The account which Erasmus himself gave of the writing and issuing of this book is very meagre, and occurs in his letter to John Botzheim written in 1523.

The Moria was my amusement when I stayed at More's house on my return from Italy. I had so poor an opinion of it that I did not think it worth publishing (for I was myself in Paris when it was printed through the agency of Richard Croke in the most villainous type and form).*

It seems, however, that Croke was not responsible for it, and that the account above is not strictly true. At any rate Croke repudiated the statement, and Erasmus afterwards corrected it by removing "per Ricardum Crocum" and substituting "per nescio quos" instead.

To show how trifling a work of amusement it was to him at that time, he has left on record the statement that the Moria was the effort of only seven days, a rather remarkable accomplishment if true. There was something furtive about the circumstances attending the issue of this book, and it would seem that its very existence was for a long time a secret between More and Erasmus. There is no mention of it in any of the letters written or received at that period, although there is abundant reference to the Lucian dialogues, the Copia verborum, and the other works that he then had in hand. So we come to the conclusion that it was printed privately and circulated cautiously until he saw how the world took it, and that the blows he dealt were felt all the more keenly because they were struck in the dark.

For those who love the satirical vein, the book is very pleasant reading, and for more than half the work, there is nothing to offend the feelings of even the most susceptible. Then we find that, like the wasp, its sting is in its tail.

Folly in the person of a woman begins by telling her auditors of all the benefits that she confers on her votaries. In folly lies real happiness, and without folly there is no pleasure truly worth while.

When man, a creature made for the administration of affairs

. took me into his councils, I gave him an advice worthy of me, namely, that he should take unto himself a woman, who is a foolish animal and a silly, but withal amusing and gentle, by whose domestic society his harsh man's mind might be softened, and by whose folly his soul might be sweetened. For that Plato seemed to hesitate whether to put woman into the class of reasoning beings

♦ Eras. Ep. I, p. 19, 11. 6 sqq.

Ibid., 337, 11. 126 sqq. See also p. 326. On a copy of the Moria once owned by Cotton Mather there appears in his handwriting the following extract from Heidfeld's Sphinx, de artibus liberalibus, beginning: "Quis primus Stultitiae Encomium scripsit? Dictator rei literariae Erasmus Moriam in lucem edidit, cui non plusquam septem dierum operam impendit." At this place Cotton Mather put an asterisk, and wrote below: "Credat Judaeus Apella, non ego.' I am inclined to agree with Mather that it was a short period for such an extensive work, although we must not forget what Erasmus confided to Juan Maldonado in his letter of March 30, 1527: "Omnia nostra fere praecipitamus; hoc est naturae meae vitium."

or into that of brutes, means nothing else than that he wished thereby to point out her foolishness. . . . And just as the Greek proverb tells that an ape is always an ape, even though dressed in fine raiment, so a woman is always a woman, that is, foolish, no matter what character she may assume. . . . [But they are] much more fortunate than the men. In the first place on account of their beauty, which they deservedly esteem more than anything else, and by the aid of which they tyrannize even over their own tyrants. Then, what else do they long for in this life more than to please the men as much as possible? Is that not the reason for all these ornaments, these disguises, these baths, these hair dressings, these cosmetics, these perfumes, these artifices for beautifying, coloring, and primping up the features, eyes, and skin? now, is it not by folly that they make themselves admired of men? And what is there that men will not grant to women? And for what reward except that of pleasure? They delight them by their very foolishness. . . You have then here the fountain from which springs the first and principal pleasure of life.*

In a similar manner Folly goes on to ridicule those who find their pleasure in the ultra refinements of the banquet table, where not only the stomach but also the eye and ear are titillated by sensuous pleasures. So, too, the backbiters are laughed at, and those who take unto themselves wives of whose antecedents they are ignorant. Folly then brings on the scene Self-Love, whom she claims as a sister, and whom she fully credits with playing her game.

For what so foolish as to please and admire yourself? And how can anything you do be beautiful, or grateful, or honorable, if you are displeased with yourself? Take away this seasoning of life. and forthwith the orator will seem cold with his gestures, the musician will please nobody with his music, the actor will be hissed with his poses, the poet will be laughed at with his muses, the painter will grow shabby with his art, the doctor will starve with his drugs. . . . In a word, each one must flatter himself, and any adulation must commend itself to him before it can be recommended to others."

The vanity of old men and old women who desire to seem young again and to enjoy for a second time the pleasures of their youth, is not passed over unmentioned, and Folly encourages them by exclaiming, "How can it hurt you if everybody hisses you provided that you applaud yourself? And it is Folly alone who can accomplish this for you.'

Then two chapters further on Folly says:

Moriae encomium, chap. xvii. Since the division into chapters established in 1765 by A. G. deMeusnier deQuerlon has been generally followed in all subsequent editions, references to this work will here be by chapter.

Ibid., chap. xxii.

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Ibid., chap. xxxi.

Among the sciences themselves those are most in vogue which most nearly approach common sense: that is, folly. The theologians go hungry, the physicists get the cold shoulder, the astrologists are laughed at, and the dialecticians are neglected. But it is the doctor only who is "the equal of many men," for in that line of business the more ignorant, rash, and brainless he is, the more he is esteemed by our decorated nobility. Medicine as it is now practiced by many is nothing more than a little bit of flattery, just as rhetoric is.

Then the pettifoggers of the law receive a crack of Folly's whip, those gentlemen

whose profession the philosophers are wont to call asinine, and yet at the sweet will of these asses the greatest and smallest affairs are transacted. Thus they acquire great estates, while the theologian, having written tomes embracing the whole of divinity, nibbles on a lupine, while waging assiduous war with bedbugs and lice. As therefore these arts are more agreeable which have the greater affinity to Folly, so they are the most fortunate who have entirely abstained from all dabbling in learning, and have been led by Nature alone, who is never defective in any part, unless perchance we should wish to surpass the limits of our mortal lot. Nature hates pretense, and turns out much more agreeably when bothered by no art.

Let me return to the felicity of the fools, who, having spent their days in a very pleasant way, with no fear or anxiety about death, pass straightway into the Elysian fields, there to delight their pious and tranquil souls with their own particular enjoyments. Come now, let us compare any wise man's lot with that of such an arrant fool. Suppose that you place against him an exemplar of wisdom, a man, say, who has used up his whole boyhood and youth in acquiring learning, and has lost the sweetest part of life in constant midnight labors, anxieties, and exhausting toil, so that during what remains of his life, he is unable to enjoy the least bit of pleasure, but is ever sparing, poor, sad, gloomy, harsh, and unjust to himself, hateful and offensive to others, exhausted by anaemia, starvation, ill-health, blindness, prematurely broken down with old age and grey hairs, dying before his time. Now what does it matter how soon such a fellow dies, since he has never lived? There you have an excellent picture of your wise man.

Then Folly hits those who are vain even after death, and lay down. the directions for their own funerals, noting minutely the number of paid mourners, the kind of music, and the speakers, who are to be engaged, just as if they were going to be spectators at their own obsequies. Those too who, having nothing of their own accomplishment to be proud of, scan their genealogical tree, and speak with pride of • Ibid., chap. xxxiii. Ibid., chap. xxxvii.

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