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Dedication
To
The most eminent and reverend Prince
Giulio Poldo Pezzoli
Most
Eminent Prince,
I know not by what mischance the writing of epistles dedicatory
has fallen into disuse, whether through the vanity of authors or
the humility of patrons. But the practice seems to me so very beautiful
and becoming that I have ventured to make an essay in the modest
art, and lay with formalities my first book at your feet. I have,
it must be confessed, many fears lest I shall be arraigned of presumption
in choosing so exalted a name as your own to place at the beginning
of this history; but I hope that such a censure will not be too
lightly passed upon me, for if I am guilty it is but of a most natural
pride that the accidents of my life should allow me to sail the
little pinnace of my wit under your protection.
But though I can clear myself of such a
charge, I am still minded to use the tongue of apology, for with
what face can I offer you a book treating of so vain and fantastical
a thing as Love? I know that in the judgment of many the amorous
passion is accounted a shameful thing and ridiculous; indeed it
must be confessed that more blushes have risen for Love’s sake
than for any other cause, and that lovers are an eternal laughing-stock.
Still, as the book will be found to contain matter of deeper import
than mere venery, inasmuch as it treats of the great contrition
of its chiefest character, and of canonical things in its chapters,
I am not without hopes that your Eminence will pardon my writing
of the Hill of Venus, for which extravagance let my youth excuse
me.
Then I must crave your forgiveness for
addressing you in a language other than the Roman, but my small
freedom in Latinity forbids me to wander beyond the idiom of my
vernacular. I would not for the world that your delicate Southern
ear should be offended by a barbarous assault of rude and Gothic
words; but methinks no language is rude that can boast polite writers,
and not a few such have flourished in this country in times past,
bringing our common speech to very great perfection. In the present
age, alas! our pens are ravished by unlettered authors and unmannered
critics, that make a havoc rather than a building, a wilderness
rather than a garden. But, alack! what boots it to drop tears upon
the preterit?
’Tis not of our own shortcomings though,
but of your own great merits that I should speak, else I should
be forgetful of the duties I have drawn upon myself in electing
to address you in a dedication. ’Tis of your noble virtues
(though all the world know of ’em), your taste and wit, your
care for letters, and very real regard for the arts, that I must
be the proclaimer.
Though it be true that all men have sufficient
wit to pass a judgment on this or that, and not a few sufficient
impudence to print the same (the last being commonly accounted critics),
I have ever held that the critical faculty is more rare than the
inventive. ’Tis a faculty your Eminence possesses in so great
a degree that your praise or blame is something oracular, your utterance
infallible as great genius or as a beautiful woman. Your mind, I
know, rejoicing in fine distinctions and subtle procedures of thought,
beautifully discursive rather than hastily contributed, has found
in criticism its happiest exercise. ’Tis a pity that so perfect
a Mæcenas should have no Horace to befriend, no Georgics to
accept; for the offices and function of patron or critic must of
necessity be lessened in an age of little men and little work. In
past times ’twas nothing derogatory for great princes and men
of State to extend their loves and favour to poets, for thereby
they received as much honour as they conferred. Did not Prince Festus
with pride take the masterwork of Julian into his protection, and
was not the Æneis a pretty thing to offer Cæsar?
Learning without appreciation is a thing
of naught, but I know not which is greatest in you—your love
of the arts, or your knowledge of ’em. What wonder then that
I am studious to please you, and desirous of your protection? How
deeply thankful I am for your past affections you know well, your
great kindness and liberality having far outdone my slight merits
and small accomplishment that seemed scarce to warrant any favour.
Alas! ’tis a slight offering I make you now, but if after glancing
into its pages (say of an evening upon your terrace) you should
deem it worthy of the remotest place in your princely library, the
knowledge that it rested there would be reward sufficient for my
labours, and a crowning happiness to my pleasure in the writing
of this slender book.
The humble and obedient
servant of your Eminence,
Aubrey Beardsley
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