The ‘Enchiridion.’
‘I send you [herewith], as a little literary present, some lucubrations of mine. Among them is our discussion, when in England, on the Agony of Christ, but so altered that you will hardly know it again. Besides, your reply and my rejoinder to it could not be found. The “Enchiridion” I wrote to display neither genius nor eloquence, but simply for this—to counteract the vulgar error of those who think that religion consists in ceremonies, and in more than Jewish observances, while they neglect what really pertains to piety. I have tried to teach, as it were, the art of piety in the same way as others have laid down the rules of [military] discipline.... The rest were written against the grain, especially the “Pæan” and “Obsecratio,” which I wrote to please Battus and Anna, the Princess of Vere. As to the “Panegyric,”[303] it was so contrary to my taste, that I do not remember ever having written anything more reluctantly; for I saw that such a thing could not be done without adulation....
The ‘Adagia.’
Erasmus wants help from his friends.
‘I wrote, if you recollect, sometime past, about the 100 copies of the “Adagia” which I sent at my own expense into England, now three years ago. Grocyn wrote me word that he would arrange with the greatest fidelity and diligence that they should be sold according to my wish, and I do not doubt but that he has performed his promise, for he is the best and most honourable man that ever lived in England. Will you be so good as to aid me in this matter, so far as to advise and spur on those by whom you think the business ought to be settled? For one cannot doubt but that, in so long a time, the books must be sold; and the money must of necessity have come to somebody’s hand; and it is likely to be of more use to me now than ever before. For, by some means or other, I must contrive to have a few months entirely to myself, that I may extricate myself somehow from my labours in secular literature. This I trusted I could have done this winter, had not so many hopes proved illusive. Nor, indeed, “with a great sum can I obtain this freedom,” even for a few months. I entreat you, therefore, to do what you can to aid me, panting as I do eagerly after sacred studies, in disengaging myself from those [secular] studies which have now ceased to be pleasant to me. It would not do for me to beg of my friend, Lord Mountjoy, although it would not seem unreasonable or impertinent if, of his own good will, he had chosen to aid me, both on the ground of his habitual patronage of my studies, and also because the “Adagia” were undertaken at his suggestion, and inscribed with his name. I am ashamed of the first edition [of the “Adagia”] both on account of the blundering mistakes of the printers, which seem made almost on purpose, and because, urged on by others, I hurried over the work which had now begun to seem to me dry and poor after my study of the Greek authors. Consequently, another edition is resolved upon, in which the errors of both author and printer are to be corrected, and the work made as useful as possible to students.
His Greek studies not thrown away.
‘Although, however, I may for a while be engaged upon an humble task, yet whilst thus working in the Garden of the Greeks, I am gathering much fruit by the way for the time to come, which may hereafter be of use to me in sacred studies. For I have learned this by experience, that without Greek one can do nothing in any branch of study; for it is one thing to conjecture, and quite another thing to judge—one thing to see with other people’s eyes, and quite another thing to believe what you see with your own.
‘But to what a length this letter has grown! Love, however, will excuse loquacity. Farewell, most learned and excellent Colet.
‘Pray let me know what has happened to our friend Sixtinus; also what your friend the Prior Richard Charnock is doing.
‘In order that whatever you may write or send to me may duly come to hand, be so good as to have them addressed to Christopher Fisher (a most loving friend and patron of all learned men, and you amongst the rest), in whose family I am now a guest.’ Paris, 1504 [in error for 1505].
Thus had the poor scholar worked on, for the most part in silence, during these years, struggling alone, yet manfully, in the midst of the manifold hindrances cast in his way by ill-health and straitened means, neither free-born (as his friend Colet was), and thus able to tread unencumbered the path of duty, nor finding himself able even ‘with a great sum to obtain freedom’ for a while. Yet through all had Erasmus kept courageously to the collar, steadily toiling on through five years of preliminary labours, with earnest purpose to redeem his promise to Colet—first, fully to equip himself with the proper tools and then, but not till then, to join him in fellow work.