I. ERASMUS LEAVES CAMBRIDGE, AND MEDITATES LEAVING ENGLAND (1513-14).
[Sidenote: Erasmus at Cambridge.]
[Sidenote: His real work.]
[Sidenote: The New Testament and St. Jerome.]
During the autumn of 1513 Erasmus made up his mind to leave Cambridge. He
had come to England on the accession of Henry VIII. with full purpose to
make it his permanent home.[456] That his friends would try to bring this
about had been his last entreaty on leaving England for his visit to
Italy. They had done their best for him. They had found all who cared for
the advance of learning anxious to secure the residence of so great a
scholar in their own country. The promises were indeed vague, but there
were plenty of them, and altogether the chances of a fair maintenance for
Erasmus had appeared to be good. He had settled at Cambridge intending to
earn his living by teaching Greek to the students; expecting, from them
and from the University, fees and a stipend sufficient to enable him to
pay his way. But the drudgery of teaching Greek was by no means the work
upon which Erasmus had set his heart. It was rather, like St. Paul’s
tent-making, the price he had to pay for that leisure which he was bent
upon devoting to his real work. This work was his fellow-work with Colet.
Apart from the aid he was able to give to his friend, by taking up the
cudgels for him at the University, and finding him teachers and
schoolbooks for his school--for all this was done by-the-bye--he was
labouring to make his own proper contribution towards the object to which
both were devoting their all. He was labouring hard to produce an edition
of the New Testament in the original Greek, with a new and free
translation of his own, and simultaneously with this a corrected edition
of the works of St. Jerome--the latter in itself an undertaking of
enormous labour.
In letters written from Cambridge during the years 1511-1513, we catch
stray glimpses of the progress of these great works. He writes to Colet,
in August 1511, that ‘he is about attacking St. Paul,’[457] and in July
1512, that he has finished collating the New Testament, and is attacking
St. Jerome.[458]
To Ammonius, in the camp, during the French campaign of 1513, he writes
that he is working with almost superhuman zeal at the correction of the
text of St. Jerome; and shortly after the close of the campaign against
France, he tells his friend that ‘he himself has been waging no less
fierce a warfare with the blunders of Jerome.’[459] And now, with his
editions of the New Testament and Jerome nearly ready for the press, why
should he waste any further time at Cambridge? He had complained from the
first that he could get nothing out of the students.[460] All these years
he had been, in spite of all his efforts, and notwithstanding an annual
stipend secured upon a living in Kent, through the kindness of Warham, to
a great extent dependent on his friends, obliged most unwillingly to beg,
till he had become thoroughly ashamed of begging.[461] And now this autumn
of 1513 had brought matters to a crisis. At Michaelmas the University had
agreed to pay him thirty nobles,[462] and, on September 1, they had begged
the assistance of Lord Mountjoy in the payment of this ‘enormous stipend’
for their Greek professor, adding, by way of pressing the urgency of their
claim, that they must otherwise soon lose him.[463]
On November 28, Erasmus wrote to Ammonius that he had for some months
lived like a cockle shut up in his shell, humming over his books.
Cambridge, he said, was deserted because of the plague; and even when all
the men were there, there was no large company. The expense was
intolerable, the profits not a brass farthing. The last five months had,
he said, cost him sixty nobles, but he had never received more than one
from his audience. He was going to throw out his sheet-anchor this winter.
If successful he would make his nest, if not he would flit.[464]
[Sidenote: Erasmus leaves Cambridge.]
The result was that in the winter of 1513-14 Erasmus finally left
Cambridge. The disbanding of disaffected and demoralised soldiers had so
increased the number of robbers on the public roads,[465] that travelling
in the winter months was considered dangerous; but Erasmus was anxious to
proceed with the publication of his two great works. He was in London by
February, 1514.
He found Parliament sitting, and the war party having all their own way.
He found the compliant Commons supporting by lavish grants of subsidies
Henry VIII.’s ambition ‘to recover the realm of France, his very true
patrimony and inheritance, and to reduce the same to his obedience,’[466]
and carried away by the fulsome speeches of courtiers who drew a
triumphant contrast between the setting fortunes and growing infirmities
of the French king and the prospects of Henry, who, ‘like the rising sun,
was growing brighter and stronger every day.’[467] While tax-collectors
were pressing for the arrears of half a dozen previous subsidies, and
Parliament was granting new ones, the liberality of English patrons was
likely to decline. Their heads were too full of the war, and their purses
too empty, to admit of their caring much at the moment about Erasmus and
his literary projects.
[Sidenote: Invited to the court of Prince Charles.]
No wonder, therefore, that when his friends at the Court of the
Netherlands urged his acceptance of an honorary place in the Privy Council
of Prince Charles, which would not interfere with his literary labours,
together with a pension which would furnish him with the means to carry
them on--no wonder that under these circumstances Erasmus accepted the
invitation and concluded to leave England.
In reply to the Abbot of St. Bertin, he wrote an elegant letter,[468]
gracefully acknowledging his great kindness in wishing to restore him to
his fatherland. Not that he disliked England, or was wanting in patrons
there. The Archbishop of Canterbury, if he had been a brother or a father,
could not have been kinder to him, and by his gift he still held the
pension out of the living in Kent. But the war had suddenly diverted the
genius of England from its ordinary channels. The price of everything was
becoming dearer and dearer. The liberality of patrons was becoming less
and less. How could they do other than give sparingly with so many
war-taxes to pay? He then proceeded:--
[Sidenote: Letter to the Abbot of St. Bertin.]
‘Oh that God would deign to still the tempest of war! What madness is it!
The wars of Christian princes begin for the most part either out of
ambition or hatred or lust, or like diseases of the mind. Consider also by
whom they are carried on: by homicides, by outcasts, by gamblers, by
ravishers, by the most sordid mercenary troops, who care more for a little
pay than for their lives. These offscourings of mankind are to be received
into your territory and your cities that you may carry on war. Think, too,
of the crimes which are committed under pretext of war, for amid the din
of arms good laws are silent; what rapine, what sacrilege, what other
crimes of which decency forbids the mention! The demoralisation which it
causes will linger in your country for years after the war is over....
‘It is much more glorious to found cities than to destroy them. In our
times it is the _people_ who build and improve cities, while the madness
of princes destroys them. But, you may say, princes must vindicate their
rights. Without speaking rashly of the deeds of princes, one thing is
clear, that there are some princes at least who first do what they like,
and then try to find some pretext for their deeds. And in this hurlyburly
of human affairs, in the confusion of so many leagues and treaties, who
cannot make out a title to what he wants? Meanwhile these wars are not
waged for the good of the _people_, but to settle the question, who shall
call himself their prince.
‘We ought to remember that _men_, and especially Christian men, are
_free_-men. And if for a long time they have flourished under a prince,
and now acknowledge him, what need is there that the world should be
turned upside down to make a change? If even among the heathen,
long-continued consent [of the people] makes a _prince_, much more should
it be so among Christians, with whom royalty is an _administration_, not a
_dominion_.[469]...’
He concluded by urging the abbot to call to mind all that Christ and his
apostles said about peace, and the tolerance of evil. If he did so, surely
he would bring all his influence to bear upon Prince Charles and the
Emperor in favour of a ‘Christian peace among Christian princes.’[470]
In writing to the Prince de Vere on the same subject Erasmus had expressed
his grief that their common country had become mixed up with the wars, and
his wish that he could safely put in writing what he thought upon the
subject.[471] Whether safely or not, he had certainly now dared to speak
his mind pretty fully in the letter to the Abbot of St. Bertin.
II. ERASMUS AND THE PAPAL AMBASSADOR (1514).
Erasmus had other opportunities of speaking out his mind about the war.
[Sidenote: Erasmus dines with Ammonius and the Papal Ambassador in
disguise.]
There was a rumour afloat that a Papal ambassador had arrived in
England--a Cardinal in disguise. It happened that Erasmus was invited to
dine with his friend Ammonius. He went as a man goes to the house of an
intimate friend, without ceremony, and expecting to dine with him alone.
He found, however, another guest at his friend’s table--a man in a long
robe, his hair bound up in a net, and with a single servant attending him.
Erasmus, after saluting his friend, eyed the stranger with some curiosity.
Struck by the military sternness of the man’s look, he asked of Ammonius
in Greek, ‘Who is he?’ He replied, also in Greek, ‘A great merchant.’ ‘I
thought so,’ said Erasmus; and caring to take no further notice of him,
they sat down to table, the stranger taking precedence. Erasmus chatted
with Ammonius as though they had been alone, and, amongst other things,
happened to ask him whether the rumour was true that an ambassador had
come from Leo X. to negotiate a peace between England and France. ‘The
Pope,’ he continued, ‘did not take me into his councils; but if he had I
should not have advised him to propose a peace.’ ‘Why?’ asked Ammonius.
‘Because it would not be wise to talk about peace,’ replied Erasmus.
‘Why?’ ‘Because a peace cannot be negotiated all at once; and in the
meantime, while the monarchs are treating about the conditions, the
soldiers, at the very thought of peace, will be incited to far worse
projects than in war itself; whereas by a _truce_ the hands of the
soldiery maybe tied at once. I should propose a truce of three years, in
order that the terms might be arranged of a _really permanent treaty of
peace_.’ Ammonius assented, and said that he thought this was what the
ambassador was trying to do. ‘Is he a Cardinal?’ asked Erasmus. ‘What made
you think he was?’ said the other. ‘The Italians say so.’ ‘And how do they
know?’ asked Ammonias, again fencing with Erasmus’s question. ‘Is it true
that he is a Cardinal?’ repeated Erasmus by-and-bye, as though he meant to
have a straightforward answer. ‘His spirit is the spirit of a Cardinal,’
evasively replied Ammonius, brought to bay by the direct question. ‘It is
something,’ observed Erasmus, smiling, ‘to have a Cardinal’s spirit!’
The stranger all this time had remained silent, drinking in this
conversation between the two friends.
At last he made an observation or two in Italian, mixing in a Latin word
now and then, as an intelligent merchant might be expected to do. Seeing
that Erasmus took no notice of what he said, he turned round, and in Latin
observed, ‘I wonder you should care to live in this barbarous nation,
unless you choose rather to be all _alone_ here than _first_ at Rome.’
Erasmus astonished and somewhat nettled to hear a merchant talk in this
way, with disdainful dryness replied that he was living in a country in
which there was a very great number of men distinguished for their
learning. He had rather hold the last place among these than be nowhere at
Rome.
Ammonius, seeing the awkward turn that things were taking, and that
Erasmus in his present humour might probably, as he sometimes did, speak
his mind rather more plainly than might be desirable, interposed, and, to
prevent further perplexity, suggested that they should adjourn to the
garden.[472]
Erasmus found out afterwards that the merchant stranger with whom he had
had this singular brush was the Pope’s ambassador himself--_Cardinal
Canossa_!
III. PARTING INTERCOURSE BETWEEN ERASMUS AND COLET (1514).
Meanwhile, in spite of Papal Nuncios, the preparations for the continuance
of the war proceeded as before. There were no signs of peace. The King had
had a dangerous illness, but had risen from his couch ‘fierce as ever
against France.’[473]
With heavy hearts Colet and Erasmus held on their way. The war lay like a
dark cloud on their horizon. It was throwing back their work. How it had
changed the plans of Erasmus has been shown. It had also made Colet’s
position one of greater difficulty. It is true that hitherto royal favour
had protected him from the hatred of his persecutors, but the Bishop of
London and his party were more exasperated against him than ever, and who
could tell how soon the King’s fickle humour might change? His love of
war was growing wilder and wilder. He was becoming intoxicated by it. And
who could tell what the young King might do if his passions ever should
rise into mastery over better feelings? Even the King’s present favour,
though it had preserved Colet as yet unharmed in person, did not prevent
his being cramped and hindered in his work. Whatever he might do was sure
to be misconstrued, and to become the subject of the ‘idle talk of the
malevolent.’[474]
* * * * *
[Sidenote: Colet troubled by family disputes.]
It would seem also that other clouds than that of the war cast their
shadow at this time over Colet’s life. By the erection and foundation of
his school, he had reduced his income almost more than he could well
afford,[475] and accustomed, as he was, to abundant means, it was natural
that he should be harassed and annoyed by anything likely still further to
narrow his resources. He seems to have been troubled with vexed questions
of property and family dispute--most irksome of all others to a man who
was giving life and wealth away in a great work.
Erasmus, six months previously, in July 1513, had written to Colet thus:--
[Sidenote: Erasmus advises Colet to give in.]
‘The end of your letter grieved me, for you write that you are more
harassed than usual by the troubles of business. I desire indeed for you
to be removed as far as possible from worldly business; not because I am
afraid lest this world, entangled though it be, should get hold of you and
claim you for its own, but because I had rather such genius, such
eloquence, such learning should be devoted wholly to Christ. What if you
should be unable to extricate yourself from it! Take care lest little by
little you become more and more deeply immersed in it. Perhaps it might be
better to _give in_, rather than to purchase victory at so great a cost.
For peace of mind is worth a great deal. And these things are the thorns
which accompany riches. In the meantime, oppose a good honest conscience
to the idle talk of the malevolent. Wrap yourself up in Christ and in him
alone, and this entangled world will disturb you less. But why should I,
like the sow, preach to Minerva; or, like the sick man, prescribe for the
doctor? Farewell, my best beloved teacher!’--_From Cambridge, July 11
[1513]._[476]
Six months had passed since Erasmus had thus advised his friend to _give
in_ rather than to conquer at the cost of his peace of mind, but Colet had
not yet succeeded in getting rid of his perplexities. It would almost seem
that the same old quarrel was still lingering on unhealed; for there was
now a dispute between Colet and an aged uncle of his, and the bone of
contention was a large amount of property.[477]
[Sidenote: Colet does give in at last.]
One day Colet took Erasmus with him by boat to dine with Archbishop Warham
at Lambeth Palace. As they rowed up the Thames, Colet sat pensively
reading in his book. At dinner, being set opposite his uncle at table,
Erasmus noticed that he was ill at ease, caring neither to talk nor to
eat. And the uncle would doubtless have remained as silent as the nephew,
had not the Archbishop drawn out the garrulousness of his old age by
cheerful conversation. After dinner the three were closeted together.
Erasmus knew not what all this meant. But, as they were rowing back to
town in the boat, Colet said, ‘Erasmus, you’re a happy man, and have done
me a great service;’ and then he went on to tell his friend how angry he
had been with his uncle, and how he had even thought of going to law with
him, but in this state of mind, having taken a copy of the ‘Enchiridion’
with him, he had read the ‘rule’ there given ‘against anger and revenge,’
and it had done him so much good that he had held his tongue at dinner,
and with the Archbishop’s kind assistance after dinner, made up matters
with his uncle.[478]
* * * * *
Apart from these cares and troubles, Colet’s heart was naturally saddened
with the thought of so soon parting with his dearest friend, and, as he
now could feel, his ablest fellow-worker. The two were often together.
Colet sometimes would send for Erasmus to be his companion when he dined
out, or when he had to make a journey.[479] At these times Erasmus
testifies that no one could be more cheerful than Colet was. It was his
habit always to take a book with him. His conversation often turned upon
religious subjects; and though in public he was prudently reserved and
cautious in what he said, at these times to his bosom friend he most
freely spoke out his real sentiments.
[Sidenote: Pilgrimage to Canterbury.]
On one occasion Colet and Erasmus paid a visit together to the shrine of
St. Thomas-à-Becket. Going on pilgrimage was now the fashionable thing.
How admirals and soldiers who had narrowly escaped in the war went to the
shrine of Our Lady at Walsingham to fulfil the vows they had made whilst
their lives were in peril; how even Queen Katherine had been to invoke the
Virgin’s aid upon her husband’s French campaign, and to return thanks for
the victory over the Scots, has already been seen. It has also been
mentioned that Erasmus had paid a visit to Walsingham from Cambridge in a
satirical and sceptical mood, and had returned convinced of the absurdity
of the whole thing, doubting the genuineness of the relics, and ridiculing
the credulity of pilgrims. It seems that before leaving England he had a
desire to pay a similar visit to the rival shrine of St. Thomas-à-Becket.
The same ‘Colloquy’ in which Erasmus describes his visit to Walsingham
enables us to picture the two friends on this occasion threading the
narrow rustic lanes of Kent on horseback, making the best of their way to
Canterbury.[480]
[Sidenote: The shrine of St. Thomas-à-Becket.]
As they approach the city the outline of the cathedral church rises
imposingly above all surrounding objects. Its two towers seem to stand, as
it were, bidding welcome to approaching pilgrims. The sound of its bells
rolls through the country far and wide in melodious peals. At length they
reach the city, and, armed with a letter of introduction from Archbishop
Warham, enter the spacious nave of the cathedral. This is open to the
public, and beyond its own vastness and solemn grandeur, presents little
of mark, save that they notice the gospel of Nicodemus among other books
affixed to the columns, and here and there sepulchral monuments of the
nameless dead. A vaulted passage under the steps ascending to the iron
grating of the choir, brings them into the north side of the church. Here
they are shown a plain ancient wooden altar of the Virgin, whereupon is
exhibited the point of the dagger with which St. Thomas’s brain was
pierced at the time of his murder, and whose sacred rust pilgrims are
expected most devoutly to kiss. In the vault below they are next shown the
martyr’s skull, covered with silver, save that the place where the dagger
pierced it is left bare for inspection: also the hair shirt and girdle
with which the saint was wont to mortify his flesh. Thence they are taken
into the choir to behold its treasures--bones without end; skulls,
jaw-bones, teeth, hands, fingers, arms--to all which the pilgrim’s kiss is
duly expected.
[Sidenote: Colet’s disgust at the relics of St. Thomas-à-Becket.]
But Colet having had about enough of this, begins to show evident tokens
of dislike to kiss any more. Whereupon the verger piously shuts up the
rest of his treasures from the gaze of the careless and profane. The high
altar and its load of costly ornaments next claim attention; after which
they pass into the vestry, where is preserved the staff of St. Thomas,
surrounded by a wonderful display of silk vestments and golden
candlesticks. Thence they are conducted up a flight of steps into a chapel
behind the high altar, and shown the face of the saint set in gold and
jewels. Here, again, Colet breaks in upon the dumb show with awkward
bluntness. He asks the guide whether St. Thomas-à-Becket when he lived was
not very kind to the poor? The verger assents. ‘Nor can he have changed
his mind on this point, I should think,’ continues Colet, ‘unless it be
for the better?’ The verger nods a sign of approbation. Whereupon Colet
submits the query whether the saint, having been so liberal to the poor
when a poor man himself, would not now rather permit them to help
themselves to some of his vast riches, in relief of their many
necessities, than let them so often be tempted into sin by their need? And
the guide still listening in silence, Colet in his earnest way proceeds
boldly to assert his own firm conviction that this most holy man would be
even delighted that, now that he is dead, these riches of his should go to
lighten the poor man’s load of poverty, rather than be hoarded up here.
At which sacrilegious remark of Colet’s the verger, contracting his brow
and pouting his lips, looks upon his visitors with a wondering stare out
of his gorgon eyes, and doubtless would have made short work with them
were it not that they have come with letters of introduction from the
archbishop. Erasmus throws in a few pacifying words and pieces of coin,
and the two friends pass on to inspect, under the escort now of the prior
himself, the rest of the riches and relics of the place. All again
proceeds smoothly till a chest is opened containing the rags on which the
saint, when in the flesh, was accustomed to wipe his nose and the sweat
from his brow. The prior, knowing the position and dignity of Colet, and
wishing to do him becoming honour, graciously offers him as a present of
untold value one of these rags! Colet, breaking through all rules of
politeness, takes up the rag between the tips of his fingers with a
somewhat fastidious air and a disdainful chuckle, and then lays it down
again in evident disgust. The prior, not choosing to take notice of
Colet’s profanity, abruptly shuts up the chest and politely invites them
to partake of some refreshment. After which the two friends again mount
their horses, and make the best of their way back to London.
Their way lies through a narrow lane, worn deep by traffic and weather,
and with a high bank on either side. Colet rides to the left of the road.
Presently an old mendicant monk comes out of a house[481] on Colet’s side
of the way, and proceeds to sprinkle him with holy water. Though not in
the best of tempers, Colet submits to this annoyance without quite losing
it. But when the old mendicant next presents to him the upper leather of
an old shoe for his kiss, Colet abruptly demands what he wants with him.
The old man replies that the relic is a piece of St. Thomas’s shoe! This
is more than Colet knows how to put up with. ‘What!’ he says passionately,
turning to Erasmus, ‘do these fools want us to kiss the shoes of every
good man? They pick out the filthiest things they can find, and ask us to
kiss them.’ Erasmus, to counteract the effect of such a remark upon the
mind of the astonished mendicant, gives him a trifle, and the pilgrims
pass on their journey, discussing the difficult question how abuses such
as they have witnessed this day are to be remedied. Colet cannot restrain
his indignant feeling, but Erasmus urges that a rough or sudden remedy
might be worse than the disease. These superstitions must, he thinks, be
tolerated until an opportunity arises of correcting them without creating
disorder.
There can be little doubt that the graphic picture of which the above is
only a rapid sketch was drawn from actual recollections, and described the
real feelings of Erasmus and his bolder friend.
Little did the two friends dream, as they rode back to town debating these
questions, how soon they would find a final solution. Men’s faith was then
so strong and implicit in ‘Our Lady of Walsingham’ that kings and queens
were making pilgrimage to her shrine, and the common people, as they gazed
at night upon the ‘milky way,’ believed that it was the starry pathway
marked out by heaven to direct pilgrims to the place where the milk of the
Holy Virgin was preserved, and called it the ‘_Walsingham way_.’ Little
did they dream that in another five and twenty years the canons would be
convicted of forging relics and feigning miracles, and the far-famed image
of the Virgin dragged to Chelsea by royal order to be there publicly
burned. Then pilgrims were flocking to Canterbury in crowds to adore the
relics and to admire the riches of St. Thomas’s shrine. Little did they
dream that in five and twenty years St. Thomas’s bones would share the
fiery fate of the image of the Virgin, and the gold and jewellery of St.
Thomas’s shrine be carried off in chests upon the shoulders of eight stout
men, and cast without remorse into the royal exchequer![482]