LUCRETIA’S house stood mid way between the Emperor’s court and Euryalus’ lodging; and every time he went to the palace, he could see her displaying herself at an upper window. But Lucretia always blushed, when she saw Euryalus, and from this the Emperor guessed that she was in love. For, riding about the town in all directions, as was his custom, he often passed her and noticed how she was affected by the presence of Euryalus, who was always with the Emperor, like Maecenas with Octavian. So, turning to him, the Emperor said:

‘See how you inflame the women, Euryalus. That lady loves you.’

But once, as though jealous of the lover, when they reached Lucretia’s house, he covered Euryalus’ eyes with his hat, saying:

‘That you may not see the object of your love. That pleasure will be mine.’

Whereupon the other replied: ‘What does Caesar mean She is nothing to me, and your behaviour is indiscreet. You’ll make all the onlookers suspicious.’

Now Euryalus rode a chestnut horse, with arching neck and narrow head. Short-bellied and broad-backed, high-spirited and rippling with muscles, it was well worth looking at; and when the trumpet sounded, it could not keep still, but twitched its ears and trembled, snorting fire down its nostrils. Its thick mane lay tossing on its right shoulder, and its strong hooves pawed the ground, till they rang heavily. And when Euryalus saw Lucretia, he became as nervous as his horse. While she, however much she had resolved, in solitude, to give her love no outlet, as soon as she saw him, lost all control over her passion and herself Just as a dry field burns up at the first touch of fire and, if the wind blows, blazes the higher, so burned poor Lucretia.

And this, I suppose, is how it will appear to wiseacres. Chastity dwells only in lowly cottages, and poverty alone enjoys a pure affection, that confines itself within the limits of the home. Rich houses know not honour, and he that is swollen by prosperity wallows in wantonness, always pursuing the exotic. Fine homes and noble families are the haunt of Fortune’s dire companion, Lust.

Seeing Euryalus, then, every time that he passed, Lucretia could not contain herself. For a long time she wondered whom she should take into her confidence, for to love in silence only feeds the flame. Now, among her husband’s servants, there was one called Sosias, an old man and a German, devoted to his master, whom he had served long and freely. So the loving woman approached him, trusting less in the man himself than in the German. The Emperor was just going out, with a long company of nobles, and they were already passing Lucretia’s door. And, when she saw Euryalus approach, she said:

‘Come here, Sosias, I want you a moment. Look down from this window. Where in the world will you find young men like these? Look how well curled they are, how upright and broad-shouldered. See how their locks are crimped and twisted into soft ringlets. What lovely faces! All their necks are white, and with what an air they carry themselves, with what stout hearts! This is a very different race of men from what my country produces. These are the sons of Gods, children sent down from heaven. I wish fate had given me one of them for a husband. Had I not seen it with my own eyes, and you had talked of it, I’d never have believed you, even though it were common report that the Germans surpass all races. I think their country will lie near the arctic regions, and borrow whiteness from the extreme cold. But do you know any of them?’

‘Almost all,’ said Sosias.

‘Do you know Euryalus, the Frank?’

‘Like myself. Why do you ask?’

‘I'll tell you. I know it will go no further; I hope that of your goodness. Of all the Emperor’s companions, none pleases me more than Euryalus. My heart is drawn towards him, and I am consumed by I know not what passion. But I cannot forget him, nor have any rest myself, until I make myself known to him. Go, I implore you, Sosias, find Euryalus, and tell him that I love him. That is all I ask of you, nor will you lose by taking my message.’

‘What do I hear?’ cried Sosias. ‘Is it right, Lady, for me to perform, or even contemplate, such an outrage? Shall I betray my master, and in my old age take to double-dealing, which in my youth I abominated? No, illustrious daughter of this city, rather do you cast out such impious flames from your pure breast. Do not pursue so dire a hope; put out that fire. Love is not hard to subdue, if you oppose its first attacks; but welcome with caresses that sweet evil, and you give yourself into the power of a cruel and insolent master, whose yoke, when you would cast it off, you cannot. What if your husband were to hear of this? Alas, how he would punish you. No love can be concealed for long.’

‘Be quiet,’ said Lucretia. ‘There is no need for panic. Who’s not afraid of death fears nothing, and I’ll endure whatever this adventure may bring forth.’

‘Where are you going, unhappy woman?’ Sosias replied. ‘You will bring disgrace upon your house, and be the one adulteress of your line. Do you think to sin in safety? A hundred eyes surround you. Your mother will not allow your crime to be concealed, nor your husband, nor your kin, nor even your hand-maidens. And though your servants be silent, your horses will speak; the dogs, the door-posts, these marble halls will accuse you. And though you were to hide it from all, you cannot hide it from Him who sees all, you cannot hide it from God. Learn what it is to have an ever-present sorrow, the terror of a guilty mind, and a soul full of shame, afraid even of itself. Security is forbidden to great wrongs. Suppress, I implore you, the flames of an unholy love, drive out this horrid evil from your chaste mind. Do not, for fear, bring to your married bed a stranger’s embraces.’

‘I know that what you say is right,’ Lucretia answered, ‘but madness compels me to pursue what’s wrong. My spirit knows the abyss that threatens it, and knowing, hurls itself on. Conquering passion rules me: the all-powerful master of my thoughts is love, and that must follow which love’s empire commands. Vainly, alas too vainly, have I struggled. If you pity me, take my message.’

At this, Sosias groaned and said:

‘By these white hairs of age, by this breast worn with troubles, and by the loyal service I have done your family, I do beseech you on my knees: cease from this madness, bring help to yourself. It is a part of health, to wish for it.’

Then said Lucretia, ‘All shame has not left my heart, and I’ll obey you, Sosias. I’ll subdue a love that will not be hidden. But from this evil there is only one escape, to avert the crime by death.’

But he, terrified at these words, exclaimed, ‘Lady, restrain the violence of your unbridled thoughts; control yourself. Now are you worthy to live, because you think yourself deserving death.’

‘It is said that I must die. When she had confessed her crime, the wife of Collatinus avenged it with the sword. But I, more honourably, will prevent my wrong by death. I seek a kind of happiness. With rope and dagger, precipice and poison, we are allowed to vindicate our chastity. This way only will I go.’

‘I'll not allow it!’ cried Sosias. But she replied, ‘When one’s resolved to die, it cannot be prevented. Upon the death of Brutus, they took the sword from Portia, Cato’s daughter, but she ate burning coals.’

‘If such a violent madness weighs upon your mind,’ said he, ‘it is your life we must consider, not your reputation. For reputation is often wrong, and a bad name is sometimes given to the good man, a good name to the bad. So let us try this Euryalus, and make work for love. That will be my task, and if I’m not mistaken, I’ll soon make all ready for you.’

With these words he filled her burning heart with love, and brought hope to her wavering mind. But he had no intention of doing as he said. He only hoped to postpone the lady’s resolve and lessen her fever, for time often puts out passion, and from day to day lessens the distemper. Thus Sosias thought to keep her going on false hopes, till either the Emperor went away, or her own mind was changed, for he feared lest, if he refused, she might find another messenger, or use violence on herself. So he pretended to be going always to and fro, and that Euryalus rejoiced in her love, but awaited some convenient time, when they might meet. Sometimes he said he had not been able to talk to him, and at others he got himself sent out of town, and on his return, filled her with joy. In this manner, for a long time, he sustained her fevered heart, and only once, that there might be some truth in his story, went to Euryalus and said:

‘Oh, how you are loved in this city, if you only knew it.’ But when the other asked him what this meant, he would say no more.