A few weeks ago, on a day when this old horse was feeling his oats, I remarked upon the pleasure of stumbling over a beautiful new word. The word was “diablerie,” but no matter. I described the experience as follows:

“It was one of those goose-bumping, spine-tingling, heart-fluttering moments of discovery that inspired Byron to write about Picasso speechless on a peak in Yucatan.”

This ink-stained wretch went on to say, in his very next paragraph, that such stunning moments of discovery are well-known: “The apple dropped on Newton, Saul took Exit 39 to Damascus, Faust ogled Helen, and that Greek fellow took a notable bath.”

The column provoked a ton of e-mail. From cyberspace came an incredulous note: “‘Faust ogled Helen?’ Indeed! Faust ogled Marguerite! It was Priam who ogled Helen. A simple public apology will suffice.”

A gentleman in South Bend, Ind., said he could find no reference to Picasso in Yucatan. He sent along the text of Keats’ sonnet “On First Looking Into Chapman’s Homer.”

From East Aurora, N.Y., came a harsh note describing my historical references as a “blunder.” A blunder!

A reader in South Carolina said that Byron could not possibly have written about Picasso, because Byron died in 1824 and Picasso wasn’t even born until 1881. He added, “You also said that ‘Faust ogled Helen.’ Faust’s love was Gretchen.”

There were several errors in that column. It is not too late to set things straight. First off, it was not King Saul of I Samuel 9:31 who took Exit 39. It was Saul of Tarsus, his first cousin, and it is mere legend that he was trying to reach Damascus. He was trying to get to Buffalo on Interstate 390, and I-390 doesn’t go there. It goes to Rochester.

Now, about Dr. Faust. As a number of scholars have established, there were at least two Drs. Faust of literary fame, Johan Faust of Athens and Hans Faustus of Troy. They are often confused, but people from Georgia and Alabama have accents in common, and the misunderstanding is understandable.

There were only two women involved in the familiar legends – Helen and Marguerite. Gretchen was never anywhere near Troy. She was in Ithaca the whole time. Everyone knows about Helen. Hers was the face that launched a thousand ships and burned the topless towers of Ilium. Blondes get blamed for a lot. The notion that “Priam ogled Helen” has no foundation in fact. King Priam was a lascivious old goat, but he kept his hands off Helen. It was Paris who lusted for Helen, but the feeling was mutual. Their affair is remembered especially for its ending. That was the last time she saw Paris. As for Marguerite, she lives on through the tequila cocktail, two of which are known to knock a gorilla on his fanny.

In the matter of Picasso speechless on a peak in Yucatan, I confess error. It was a mistake in copyediting. It was Balboa, of course, and the peak was not in Yucatan. It was in Darien, between Stamford and Norwalk. The explorers did not gaze with wild surmise upon the vast Pacific, but upon Long Island Sound. I was misinformed.

Let me add only that we journalists try hard, but we are not infallible. We are human, and as Jonathan Swift reminds us, “To err is human, to forgive divine.” Swift got himself in trouble by writing his “Modest Proposal” for restraining population growth in Ireland. His idea was to eat the surplus children. He had been informed that a year-old child is “most delicious, nourishing and wholesome food, whether stewed, baked or boiled, in a fricassee or a ragout.”

Swift was denounced as a cannibal to the end of his days. Oh, and it wasn’t Swift who wrote of erring humans. It was Shakespeare. You could look it up.

James Kilpatrick is a syndicated columnist.

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