Poliziano accompanied Piero de’ Medici to Rome to meet his bride Alfonsina Orsini, to whom he had been married by proxy at Naples in February the year before. His mother Clarice, who was very ill, had been in Rome since November hoping, as consumptive people do, that the milder air would cure her. With her had gone her favourite daughter, “the eye of her head,” Maddalena, affianced to the Pope’s illegitimate son Francesco Cibò. Piero and his wife, Clarice and Maddalena, all returned together to Florence, Lorenzo having begged the Pope and Cibò to allow Maddalena to come with her sick mother. With her, when she went to Rome, he had sent Matteo Franco, “one of the dearest creatures of my house,” he calls him, to keep the young girl company, and to look after her. How well the humorous, kindly priest fulfilled his trust, how cordially he disliked both Genoese and Romans, and how he longed for the brilliant society of the Medici palace is shown in the following letter. Cibò, a gambler, ignorant and stupid, had sense enough to recognise how invaluable Franco was, and although he raised no objection to Maddalena’s going with her mother, he refused to part with Franco. Matteo Franco, _from Stigliano, to_ Ser Piero Dovizi da Bibbiena, _Chancellor to Lorenzo de’ Medici, at Florence_ O revered, sweet, and good brother mine, where art thou at this moment? what art thou doing? art thou well? Hast thou so soon forgotten thy Franco who eating or sleeping only dreams of his dear soul Ser Piero? This I will never believe, far rather would I imagine that thou art hurt because I have written so seldom; that thou art sorry because I am not near thee, thy companions and affairs; and above all that thou art sorry because thou dost not see the expected fruit of thy kind and loving sowing, of thy many heartfelt letters in my favour, of all the kind things said about me to my lord and of thy expectation founded on the esteem and love thou bearest me. All this gladdens and yet distresses me; gladdens me because I rejoice in possessing so good and true a friend; distresses me when I think that all thy trouble has been in vain by no fault of mine. But, sweet Ser Piero, do not lose faith in me, as I do not lose it in thee, good will come of it all.