o women than they do now.
Sir John Paston's conversations with the Duchess of Norfolk would make
less than duchesses blush now. The tales that Erasmus introduces into
his writings, the jests of his Colloquies, are often quite
unnecessarily coarse; but one which will illustrate our point may be
repeated. One winter's morning a stately matron entered St. Gudule's
at Brussels to attend mass. The heels of her shoes were caked with
snow, and on the smooth pavement of the church she slipped up. As she
fell, there escaped from her lips a single word, of mere obscenity.
The bystanders helped her to her feet, and amid their laughter she
slunk away, crimson with mortification, to hide herself in the crowd.
Nowadays great ladies have not such words at command.

Theological controversy has a proverbial name for ferocity; in the
sixteenth century other qualities were added to this. In 1519 a young
Englishman named Lee, who was afterwards Archbishop of York, ventured
to criticize Erasmus' New Testament, with a vehemence which under the
circumstances was perhaps unsuitable. Erasmus of course resented this;
and his friends, to cool their indignation, wrote and published a
series of letters addressed to the offender: 'the Letters of some
erudite men, from which it is plain how great is the virulence of
Lee.' Among the contributors was Sapidus, head master of the famous
school at Schlettstadt, which was one of the first Latin schools of
the age. His letter to Lee concludes with a disgusting piece of
imagery, which would shock one if it proceeded from the most
unpleasantly minded schoolboy. One cannot conceive a Head Master of
Rugby appearing in print in such a way now.

VIII

THE POINT OF VIEW

There is one thing in the world which is constantly with us, and which
has probably continued unchanged throughout all ages of history: the
weather. Yet Erasmus' writings contain no traces of that delight in
brilliant sunshine which most Northerners feel, nor of that wonder at
the beauties of the firmament which was so real to Homer. He
frequently remarks that the weather was pestilent, that the winds blew
and ceased not, that the sea was detestably rough and the clouds
everlasting; but of the praise which accompanies enjoyment there is
scarcely a word. His utmost is to say that the climate of a place is
salubrious. He often describes his journeys. As he rode on horseback
across the Alps or was carried down the Rhine in a boat, he mus