defects in the book.  Not so Erasmus.  He boils over with annoyance against the correctors for the blunders they let pass.  The idea that so magnificent a person as an editor or author should correct proofs had not arisen.  It was the business of the young men who had been hired to do this drudgery; and all blame rested with them.  So far as the evidence goes, it was the same all through Erasmus’ life.  In the case of one of his most virulent apologies (1520) he says that he corrected all the proofs himself; but from the stress he lays on the loss of time involved, it is clear that he regarded this as something exceptional, and not to be repeated.  With the Adagia published by Aldus (1508) he says that he cast his eye over the final proofs, not in search of errors, but to see whether he wished to make any changes.  But in the main his books, like everybody else’s, were left to the care of others.

The fact is that in the splendour of the new invention of printing, the possibilities of accompanying error had not been realized.  In just the same spirit the idea went abroad that when a book had been printed, its manuscript original had no value.  We have seen how Erasmus was allowed to carry off the manuscript of Valla from Louvain to Paris.  Aldus received codices from all parts of Europe, sent by owners with the request that they should be printed; but no desire for their return.  In 1531 Simon Grynaeus came from Basle to Oxford and was given precious texts from college libraries to take back with him and have published.  Generosity helped to mislead.  To keep a manuscript to oneself for personal enjoyment seemed churlish.  If it were printed, any one who wished might enjoy it.  That any degeneration might come in by the way, that the printed text might contain blunders, was not perceived.  The process seemed so straightforward, so mechanical; as certain a method of reproduction as photography.  But the human element in it was overlooked. Humanum est errare.

It was the same with the New Testament as with Seneca.  When the form of the work had been decided upon—­a Greek text side by side with Erasmus’ translation, and notes at the end—­two young scholars, Gerbell and Oecolampadius, were installed in charge of the book.  For the Greek Erasmus had expected, he tells us, to find at Basle some manuscript which he could give to the printers without further trouble.  But he was annoyed to find that there was none available which was good enough, and he positively had to go through the one that he selected from beginning to end before he could entrust it to his correctors.  In addition to this he put into their hands another manuscript, which had been borrowed from Reuchlin; presumably to help them in case they should have any difficulty in deciphering the first.  However, after a time he discovered that they were taking liberties, and following the text of the second manuscript, wherever they preferred its reading:  as though the editing were in their own hands.  He took it from them and found another manuscript which agreed more closely with the first.  For the book of Revelation only one Greek manuscript was available; and at the end five verses and a bit were lacking through the loss of a leaf.  Erasmus calmly translated them back from the Latin, but had the grace to warn the reader of the fact in his notes.