Erasmus writes to Cornelius Gerard, angrily defending their mutual friend Laurentius against Gerard's insults. He threatens war unless Gerard reconciles with Laurentius and makes amends by praising him, studying his works, and sharing his books. Despite his aggressive tone, Erasmus expresses a preference for peace over civil war among scholars.
Erasmus of Rotterdam to Cornelius Aurelius, Greetings. A boy wrote this. The discord between you and me is as great as that allotted to wolves and lambs. Listen, if you are wise, you will either return to favor with my Laurentius as soon as possible, or understand that war has been openly declared upon you. You ask whence this sudden uproar? As if it had slipped your mind, what foul, what deadly insults you recently uttered against him when you were staying here with us. I shudder to repeat them. Shameless mouth! Do you dare to call a man the most eloquent of all—whom one might rightly call the very marrow of Persuasion—a croaking crow, and a caviller, not an orator? If he were still alive, ah, what penalties would you pay him? You would find that you were dealing with a man by no means toothless. You would feel that you had provoked a horned beast. What weapons, what arrows of invective would he hurl against you? He would handle you no more gently than the unfortunate Poggio. But now that he is buried, you fear nothing, and you remember all too well that the dead do not bite. Fie, you are exceedingly brave, to rage with your tongue against one who cannot answer back. It is safe to say or do anything against him now; but, lest you immediately prepare a triumph, it is not entirely safe. Behold, I am the avenger of the wrong done to Laurentius; I have undertaken to defend his learning, which in my judgment is unsurpassed in its excellence. I will never allow it to be mangled or obliterated with impunity by anyone's shamelessness, not to say envy. Therefore, I have ordered this letter to go to you in the role of a herald, to remonstrate with you. See how you handle it. For one of two things must befall you: either you must appease our herald, or you must prepare for war. But beware lest, relying on my usual mildness, you promise yourself impunity for such a crime. I am indeed rather negligent regarding injuries inflicted upon myself; but in defending my learned friends, how combative I am, how persistent, you are free to test, if you wish. And if it seems good, I advise you to summon that Engelbert of yours, who, as you write, has drunk so deeply of the Castalian spring that he spits out nothing, blows his nose on nothing, except verses, and any others like him; of whom there is no difficult supply anywhere. Nor should you think that I will lack a band of soldiers. For this injury pertains not to me alone, but to all friends of good learning. You have injured all learned men when you injured Laurentius alone. But I, my dear Cornelius, hate nothing so much as civil war, and for that reason I judge even the most unjust peace to be preferable. Therefore, if you also prefer peace to war, you will find me quite accommodating, provided you accept the terms of peace; these our herald will offer you, three in particular, and not very difficult ones, so that you can neither complain that many are prescribed nor that they are unjust. But now compose yourself and listen: first, that if you have sinned by speaking ill, you correct it by speaking well. You shall call Laurentius, instead of a croaking crow, the very marrow of Persuasion and an Attic Muse; next, that you learn by heart the Laurentian Elegantiae, so that you hold them as your very nails and fingers; finally, that you grant us access to your books, of which you have a great abundance, upon which you have hitherto brooded like some Hesperidean dragon. You laugh and think I am joking? Go on, laugh as much as you like, but beware of thinking that I have been entirely joking; for I would not wish my demand about sending the books to be thought a jest. Furthermore, since you yourself are a most devoted initiate of letters, do not think it fitting to lacerate with the dart of your tongue a Laurentius, whom no one but a barbarian hates. Farewell. In the year 1489.