part of being always watched and threatened. But when he
was yet an unknown man of letters, in his Parisian years, we continually
find traces in him of a mistrust of the people about him that can only
be regarded as a morbid feeling. During the last period of his life this
feeling attaches especially to two enemies, Eppendorf and Aleander.
Eppendorf employs spies everywhere who watch Erasmus's correspondence
with his friends. Aleander continually sets people to combat him, and
lies in wait for him wherever he can. His interpretation of the
intentions of his assailants has the ingenious self-centred element
which passes the borderline of sanity. He sees the whole world full of
calumny and ambuscades threatening his peace: nearly all those who once
were his best friends have become his bitterest enemies; they wag their
venomous tongues at banquets, in conversation, in the confessional, in
sermons, in lectures, at court, in vehicles and ships. The minor
enemies, like troublesome vermin, drive him to weariness of life, or to
death by insomnia. He compares his tortures to the martyrdom of Saint
Sebastian, pierced by arrows. But his is worse, for there is no end to
it. For years he has daily been dying a thousand deaths and that alone;
for his friends, if such there are, are deterred by envy.

He mercilessly pillories his patrons in a row for their stinginess. Now
and again there suddenly comes to light an undercurrent of aversion and
hatred which we did not suspect. Where had more good things fallen to
his lot than in England? Which country had he always praised more? But
suddenly a bitter and unfounded reproach escapes him. England is
responsible for his having become faithless to his monastic vows, 'for
no other reason do I hate Britain more than for this, though it has
always been pestilent to me'.

He seldom allows himself to go so far. His expressions of hatred or
spite are, as a rule, restricted to the feline. They are aimed at
friends and enemies, Budaeus, Lypsius, as well as Hutten and Beda.
Occasionally we are struck by the expression of coarse pleasure at
another's misfortune. But in all this, as regards malice, we should not
measure Erasmus by our ideas of delicacy and gentleness. Compared with
most of his contemporaries he remains moderate and refined.

* * * * *

Erasmus never felt happy, was never content. This may perhaps surprise
us for a moment, when we think of his cheerful