FIRST STAY IN ENGLAND
1499-1500
First stay in England: 1499-1500--Oxford: John Colet--Erasmus's
aspirations directed towards divinity--He is as yet mainly a
literate--Fisher and More--Mishap at Dover when leaving England:
1500--Back in France he composes the _Adagia_--Years of trouble
and penury
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 protege 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.
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.[3]
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.
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.
[Illustration: III. JOHN COLET, DEAN OF ST. PAUL'S]
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.
Colet had a deeply serious nature, always warring against 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.
[Illustration: IV. SIR THOMAS MORE, 1527]
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', _Disputatiuncula de tedio, pavore,
tristicia Jesu_, etc., being an elaboration of these letters.
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, _Naturam
expellas furca, tamen usque recurret_.'
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 _Colloquies_: 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 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--'then I said, in order to
play my part, the part of the poet that is--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."'
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.
But still, though Erasmus went on conducting himself as a 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.
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.
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 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.'
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.
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--not of the worn-out and trivial sort, but of the recondite,
genuine, ancient, Latin and Greek stamp--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!
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.
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'--the rest was left behind in
the hands of the officials and was evidently confiscated.
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 _bel esprit_, 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 _Adagia_; and he the fame,
which began with this work.
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 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 naivete which often causes his writings,
especially where he tries to suppress or cloak matters, to read like
confessions.
'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--erudite, upright and
influential men.'
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 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.
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 _homo
poeticus_ or _rhetoricus_. 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.'
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.
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 Orleans. 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 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.
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.
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.'
Did you smile your delicate smile, O author of the _Colloquies_, while
writing this? So much the worse for you.
FOOTNOTES:
[3] Allen No. 103.17. Cf. _Chr. Matrim. inst._ LB. V. 678 and _Cent
nouvelles_ 2.63, 'ung baiser, dont les dames et demoiselles du dit pays
d'Angleterre sont assez liberales de l'accorder'.