CHAPTER XII

FINANCIAL DIFFICULTIES: EFFORTS OF BATT

The pestilence which for a long time had been endemic in Europe had lately increased in virulence, and became furiously epidemic at this time. This dire plague which had so often decimated the population was probably a form of our present influenza, but more fatal in its effects on account of the dense ignorance of all sanitary precautions then prevailing. On its appearance in any locality the people became panic-stricken and fell an easy prey to the malady. Erasmus appears to have had a great terror of the disease and made no secret of his fears; and when it appeared in Paris in 1500 he fled incontinently to the University of Orléans, where he had some friends. Before he went, however, he wrote to Batt acquainting him with his intention, and, incidentally, betraying a feeling of childish jealousy towards Brother William Herman, who, it seems, had been paying court to the Lady of Veere just as Erasmus had. The greatest men have been full of pettiness, and Erasmus apparently had his full share. A few paragraphs of the letter will show this plainly:

Finally, your coolness occurred to me; for I remembered how coldly and indifferently you suggested that I might seek refuge with you. And I do not know whether even literature interests you now since you have fallen into a new kind of love in which flattery warms desire, though the amount of it used on you does not, as in others, induce loathing.

You know what I am talking about. It is no secret to me that you have developed a preference for William, and that you have devoted your entire attention to assisting him; yet I am so far from being jealous that I admit my obligations to you on this very account. But surely, to abandon me now, after laying out the groundwork of my welfare, what is this other than to become the father of children and, when they are born, to expose them to perish? My Lady provided magnificently for William's traveling expenses; me she sent empty away, though he was only returning to his native land, while I was leaving it; he was hastening to his carousals, while I was going back to my books. You will say that my Lady is sufficiently opulent to help us both. But you are not ignorant of the tricks of courtiers, and you well know the airy shiftings of women's minds. But I will say no more, for in any case, if I am to be defrauded of my expectations, I shall rejoice that they are to be transferred to my friend William. But if my suspicions are false, as I truly hope they are, and you are the same Batt that you were wont to be, make my Lady

do what she promised and, in addition to this, move her to give me a benefice. Consider this last as given to yourself and not to me; and thus would a way be found for you to possess a benefice, though you are not in orders. I will tell you why I particularly desire this latter item. I wish to leave France as soon as possible. I desire to live with my brethren, since I see that this would be better for my reputation and more beneficial for my health. For now my fellowcountrymen who are home believe me to be away from them for the sake of a free life, while those of them who are here in Paris suspect that I am not desired by my brethren, and that I live here as one expelled. But this is the weightiest reason, finally, if there were no other I want to see you and my friend William somewhat oftener. Paris, September, 1500.1

And this to the faithful Batt. The whole tone of his letter, and especially the charge that he had been favoring William at Erasmus' expense, rather nettled Batt; and, although we have not his reply, we can judge from the penitence expressed by Erasmus in his very next letter that Batt must have written to him in rather stinging terms:

I see that I have made you angry with that letter of mine, which you consider cross, but which I would call rather jocular; or, if there was any bitterness in it, the very natural anguish of my mind caused me to pour it out before you, but not against you. However, I acknowledge my error, which is twofold, inasmuch as my desperate condition, and your happy one, did not occur to me. For it is not proper for a most afflicted man to appear facetious, but suppliant; and much less should he ever be sarcastic or petulant, especially with one whom fortune has lifted up to prosperity, and to whom he is indebted in many ways. Besides, I know it is the fashion of courtiers, when they have by some small favor made slaves of those whom Dame Fortune has cast down, not only to refuse to hear any reproach from them, but not even to tolerate a feeble supplication; expecting, on the contrary, a burst of gratitude, after they have crushed the wretches with insults. But as it is wont to occur in grave diseases that men lose their senses, it happened to me in my acute mental distress that, when I was most afflicted, I could not remember that I was wretched. And I thought I could say anything to my Batt with impunity. For I have hitherto loved you so much (for why may I not say it?) that I was not afraid; and you are not unaware that the most ardent affection is incompatible with fear. But a love truly blind drew me on a little further than was proper, and I see my fault; nor do I hope to escape severe punishment, if I do not correct my error. Henceforth I will love my Batt as a friend, as a benefactor, as a scholar. I will revere him as my preceptor, as my king, in whose hands rests the power to destroy or help me. I will not refuse to be cudgeled, if hereafter you observe any word in my letters-I will not say insolent or overweening-but that is not entirely humble and suppliant, or which would not become slave who fears the imminent torture. Nay, Eras. Ep. 129.

more, I will be thankful, my patron, that you have brought me to a recollection of myself, and made me realize my good fortune.

Now I will answer in order your very kind letter, and trust that you will kindly and graciously listen to me. First I will cast away from me entirely my custom of writing morosely; and if you think that I am not sufficiently sorry for my fault, I will seek to avoid no punishment, provided you receive me into favor; not to the extent that I hitherto enjoyed, for I am not so impudent as that; but it will be the greatest kindness if I may be permitted to cling to the outermost part of you. That the Provost really wishes me well is due to no merit of mine, I readily admit. I reverence and do homage to your affection for me, by favor of which you have commended me to so great a personage. You have promised my Lady to be a diligent and faithful patron to me; what shall I promise you in return, most learned Batt, for such kindness? What else except myself? And yet I have already been your slave for a long time. In sending me William's letter, you seemed to demand of me that I should go out and select a tree on which to hang myself. I perceive that it is all over with me, since he has superseded me; but why should I so impotently bear my misfortune when I have brought it on myself by my own stupidity? If you put me to the torture now I shall bear it, for I consider that easier to bear than to see William preferred to me. Suppliantly I ask you only one favor, and I beg it by your good fortune and by the gods who are angry with me, that if you have decided to destroy me you will not delay it by a lingering torture.

Your inviting me to the Castle, if the plague drives me from here, has restored hope to my life, most forgiving Batt. Why can I not fly to your knees, and, prostrate, kiss your feet? I see that you wish me to be rescued, and not to die of starvation. For what chastisement is more bitter or more disgraceful? Dear patron, already the plague threatens me, and already I long to fly to that blessed castle, almost more than I would to Heaven. And yet you must pardon my timidity, for I still fear somehow that your anger against me has not yet burnt itself out; and when I can assure myself of this I will leave my sanctuary here. Meanwhile permit me, from a sense of shame, to stay here for a little while, until at length, having procured intercessors for myself, I can return.

Writing, as you do, that William's poem pleased you exceedingly makes me again feel that I have fallen; and I have no heavenly or earthly power to which to have recourse save you alone, who are to me a sort of divinity. . . . Farewell, my dearest and sweetest Batt. . . . Orléans, September, 1500.*

This letter leaves a somewhat unpleasant taste in one's mouth. In its published form, it is entitled by Erasmus: "a familiarly humorous letter, full of irony." It is the opinion of the writer that this title was added to render the letter publishable, and that, as originally written, it 1 Ibid., 130.

was a frank outburst. Even were this not so, if we give up the barren search for the "humor," and balance the "irony" by the hysteria, there yet remain a groveling tone, a dependent servility, an envy of William both undignified and childish, and a distress to the point of tears: all of which show us our subject in a very poor light indeed. Batt was evidently very near the end of his patience with him, and these offensive littlenesses of Erasmus were rapidly alienating his affection for his difficult friend. But Erasmus could not help these things: they were constitutional with him, the result of his birth and environment, his frail health, his vaulting ambition, and the necessity of looking to others for his maintenance. Hence he was entirely destitute of physical courage, and we may truly say that his moral fibre was defective. He was suspicious to a degree, and this warped his estimates of many of his friends who seemed willing enough to help him. There was, for instance, his unjust suspicion of Augustine Vincent, who seems to have been a man of considerable attainments, and to have exerted himself in obtaining profitable pupils for Erasmus. The following letter to Batt will show his suspicious nature very well:

Dearest Batt: I hope you are enjoying the best of health. Matters between us are at present at such a pass that it is neither permitted nor pleasant for me now to flatter you lovingly nor to be peevish with you in joke. I send you herewith the state of my affairs; therefore I beseech you to aid me with that Battic courage of yours. The young man whom I sent to you loaded with books, and who promised to return within four weeks, I am anxiously expecting for now eight weeks. I, for one, am well aware of the many things that may happen unexpectedly to those who make such a journey: sickness, robbers, new occupations, and, in a word, the thousand other causes of delay. Yet not without reason does a great fear seize me lest there be some vast fraud in this affair. In the first place, you know the character and former goings-on of Augustine; also I hear that the young man was much in debt when with us, and neither wise nor reliable; yet withal admitted to Augustine's most intimate business affairs. These things have at length come to the surface, as it happens, "after the feast," as the saying is. I have often wondered to myself what was the reason for this sudden flood of generosity on Augustine's part, this abrupt metamorphosis of the man, so that he who was ever wont to filch other people's goods now gives freely of his own. For now at last he has been spending on me a bit more than he has received. Frequently a slight suspicion comes into my mind that he is baiting a trap for me, and that, once captured, I shall be made to pay roundly for this sport. This suspicion, unless I am much in error, is not far out of the way at the present reckoning. That you may understand the matter, listen to what has occurred.

I came to Orléans from fear of the pestilence. Thereupon, shortly afterwards, one of the boys whom Augustine is tutoring fell ill, whether of the pestilence I know not, nor are we yet certain as to

that, for there is nothing more difficult to discover than that cuttlefishlike disease which lurks in its own inky blackness. But since the boy vomited constantly for four days, and had a continued diarrhoea, fearing that I might catch something from the foulness of his disease, I explained to Augustine that it would be more convenient if I were to go away somewhere for five or six days, thus giving him more room and, at the same time, freeing myself from those odors, and that afterwards I would return. Immediately Augustine, with this as a pretext, became hostile to me, although he tried to hide it with the greatest pains. He said he would not try to dissuade me, and bade me do what seemed best, that he had neither advice nor counsel to give. Now he had come to the conclusion that, at that moment, I did not have a penny, and without money could do nothing, so that I should have either to remain against my will, or encounter great difficulties. I betook myself to the home of a certain Antwerpian, Doctor James Tutor, professor of Pontifical Law, a very kind young man, one of my best friends, and withal a great student, admirer, and eulogist of my writings. But I went to his home with the understanding that when the boy was better I should return to Augustine's. Hereupon Augustine began not only to be angry with my friend, but also to be jealous. and allowed me plainly to infer, partly from his silence and partly from his enigmatic hints, that my return to his house was shut off. Although I was aware already, yet I desired still further to fish out of him the reason for his act. He pretended many, as is the fellow's custom; but those that lie much have not always good memories. What more? I recognized the animus of an enemy, of a traitor, of a robber, and, in a word, of Augustine-that former Augustine I will call him, whom I have partly described to you. I perceive that he is meditating harsh, perfidious, and deceitful measures, and such as are worthy of him; and especially does he conceal the fact that (unknown to me) he is going to meet the young man whom I sent to England, and relieve him of any money or letters which he may be bringing to me. What will he do then? Why, send him off in some other direction. I know many reasons why he could do this very easily. I am to be told that the young man has run away and cannot be found. Meanwhile something will happen, either that Augustine himself will take to flight somewhere, or that he will ruin me utterly by some means. Believe me, Batt, I expect from him only what one might expect from such an abandoned scoundrel. And, unfortunately, I fear that the young man has already returned, and that the robber has captured the spoils, and captured them in the way I have described. For it happened recently that, in his usual lying way, Augustine said he had heard some not very definite news about my young man, that he was now on the way back, and was returning, not by Paris, but by some other route. This was meant so that I might not hasten forward and intercept the young man on the way. I at once began to press him to tell me from whom he had heard this. At first the fellow was for trifling with