As to the translation, an interesting point is that it is modified considerably from the translation which he had made in 1505-6, and is brought closer to the text of the Vulgate.  In the second edition of the New Testament, March 1519, he explains in a preliminary apology that he had changed back in this way in 1516 from fear lest too great divergence from the Vulgate might give offence.  But the book was on the whole so well received that he soon realized that the time was ripe for more advanced scholarship.  His earlier version was the best that he could do, in simplicity of style and fidelity to the original.  Accordingly in 1519 he introduced it with the most minute care, even such trivial variations as ac or _-que_ for et being restored.  The transformation was not without its effects.  Numerous passages were objected to by the orthodox; as for example, when he translates [Greek:  logos] in the first verse of St. John’s Gospel by sermo, instead of verbum, as in the Vulgate and the edition of 1516.

The New Testament appeared in March 1516, dedicated by permission to the Pope; in the following autumn came Jerome, in nine volumes, of which four were by Erasmus, dedicated to the Archbishop of Canterbury:  and thus the Head of the Church and one of his most exalted suffragans lent their sanction to an advancement of learning which theological faculties in the universities viewed with the gravest suspicion.

Erasmus had now reached his highest point.  He had equipped himself thoroughly for the work he desired to do.  He was the acknowledged leader of a large band of scholars, who looked to him for guidance and were eagerly ready to second his efforts; and with the resources of Froben’s press at his disposal, nothing seemed beyond his powers and his hopes.  Wherever his books spread, his name was honoured, almost reverenced.  Material honours and wealth flowed in upon him; and he was continually receiving enthusiastic homage from strangers.  He saw knowledge growing from more to more, and bringing with it reform of the Church and that steady betterment of the evils of the world which wise men in every age desire.  In all this his part was to be that of a leader:  not the only one, but in the front rank.  He enjoyed his position, feeling that he was fitted for it; but he was not puffed up.  In his dreams of what he would do with his life, he had ever seen himself advancing not the name of Erasmus but the glory of God.  In his later years he became impatient of criticism, and resented with great bitterness even difference of opinion, unless expressed with the utmost caution; to hostile critics his language is often quite intolerable.  But the spirit underlying this is not mere vanity.  No doubt it wounded him to be evil spoken of, to have his pre-eminence called in question, to be shown to have made mistakes:  but the real ground of his resentment was rather vexation that anything should arise to mar the unanimity of the humanist advance toward wider knowledge.  Conscious of singleness of purpose, it was a profound disappointment to him to have his sincerity doubted, to be treated as an enemy by men who should have been his friends.