DEDICATION

To the eminent and gracious knight, the lord Gaspar Schlick, lord of Neuburg, imperial chancellor, and captain of the lands of Egra and Cubitus; to his especial master, Aeneas Sylvius, poet and imperial secretary, offers many greetings and commends himself. Marianus Sozinus of Siena, my fellow-countryman, a man of character as kindly as his learning is wide, whose like, moreover, I maintain I’ll never see, has asked me of late to tell him about two lovers, and has said he does not mind whether I tell what is true, or I imagine it, in poet’s fashion.

Do you know the kind of man he is? You will be surprised when I describe him. For nature has grudged him nothing, except beauty. He is a dwarf. He should have belonged to my family, that has the name of little men. The fellow is eloquent and skilled in either kind of law; knows all the histories; has practised poetry. He can write a song in Latin or Italian; knows as much about philosopby as Plato; in geometry a very Boethius; in arithmetic another Macrobius; there is not a musical instrument be cannot play; he understands agriculture with Virgil and has studied every branch of politics. While his body was still young and strong, he was a second Entellus, a master-wrestler. In running, leaping, or boxing, be could not be surpassed. Sometimes the elements of small bodies are the more precious, as gems and jewels testify. And it would not be amiss to quote of him what Statius writes of Tydeus:

‘A greater spirit ruled that little body.’

Had but the Gods given to this man beauty and immortality, he too had been a god. But, among mortals, none has drawn every lot. I have not yet known anyone who lacked less than he. Why, he has studied even the most trifling things. He paints like Apelles; nothing could be more faultless or clearer than the codices written by his hand; in sculpture a second Praxiteles, and no mean physician. Add to that moral virtues, ruling and directing the rest.

I have, in my time, known many that studied literature and were also rich in pupils, but they lacked the civic qualities, and knew nothing about managing affairs, public or domestic. Paglarensis gaped, and accused his steward of theft who told him that one ass travailed for a single foal, while his sow had a litter of eleven. Bonitius of Milan thought he was with child and long went in fear of a delivery, because his wife had mounted him. Yet these men were considered the chief light of the law.

In others too, you will find arrogance or greed: my friend is all generosity. His house is ever full of honest company. He is no man’s enemy, but protects his pupils, comforts the sick, helps the poor, consoles the widow, nor ever fails the needy. His face is rather socratic, and always the same. In adversity, he maintains a brave heart, and no good fortune can puff him up. He has some experience of guile, not in practising but in shunning it. Dear to his townsfolk, beloved of travellers; none hate him, none resent him.

Now, why a man of such great virtue should ask so frivolous a thing, I know not. But this I know; for me to refuse him anything were wrong. For while I lived in Siena, I loved him strangely; nor has my love grown less, although he is far away. And he, who was endowed by nature with many other gifts, chiefly excelled in this, that he let no man’s love for him go unrequited. And so I felt I might not spurn his requests, and I have written the adventure of two lovers: nor have I invented it. For this thing took place in Siena, when the Emperor Sigismund was living there. You too were there and, if my ears have heard aright, made work for love. It is the city of Venus. And men who knew you tell how fiercely you burned, and that none was more passionate than you. As they think, no amatory adventure there befell, but you knew of it.

Wherefore, I pray you, read this history, and see if I have told it aright. And do not be ashamed to recollect, if ever anything of this kind happened to you; for you too were a man. He who has never truly felt the flames of love is but a stone, or a beast. It is no secret that into the very marrow-bones of the Gods has crept the fiery particle. Farewell.