanks: 'I cannot put into words the deep pleasure
I felt when the painter Holbein gave me the picture of your whole family,
which is so completely successful that I should scarcely be able to see you better
if I were with you.' (Allen, vol. 8, Nos. 2211-2).</p>

<p>Compare also Erasmus's pen portrait of Sir Thomas More in his letter to
Hutten, pp. 231-9.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">XXX</span>. PORTRAIT OF ERASMUS. Charcoal drawing by Albrecht D&uuml;rer, dated
1520. Paris, Louvre. <i>Facing p. 239</i></p>

<p>Drawn at Antwerp, during D&uuml;rer's journey to the Netherlands. When he
received the false news of the murder of Luther at Whitsuntide 1521, D&uuml;rer
wrote in his diary: 'O Erasmus of Rotterdam, where art thou? Listen, thou
Knight of Christ, ride out with the Lord Christ, defend the truth and earn for
thyself the martyr's crown!'</p>

<p><span class="smcap">XXXI</span>. PORTRAIT OF ERASMUS. Engraving by Albrecht D&uuml;rer, dated
1526. <i>Facing p. 246</i></p>

<p>In his <i>Diary of a Journey to the Netherlands</i>, D&uuml;rer noted in late
August 1520: 'I have taken Erasmus of Rotterdam's portrait once more',
but he does not say when he took his first portrait. The earlier work is
assumed to have been done one month before, and to be identical with the
drawing in the Louvre (Pl. <span class="smcap">XXX</span>). This drawing is mentioned by
Erasmus himself in a letter to Pirckheimer of 1525 (p. 240); in an
earlier letter to the same friend (1522) he says that D&uuml;rer had started
to paint him in 1520. The second portrait drawing is lost; hence it
cannot be proved that this second portrait was made in metal point&mdash;as
is usually assumed&mdash;and not in charcoal, or that the engraving here
reproduced was based on it.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">XXXII</span>. TERMINUS. Erasmus's device. Pen and ink drawing by Hans Holbein.
Basle, &Ouml;ffentliche Kunstsammlung (Print Room). <i>Facing p. 247</i><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span></p>

<p><i>Frontispiece</i>: DECORATIVE PORTRAIT OF ERASMUS WITH HIS DEVICE,
TERMINUS. Engraving by Hans Holbein, 1535.</p>


<h3>ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS</h3>

<p>For help in the collection of illustrations we are specially indebted to M.
Daniel van Damme, Curator of the Erasmus Museum at Anderlecht and
author of the <i>Eph&eacute;m&eacute;ride illustr&eacute;e de la Vie d'Erasme</i>, published in 1936 on the
occasion of the fourth centenary of Erasmus's death. For photographs and
permission to reproduce we have to thank also the Frick Collection, New York
(Pl. <span class="smcap">iv</span>), the &Ouml;ffentliche Kunstsammlung, Basle (Pl.
<span class="smcap">X</span>-<span class="smcap">XI</span>, <span class="smcap">XIV</span>, <span class="smcap">XXV</span>,
<span class="smcap">XXIX</span>, <span class="smcap">XXXII</span>), the Library of Basle University (Pl.
<span class="smcap">V</span>-<span class="smcap">VI</span>), and the Warburg
Institute, University of London (Pl. <span class="smcap">iii</span>). The photographs for Pl.
<span class="smcap">II</span>, <span class="smcap">VII</span>,
<span class="smcap">XVIII</span>-<span class="smcap">XX</span> and <span class="smcap">XXVI</span> are by M. Mauhin, Anderlecht, those for
Plates <span class="smcap">VIII</span>
and <span class="smcap">XVII</span> by Dr. F. Stoedtner, D&uuml;sseldorf, and that for Plate <span class="smcap">IX</span>
by Fiorentini,
Venice.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span></p>




<h2><a name="index" id="index"></a>INDEX OF NAMES</h2>


<p>Adrian of Utrecht, Dean, later Pope, <a href="#Page_55">55</a>, <a href="#Page_131">131</a>, <a href="#Page_162">162</a></p>

<p>Agricola, Rudolf, <a href="#Page_7">7</a></p>

<p>Albert of Brandenburg, archbishop of Mayence, <a href="#Page_140">140</a>, <a href="#Page_145">145</a></p>

<p><a name="index-aldus" id="index-aldus"></a>Aldus Manutius, <a href="#Page_63">63</a>, <a href="#Page_64">64</a>, <a href="#Page_81">81</a>, <a href="#Page_207">207</a></p>

<p>Aleander, Hieronymus, <a href="#Page_64">64</a>, <a href="#Page_124">124</a>, <a href="#Page_147">147</a>, <a href="#Page_149">149</a>, <a href="#Page_171">171</a>, <a href="#Page_184">184</a>, <a href="#Page_187">187</a></p>

<p>Alidosi, Francesco, <a href="#Footnote_50_50">214n.</a></p>

<p>Amerbach, Bonifacius, <a href="#Page_176">176</a>, <a href="#Page_186">186</a>, <a href="#Footnote_73_73">223n.</a></p>

<p>Amerbach, Johannes, <a href="#Page_83">83</a>, <a href="#Page_90">90</a></p>

<p>Ammonius, Andrew, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>, <a href="#Page_58">58</a>, <a href="#Page_67">67</a>, <a href="#Page_79">79</a>, <a href="#Page_80">80</a>, <a href="#Page_81">81</a>, <a href="#Page_83">83</a>, <a href="#Page_86">86</a>, <a href="#Page_90">90</a>, <a href="#Page_93">93</a>, <a href="#Page_94">94</a>, <a href="#Page_119">119</a>, <a href="#Page_123">123</a>, <a href="#Page_134">134</a></p>

<p>Andrelinus, Faustus, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>, <a href="#Page_25">25</a>, <a href="#Page_26">26</a>, <a href="#Page_29">29</a>, <a href="#Page_47">47</a></p>

<p><a name="index-anna" id="index-anna"></a>Anna of Borselen, Lady of Veere, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>, <a href="#Page_35">35</a>, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>, <a href="#Page_38">38</a>,
<a href="#Page_55">55</a>, <a href="#Page_62">62</a>, <a href="#Page_200">200-1</a></p>

<p>Asolani, Andrea, <a href="#Page_64">64</a></p>

<p>Ath, Jean Briard of, <a href="#Page_131">131</a>, <a href="#Page_133">133</a>, <a href="#Page_134">134</a>, <a href="#Page_135">135</a>, <a href="#Page_137">137</a>, <a href="#Page_229">229</a></p>

<p><a name="index-aurelius" id="index-aurelius"></a>Aurelius (Cornelius Gerard of Gouda), <a href="#Page_11">11</a>, <a href="#Page_13">13</a>, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>, <a href="#Page_33">33</a>, <a href="#Page_44">44</a></p>


<p>Badius, Josse, <a href="#Page_57">57</a>, <a href="#Page_60">60</a>, <a href="#Page_79">79</a>, <a href="#Page_81">81</a>, <a href="#Page_82">82</a>, <a href="#Page_83">83</a>, <a href="#Page_90">90</a>, <a href="#Page_133">133</a>, <a href="#Page_208">208</a>, <a href="#Footnote_64_64">219n.</a></p>

<p>Balbi, Girolamo, <a href="#Page_20">20</a></p>

<p>Barbaro, Ermolao, <a href="#Page_21">21</a></p>

<p>Batt, James, <a href="#Page_18">18</a>, <a href="#Page_19">19</a>, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>, <a href="#Page_38">38</a>, <a href="#Page_47">47</a>, <a href="#Page_48">48</a>, <a href="#Page_49">49</a>, <a href="#Page_55">55</a>, <a href="#Page_200">200</a></p>

<p>Beatus Rhenanus, <a href="#Page_39">39</a>, <a href="#Page_64">64</a>, <a href="#Page_83">83</a>, <a href="#Page_96">96</a>, <a href="#Page_119">119</a>, <a href="#Page_156">156</a>, <a href="#Page_177">177</a>, <a href="#Page_184">184</a>, <a href="#Page_186">186</a>, <a href="#Page_187">187</a>, <a href="#Page_223">223</a></p>

<p>Becar, John, <a href="#Page_181">181</a></p>

<p>Beda (Noel Bedier), <a href="#Page_120">120</a>, <a href="#Page_125">125</a>, <a href="#Page_157">157</a>, <a href="#Page_158">158</a></p>

<p>Bembo, <a href="#Page_173">173</a></p>

<p>Ber, Louis, <a href="#Page_186">186</a>, <a href="#Page_253">253</a></p>

<p>Berckman, Francis, <a href="#Page_82">82</a>, <a href="#Page_83">83</a></p>

<p>Bergen, Anthony of, <a href="#Page_85">85</a>, <a href="#Page_202">202</a></p>

<p>Berquin, Louis de, <a href="#Page_158">158</a></p>

<p>Berselius, Paschasius, <a href="#Page_229">229</a></p>

<p>Blount, Charles, <a href="#Page_249">249</a></p>

<p><a name="index-blount" id="index-blount"></a>Blount, William, Lord Mountjoy, <a href="#Page_27">27-8</a>, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>, <a href="#Page_35">35</a>, <a href="#Page_36">36</a>, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>, <a href="#Page_58">58</a>, <a href="#Footnote_8_8">59n.</a>, <a href="#Page_67">67</a>, <a href="#Page_68">68</a>, <a href="#Page_79">79</a>, <a href="#Page_86">86</a>, <a href="#Page_87">87</a>, <a href="#Page_95">95</a>, <a href="#Page_184">184</a>, <a href="#Page_199">199</a>, <a href="#Page_215">215</a>, <a href="#Page_251">251</a></p>

<p>Boerio, Giovanni Battista, <a href="#Page_60">60</a></p>

<p>Bombasius, Paul, <a href="#Page_63">63</a></p>

<p>Bouts, Dirck, <a href="#Page_3">3</a></p>

<p>Boys, Hector, <a href="#Page_25">25</a></p>

<p>Brie, Germain de, <a href="#Page_96">96</a></p>

<p>Bucer (Butzer), Martin, <a href="#Page_177">177</a>, <a href="#Page_243">243</a></p>

<p>Budaeus, William, <a href="#Page_94">94</a>, <a href="#Page_95">95</a>, <a href="#Page_96">96</a>, <a href="#Page_97">97</a>, <a href="#Page_119">119</a>, <a href="#Page_123">123</a>, <a href="#Page_124">124</a>, <a href="#Page_125">125</a>, <a href="#Page_126">126</a>, <a href="#Page_132">132</a>, <a href="#Page_153">153</a>, <a href="#Page_173">173</a>, <a href="#Page_219">219</a>, <a href="#Page_221">221</a></p>

<p>Busch, Hermann, <a href="#Page_224">224</a></p>

<p>Busleiden, Francis of, archbishop of Besan&ccedil;on, <a href="#Page_55">55</a>, <a href="#Page_135">135</a></p>

<p>Busleiden, Jerome, <a href="#Page_135">135</a></p>


<p>Cajetanus, <a href="#Page_141">141</a></p>

<p>Calvin, <a href="#Page_165">165</a>, <a href="#Page_167">167</a>, <a href="#Page_182">182</a></p>

<p>Caminade, Augustine, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>, <a href="#Page_47">47</a>, <a href="#Page_48">48</a>, <a href="#Page_155">155</a></p>

<p>Canossa, Count, <a href="#Page_86">86</a></p>

<p>Capito, Wolfgang Fabricius, <a href="#Page_96">96</a>, <a href="#Page_132">132</a>, <a href="#Page_140">140</a>, <a href="#Page_165">165</a>, <a href="#Page_166">166</a>, <a href="#Page_171">171</a>, <a href="#Page_218">218</a>, <a href="#Page_243">243</a></p>

<p>Catherine of Aragon, <a href="#Page_168">168</a></p>

<p>Charles V, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>, <a href="#Page_95">95</a>, <a href="#Page_99">99</a>, <a href="#Page_145">145-6</a>, <a href="#Page_218">218</a></p>

<p>Charnock, prior, <a href="#Page_31">31</a></p>

<p>Cinicampius, <i>see</i> <a href="#index-eschenfelder">Eschenfelder</a></p>

<p>Clement VII, <a href="#Page_184">184</a></p>

<p>Clyfton, tutor, <a href="#Page_63">63</a></p>

<p><a name="index-cochleus" id="index-cochleus"></a>Cochleus, <a href="#Page_241">241</a></p>

<p>Colet, John, <a href="#Page_29">29</a>, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>, <a href="#Page_31">31</a>, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_33">33</a>, <a href="#Page_34">34</a>, <a href="#Page_56">56</a>, <a href="#Page_57">57</a>, <a href="#Page_58">58</a>, <a href="#Page_80">80</a>, <a href="#Page_81">81</a>, <a href="#Page_91">91</a>, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>, <a href="#Page_96">96</a>, <a href="#Page_104">104</a>, <a href="#Page_109">109</a>, <a href="#Page_141">141</a>, <a href="#Page_144">144</a>, <a href="#Page_154">154</a>, <a href="#Page_181">181</a>, <a href="#Page_200">200</a>, <a href="#Page_211">211</a>, <a href="#Page_215">215</a></p>

<p>Cop, William, <a href="#Page_49">49</a>, <a href="#Page_61">61</a>, <a href="#Page_94">94</a>, <a href="#Page_219">219</a></p>

<p>Cornelius, <i>see</i> <a href="#index-aurelius">Aurelius</a></p>

<p>Cratander, <a href="#Page_85">85</a><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span></p>

<p>David of Burgundy, bishop of Utrecht, <a href="#Page_16">16</a></p>

<p>Decanus, <a href="#Page_224">224</a></p>

<p>Denk, Hans, <a href="#Page_178">178</a></p>

<p>Dirks, Vincent, <a href="#Page_137">137</a>, <a href="#Page_149">149</a>, <a href="#Page_157">157</a>, <a href="#Page_158">158</a></p>

<p>Dobeneck, John, <i>see</i> <a href="#index-cochleus">Cochleus</a></p>

<p>Dorp, Martin van, <a href="#Page_77">77</a>, <a href="#Page_94">94</a>, <a href="#Page_126">126</a>, <a href="#Page_131">131</a>, <a href="#Page_133">133</a>, <a href="#Page_134">134</a></p>

<p>D&uuml;rer, Albrecht, <a href="#Page_148">148-9</a>, <a href="#Page_240">240</a>, <a href="#Footnote_76_76">224n.</a></p>


<p>Eck, Johannes, <a href="#Page_98">98</a>, <a href="#Page_141">141</a></p>

<p>Egmond, Nicholas of (Egmondanus), <a href="#Page_119">119</a>, <a href="#Page_133">133</a>, <a href="#Page_137">137</a>, <a href="#Page_148">148</a>, <a href="#Page_149">149</a>, <a href="#Page_158">158</a>, <a href="#Page_161">161</a></p>

<p>Egnatius, Baptista, <a href="#Page_64">64</a></p>

<p>Episcopius, Nicholas, <a href="#Page_186">186</a></p>

<p>Eppendorff, Henry of, <a href="#Page_124">124</a>, <a href="#Page_159">159</a>, <a href="#Page_160">160</a>, <a href="#Page_243">243</a></p>

<p><a name="index-eschenfelder" id="index-eschenfelder"></a>Eschenfelder, Christopher, <a href="#Page_186">186</a>, <a href="#Page_224">224</a></p>

<p>&Eacute;tienne, <i>see</i> <a href="#index-stephanus">Stephanus</a></p>


<p>Faber, <i>see</i> <a href="#index-lefevre">Lef&egrave;vre</a></p>

<p>Farel, Guillaume, <a href="#Page_166">166</a>, <a href="#Page_167">167</a></p>

<p>Ferdinand, archduke, <a href="#Page_175">175</a></p>

<p>Ficino, Marsilio, <a href="#Page_21">21</a></p>

<p>Filelfo, Francesco, <a href="#Page_205">205</a></p>

<p>Fisher, John, bishop of Rochester, <a href="#Page_58">58</a>, <a href="#Page_80">80</a>, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>, <a href="#Page_119">119</a>, <a href="#Page_181">181</a>, <a href="#Page_182">182</a>, <a href="#Footnote_50_50">214n.</a></p>

<p>Fisher, Robert, <a href="#Page_26">26</a>, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>, <a href="#Page_34">34</a>, <a href="#Page_199">199</a></p>

<p>Flaminius, John, <a href="#Page_225">225</a></p>

<p>Foxe, Richard, <a href="#Page_58">58</a>, <a href="#Page_59">59</a></p>

<p>Francis I, <a href="#Page_94">94</a>, <a href="#Page_99">99</a>, <a href="#Page_144">144</a>, <a href="#Page_145">145</a>, <a href="#Page_218">218-19</a></p>

<p>Frederick of Saxony, <a href="#Page_139">139</a>, <a href="#Page_143">143</a>, <a href="#Page_147">147</a></p>

<p>Froben, Johannes, <a href="#Page_83">83</a>, <a href="#Page_83">83</a>, <a href="#Page_87">87</a>, <a href="#Page_89">89</a>, <a href="#Page_90">90</a>, <a href="#Page_91">91</a>, <a href="#Page_134">134</a>, <a href="#Page_143">143</a>, <a href="#Page_156">156</a>, <a href="#Page_170">170</a>, <a href="#Page_182">182</a>, <a href="#Page_221">221</a>, <a href="#Footnote_73_73">223n.</a>, <a href="#Page_243">243</a></p>

<p>Froben, Johannes Erasmius, <a href="#Page_156">156</a>, <a href="#Page_183">183</a>, <a href="#Page_186">186</a></p>

<p>Fugger, Anthony, <a href="#Page_176">176</a></p>


<p>Gaguin, Robert, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>, <a href="#Page_24">24</a>, <a href="#Page_25">25</a>, <a href="#Page_26">26</a>, <a href="#Page_125">125</a></p>

<p>Gallinarius, <a href="#Page_223">223</a></p>

<p>Gebwiler, <a href="#Page_224">224</a></p>

<p>George of Saxony, <a href="#Page_162">162</a></p>

<p>Gerard, Cornelius, <i>see</i> <a href="#index-aurelius">Aurelius</a></p>

<p><a name="index-gerard" id="index-gerard"></a>Gerard, Erasmus's father, <a href="#Page_6">6</a></p>

<p>Gerbel, <a href="#Page_224">224</a></p>

<p>Gigli, Silvestro, bishop of Worcester, <a href="#Page_93">93</a></p>

<p>Gilles, Peter, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>, <a href="#Page_86">86</a>, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>, <a href="#Page_94">94</a>, <a href="#Page_107">107</a>, <a href="#Page_119">119</a>, <a href="#Page_133">133</a>, <a href="#Page_184">184</a></p>

<p><a name="index-glareanus" id="index-glareanus"></a>Glareanus, Henri (Loriti), <a href="#Page_96">96</a>, <a href="#Page_219">219</a>, <a href="#Page_251">251</a></p>

<p>Gourmont, Gilles, <a href="#Page_79">79</a>, <a href="#Page_80">80</a>, <a href="#Page_82">82</a>, <a href="#Footnote_47_47">209n.</a></p>

<p>Grey, Thomas, <a href="#Page_23">23</a>, <a href="#Page_26">26</a></p>

<p>Grimani, Domenico, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>, <a href="#Footnote_9_9">67n.</a>, <a href="#Page_68">68</a>, <a href="#Page_214">214</a></p>

<p>Grocyn, William, <a href="#Page_34">34</a>, <a href="#Page_58">58</a>, <a href="#Page_200">200</a>, <a href="#Page_208">208</a></p>

<p>Groote, Geert <a href="#Page_3">3</a></p>

<p>Grunnius, Lambertus, <a href="#Page_93">93</a></p>

<p>Grynaeus, Simon, <a href="#Page_249">249</a></p>

<p>Guib&eacute;, Robert, bishop of Nantes, <a href="#Footnote_52_52">215n.</a></p>


<p>Hegius, Alexander, <a href="#Page_7">7</a></p>

<p>Henry of Bergen, bishop of Cambray, <a href="#Page_16">16</a>, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>, <a href="#Page_25">25</a>, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>, <a href="#Page_35">35</a>, <a href="#Page_38">38</a>, <a href="#Page_47">47</a>, <a href="#Page_55">55</a></p>

<p>Henry VII, <a href="#Page_58">58</a>, <a href="#Page_67">67</a>, <a href="#Page_251">251</a></p>

<p>Henry VIII, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>, <a href="#Page_67">67</a>, <a href="#Page_84">84</a>, <a href="#Page_99">99</a>, <a href="#Page_144">144</a>, <a href="#Page_145">145</a>, <a href="#Page_146">146</a>, <a href="#Page_162">162</a>, <a href="#Page_182">182</a>, <a href="#Page_218">218</a>, <a href="#Page_251">251</a></p>

<p>Hermans, William, <a href="#Page_11">11</a>, <a href="#Page_13">13</a>, <a href="#Page_16">16</a>, <a href="#Page_18">18</a>, <a href="#Page_26">26</a>, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>, <a href="#Page_38">38</a>, <a href="#Page_44">44</a>, <a href="#Page_47">47</a>, <a href="#Page_49">49</a></p>

<p>Hermonymus, George, <a href="#Footnote_34_34">204n.</a></p>

<p>Holbein, Hans, <a href="#Page_114">114</a>, <a href="#Page_121">121</a>, <a href="#Page_151">151</a>, <a href="#Footnote_82_82">232n.</a>, <a href="#Footnote_87_87">236n.</a></p>

<p>Hollonius, Lambert, <a href="#Page_156">156</a></p>

<p>Hoogstraten, Jacob, <a href="#Page_145">145</a></p>

<p>Hutten, Ulrich von, <a href="#Page_96">96</a>, <a href="#Page_118">118</a>, <a href="#Page_119">119</a>, <a href="#Page_125">125</a>, <a href="#Page_128">128-9</a>, <a href="#Page_140">140</a>, <a href="#Page_148">148</a>, <a href="#Page_159">159</a>, <a href="#Page_231">231</a></p>


<p>James IV, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>, <a href="#Page_84">84</a></p>

<p>John of Trazegnies, <a href="#Footnote_5_5">50n.</a></p>

<p>Julius II, <a href="#Page_58">58</a>, <a href="#Page_62">62</a>, <a href="#Page_84">84</a>, <a href="#Page_93">93</a>, <a href="#Page_152">152</a>, <a href="#Page_217">217</a></p>


<p>Karlstadt, Andreas, <a href="#Page_141">141</a><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span></p>

<p>Lachner, <a href="#Page_221">221</a></p>

<p>Lang, John, <a href="#Page_141">141</a>, <a href="#Page_142">142</a>, <a href="#Page_144">144</a></p>

<p>Langenfeld, John, <a href="#Page_224">224</a></p>

<p>Lascaris, Johannes, <a href="#Page_64">64</a></p>

<p>Lasco, Johannes a, <a href="#Page_186">186</a></p>

<p>Latimer, William, <a href="#Page_58">58</a>, <a href="#Page_208">208</a></p>

<p>Latomus, Bartholomew, <a href="#Page_251">251</a></p>

<p>Latomus, James, <a href="#Page_133">133</a>, <a href="#Page_135">135</a>, <a href="#Page_149">149</a></p>

<p>Laurin, Mark, <a href="#Page_229">229</a></p>

<p>Lee, Edward, <a href="#Page_119">119</a>, <a href="#Page_122">122</a>, <a href="#Page_128">128</a>, <a href="#Page_133">133</a>, <a href="#Page_134">134</a>, <a href="#Page_135">135</a>, <a href="#Page_145">145</a>, <a href="#Page_157">157</a></p>

<p><a name="index-lefevre" id="index-lefevre"></a>Lef&egrave;vre d'&Eacute;taples, Jacques, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>, <a href="#Page_119">119</a>, <a href="#Page_120">120</a>, <a href="#Page_132">132</a>, <a href="#Page_133">133</a></p>

<p>Leo, Ambrose, <a href="#Page_219">219</a></p>

<p><a name="index-leo-x" id="index-leo-x"></a>Leo X, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>, <a href="#Page_93">93</a>, <a href="#Page_94">94</a>, <a href="#Page_134">134</a>, <a href="#Page_140">140</a>, <a href="#Page_144">144</a>, <a href="#Page_146">146</a>, <a href="#Page_215">215</a>, <a href="#Page_218">218</a></p>

<p>Leonicenus, Nicholas, <a href="#Page_219">219</a></p>

<p>Linacre, Thomas, <a href="#Page_34">34</a>, <a href="#Page_58">58</a>, <a href="#Page_200">200</a>, <a href="#Page_208">208</a>, <a href="#Page_219">219</a>, <a href="#Page_221">221</a></p>

<p>Longolius, Christopher, <a href="#Page_172">172</a>, <a href="#Page_173">173</a></p>

<p>Loriti, <i>see</i> <a href="#index-glareanus">Glareanus</a></p>

<p>Loyola, Ignatius of, <a href="#Page_189">189</a></p>

<p>Lupset, <a href="#Footnote_68_68">221n.</a>, <a href="#Page_222">222</a></p>

<p>Luther, Martin, <a href="#Page_54">54</a>, <a href="#Page_96">96</a>, <a href="#Page_120">120</a>, <a href="#Page_128">128</a>, <a href="#Page_131">131</a>, <a href="#Page_135">135</a>, <a href="#Page_138">138</a>, <a href="#Page_139">139-50</a>, <a href="#Page_159">159</a>, <a href="#Page_161">161-5</a>, <a href="#Page_177">177</a>, <a href="#Page_178">178</a>, <a href="#Page_179">179</a>, <a href="#Page_209">209</a>, <a href="#Page_229">229</a>, <a href="#Page_240">240</a>, <a href="#Page_244">244</a></p>

<p>Lypsius, Martin, <a href="#Page_125">125</a>, <a href="#Page_134">134</a></p>

<p>Lyra, Nicholas of, <a href="#Page_57">57</a></p>


<p>Maertensz, Dirck, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>, <a href="#Page_90">90</a>, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>, <a href="#Page_134">134</a>, <a href="#Page_156">156</a></p>

<p>Manutius, <i>see</i> <a href="#index-aldus">Aldus</a></p>

<p>Mary of Hungary, <a href="#Page_168">168</a>, <a href="#Page_187">187</a></p>

<p>Maternus, <a href="#Page_224">224</a></p>

<p>Matthias, <a href="#Page_225">225</a></p>

<p>Maximilian, emperor, <a href="#Page_84">84</a>, <a href="#Page_99">99</a>, <a href="#Page_141">141</a>, <a href="#Page_147">147</a>, <a href="#Page_176">176</a>, <a href="#Page_218">218</a>, <a href="#Page_219">219</a></p>

<p>Medici, Giovanni de', <i>see</i> <a href="#index-leo-x">Leo X</a></p>

<p>Melanchthon, <a href="#Page_145">145</a>, <a href="#Page_152">152</a>, <a href="#Page_165">165</a>, <a href="#Page_178">178</a>, <a href="#Page_180">180</a>, <a href="#Page_231">231</a></p>

<p>Metsys, Quentin, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>, <a href="#Footnote_92_92">240n.</a></p>

<p>More, Thomas, <a href="#Page_29">29</a>, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>, <a href="#Page_34">34</a>, <a href="#Page_35">35</a>, <a href="#Page_58">58</a>, <a href="#Page_69">69</a>, <a href="#Page_70">70</a>, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>, <a href="#Page_107">107</a>, <a href="#Page_119">119</a>, <a href="#Page_126">126</a>, <a href="#Page_127">127</a>, <a href="#Page_141">141</a>, <a href="#Page_146">146</a>, <a href="#Page_148">148</a>, <a href="#Page_153">153</a>, <a href="#Page_154">154</a>, <a href="#Page_182">182</a>, <a href="#Page_183">183</a>, <a href="#Page_200">200</a>, <a href="#Page_209">209</a>, <a href="#Page_221">221</a>, <a href="#Page_231">231-9</a>, <a href="#Page_252">252</a></p>

<p>Mountjoy, <i>see</i> <a href="#index-blount">Blount</a></p>

<p>Musurus, Marcus, <a href="#Page_64">64</a></p>

<p>Mutianus, <a href="#Page_165">165</a></p>


<p>Neuenahr, Hermann Count of, <a href="#Page_225">225</a>, <a href="#Page_226">226</a></p>

<p>Northoff, brothers, <a href="#Page_26">26</a>, <a href="#Page_27">27</a></p>


<p>Obrecht, Johannes, <a href="#Page_62">62</a></p>

<p>Oecolampadius, <a href="#Page_157">157</a>, <a href="#Page_166">166</a>, <a href="#Page_167">167</a>, <a href="#Page_168">168</a>, <a href="#Page_174">174</a>, <a href="#Page_175">175</a>, <a href="#Page_180">180</a></p>

<p>Osiander, <a href="#Page_244">244</a></p>


<p>Pace, Richard, <a href="#Page_159">159</a>, <a href="#Page_222">222</a></p>

<p>Paludanus, Johannes, <a href="#Page_131">131</a></p>

<p>Paracelsus, Theophrastus, <a href="#Page_242">242</a></p>

<p>Paul III, <a href="#Page_184">184</a>, <a href="#Page_185">185</a>, <a href="#Page_253">253</a></p>

<p>Peter Gerard, Erasmus's brother, <a href="#Page_5">5-10</a></p>

<p>Phileticus, Martin, <a href="#Footnote_40_40">205n.</a></p>

<p>Philip le Beau, <a href="#Page_56">56</a>, <a href="#Footnote_8_8">59n.</a></p>

<p>Philippi, John, <a href="#Page_58">58</a></p>

<p>Pico della Mirandola, <a href="#Page_21">21</a></p>

<p>Pio, Alberto, <a href="#Page_77">77</a>, <a href="#Page_158">158</a>, <a href="#Page_167">167</a></p>

<p>Pirckheimer, Willibald, <a href="#Page_95">95</a>, <a href="#Page_165">165</a>, <a href="#Page_184">184</a>, <a href="#Page_239">239</a></p>

<p>Platter, Thomas, <a href="#Page_182">182</a></p>

<p>Politian, <a href="#Page_205">205</a></p>

<p>Poncher, &Eacute;tienne, <a href="#Page_94">94</a>, <a href="#Page_96">96</a></p>

<p>Probst (Proost), James, <a href="#Footnote_79_79">231n.</a></p>


<p>Reuchlin, <a href="#Page_90">90</a>, <a href="#Page_94">94</a>, <a href="#Page_128">128</a>, <a href="#Page_145">145</a></p>

<p>Reynolds, Richard, <a href="#Footnote_119_119">252n.</a></p>

<p>Riario, Raffaele, <a href="#Page_67">67</a>, <a href="#Footnote_50_50">214n.</a></p>

<p>Roger, <i>see</i> <a href="#index-gerard">Gerard</a></p>

<p>Rombout, <a href="#Page_8">8</a></p>

<p>Rudolfingen, <a href="#Page_224">224</a></p>

<p>Ruell, John, <a href="#Page_219">219</a></p>


<p>Sadolet, <a href="#Page_93">93</a>, <a href="#Page_94">94</a>, <a href="#Page_164">164</a>, <a href="#Page_173">173</a>, <a href="#Page_177">177</a></p>

<p>Sapidus, Johannes, <a href="#Page_98">98</a></p>

<p>Sasboud, <a href="#Page_15">15</a><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span></p>

<p>Sauvage, John le, <a href="#Page_92">92</a></p>

<p>Scaliger, <a href="#Page_173">173</a></p>

<p>Sch&uuml;rer, M., <a href="#Page_90">90</a>, <a href="#Footnote_47_47">209n.</a>, <a href="#Footnote_73_73">223n.</a>, <a href="#Page_224">224</a></p>

<p>Servatius Roger, <a href="#Page_11">11</a>, <a href="#Page_12">12</a>, <a href="#Page_58">58</a>, <a href="#Page_59">59</a>, <a href="#Page_60">60</a>, <a href="#Page_62">62</a>, <a href="#Page_87">87</a>, <a href="#Page_93">93</a>, <a href="#Page_119">119</a>, <a href="#Page_197">197</a>, <a href="#Page_212">212</a></p>

<p>Sixtin, John, <a href="#Page_31">31</a></p>

<p>Sluter, <a href="#Page_3">3</a></p>

<p>Spalatinus, George, <a href="#Page_139">139</a></p>

<p>Stadion, Christopher of, bishop of Augsburg, <a href="#Page_182">182</a></p>

<p>Standonck, John, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>, <a href="#Page_22">22</a>, <a href="#Page_38">38</a></p>

<p><a name="index-stephanus" id="index-stephanus"></a>Stephanus, Henricus, <a href="#Footnote_73_73">223n.</a></p>

<p>Stewart, Alexander, archbishop of St. Andrews, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>, <a href="#Page_67">67</a>, <a href="#Page_84">84</a></p>

<p>Stewart, James, <a href="#Footnote_24_24">198n.</a></p>

<p>Stunica, <i>see</i> <a href="#index-zuniga">Zu&ntilde;iga</a></p>

<p>Suderman, <a href="#Page_226">226</a>, <a href="#Page_227">227</a></p>

<p>Synthen, Johannes, <a href="#Page_7">7</a></p>


<p>Talesius, Quirin, <a href="#Page_184">184</a>, <a href="#Page_193">193</a></p>

<p>Tapper, Ruurd, <a href="#Page_137">137</a></p>

<p>Theodoric, <a href="#Page_228">228</a></p>

<p>Thomas &agrave; Kempis, <a href="#Page_4">4</a>, <a href="#Page_54">54</a></p>

<p>Tunstall, Cuthbert, <a href="#Page_58">58</a>, <a href="#Page_96">96</a>, <a href="#Page_97">97</a>, <a href="#Page_132">132</a>, <a href="#Page_162">162</a>, <a href="#Page_208">208</a></p>


<p>Urswick, <a href="#Page_221">221</a></p>

<p>Utenheim, Christopher of, bishop of Basle, <a href="#Page_166">166</a>, <a href="#Page_173">173</a></p>

<p>Utenhove, Charles, <a href="#Page_184">184</a>, <a href="#Page_193">193</a></p>

<p>Valdes, Alfonso, <a href="#Page_246">246</a></p>

<p>Valla, Lorenzo, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>, <a href="#Page_57">57</a>, <a href="#Page_58">58</a>, <a href="#Page_90">90</a></p>

<p>Varnb&uuml;ler, Ulrich, <a href="#Page_224">224</a></p>

<p>Veere, <i>see</i> <a href="#index-anna">Anna of Borselen</a></p>

<p>Vianen, William of, <a href="#Page_137">137</a></p>

<p>Vincent, Augustine, <a href="#Page_26">26</a></p>

<p>Vitrier, Jean, <a href="#Page_50">50</a>, <a href="#Page_181">181</a></p>

<p>Vives, <a href="#Page_161">161</a>, <a href="#Page_164">164</a></p>

<p>Voecht, Jacobus, <a href="#Page_38">38</a></p>


<p>Warham, William, archbishop of Canterbury, <a href="#Page_58">58</a>, <a href="#Page_59">59</a>, <a href="#Page_68">68</a>, <a href="#Page_81">81</a>, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>, <a href="#Page_95">95</a>, <a href="#Page_184">184</a>, <a href="#Page_204">204</a>, <a href="#Page_215">215</a></p>

<p>Watson, John, <a href="#Page_98">98</a></p>

<p>Werner, Nicholas, <a href="#Page_198">198</a>, <a href="#Page_216">216</a></p>

<p>William of Orange, <a href="#Page_193">193</a></p>

<p>Wimpfeling, Jacob, <a href="#Page_80">80</a>, <a href="#Page_166">166</a></p>

<p>Winckel, Peter, <a href="#Page_8">8</a></p>

<p>Woerden, Cornelius of, <a href="#Page_212">212</a></p>

<p>Wolsey, Cardinal, <a href="#Page_31">31</a>, <a href="#Page_95">95</a>, <a href="#Page_137">137</a>, <a href="#Page_145">145</a>, <a href="#Footnote_54_54">215n.</a></p>


<p>Ximenes, F., archbishop of Toledo, <a href="#Page_95">95</a>, <a href="#Page_130">130</a>, <a href="#Page_158">158</a>, <a href="#Footnote_59_59">218n.</a></p>


<p>Zasius, Ulrich, <a href="#Page_96">96</a>, <a href="#Page_153">153</a>, <a href="#Page_165">165</a>, <a href="#Page_187">187</a>, <a href="#Page_219">219</a></p>

<p><a name="index-zuniga" id="index-zuniga"></a>Zu&ntilde;iga, Diego Lopez, <a href="#Page_158">158</a></p>

<p>Zwingli, Ulrich, <a href="#Page_96">96</a>, <a href="#Page_177">177</a>, <a href="#Page_179">179</a>, <a href="#Page_180">180</a>, <a href="#Page_244">244</a></p>
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