Preface

AENEAS SYLVIUS, poet and imperial secretary, brings many greetings to Marianus Sozinus, expert in either kind of law, and his fellow-citizen.

You ask a thing ill-suited to my years, to yours both offensive and disgusting. For how can it become me, who am near forty, to write of love, or you, that are in your fifties, to read of it That is a subject which delights young minds, and demands a tender heart. Old men are as fitted to tales of love as young men are to tales of prudence. Nor is there anything uglier than old age pursuing love, but lacking strength. Certainly you will sometimes find old men in love,—loved again, never; matrons and girls alike despise old age. No man’s love will hold a woman, but his whom she has seen in the flower of his youth. And if you hear aught to the contrary, there’s a lie behind it. Indeed I know, to write of love does not beseem me, who have already passed the noonday of life and am carried on towards evening; but it dishonours you who ask no less than me who write. I must give way to you; do you consider, then, what you ask. For as you are the elder, so should you the more honestly observe the laws of friendship. And if you are right, in not being afraid of breaking them by your request, I’ll not be so foolish as to fear transgression, when I obey. So many are the favours I owe to you, I can deny you nothing, not even when it involves some measure of disgrace.

Therefore I will grant your request, now some ten times repeated, nor longer refuse what you demand so uproariously. But I’ll not invent, as you insist, nor use the poet’s reed, while I may tell what is true. For who is there so worthless as would lie, when he can shelter himself behind the truth?

Because you have been many times in love, nor yet lack fire, you wish me to weave for you the story of two lovers. It is an evil that will not let you grow old. But I’ll indulge your desire; I’ll make the grey hairs of your sickly lust to itch. Nor shall I imagine, who have such a store of truth.

For what, in all the world, is more common than love? What state, what little town, what family lacks examples? Who, that has reached his thirtieth year, has not endured some villainy for love’s sake? I conjecture from myself whom love has sent into a thousand perils, and I thank the Gods above that I have a thousand times escaped the ambushes prepared for me; more fortunate in my star than Mars whom Vulcan took with Venus, and caught them in an iron net, and displayed them, as a laughing-stock, to the other Gods.

But I shall touch on other loves than mine, lest as I rake the ashes of some old fire, I find a spark still burning. So I’ll tell of a wonderful love, almost incredible, with which two fond—not to say doting—lovers burned for one another. Nor shall I make use of old forgotten types, but I’ll bring forth torches that burned in our own days. You will not hear the loves of Troy or Babylon, but of our own city; though, of the lovers, one was born under a northern sky.

Perhaps, even from this, some profit may be drawn. For, while the lady that comes into this tale, lost her lover, and, amid lamentations, breathed out her sad, indignant spirit; he too, from that time, never had any part in true happiness: and this will be a kind of warning to the young, to shun such trifles. So let all maidens attend and, profiting by this adventure, see to it that the loves of young men send them not to their perdition.

And this story teaches youths not to arm themselves for the warfare of love, which is more bitter than sweet; but, putting away passion, which drives men mad, to pursue the study of virtue, for she alone can make her possessor happy. While, if there is anyone that does not know from other sources how many evils love conceals, he may learn from this.

For you, farewell, and listen closely to the tale you compel me to write.