s abuse, these slanderous
lies, charging me with atheism, Epicureanism, scepticism in articles of
the Christian profession, blasphemy, and what not--besides many other
points on which I[99] am silent? I take these charges the less hardly,
because in all this there is nothing to make my conscience disturb me.
If I did not think as a Christian of God and the Holy Scriptures, I
could not wish my life prolonged even until tomorrow. If you had
conducted your case with your usual vehemence, without frenzied abuse,
you would have provoked fewer men against you: as things are, you have
been pleased to fill more than a third part of the volume with such
abuse, giving free rein to your feelings. How far you have given way to
me the facts themselves show--so many palpable crimes do you fasten on
me; while my _Diatribe_ was not even intended to stir up those matters
which the world itself knows of.

You imagine, I suppose, that Erasmus has no supporters. More than you
think. But it does not matter what happens to us two, least of all to
myself who must shortly go hence, even if the whole world were
applauding us: it is _this_ that distresses me, and all the best spirits
with me, that with that arrogant, impudent, seditious temperament of
yours you are shattering the whole globe in ruinous discord, exposing
good men and lovers of good learning to certain frenzied Pharisees,
arming for revolt the wicked and the revolutionary, and in short so
carrying on the cause of the Gospel as to throw all things sacred and
profane into chaos; as if you were eager to prevent this storm from
turning at last to a happy issue; I have ever striven towards such an
opportunity. What you owe me, and in what coin you have repaid me--I do
not go into that. All that is a private matter; it is the public
disaster which distresses me, and the irremediable confusion of
everything, for which we have to thank only your uncontrolled nature,
that will not be guided by the wise counsel of friends, but easily turns
to any excess at the prompting of certain inconstant swindlers. I know
not whom you have saved from the power of darkness; but you should have
drawn the sword of your pen against those ungrateful wretches and not
against a temperate disputation. I would have wished you a better mind,
were you not so delighted with your own. Wish me what you will, only not
your mind, unless God has changed it for you.

XVIII. TO THEOPHRASTUS PARACELSUS[100]

Basle, _c