NOW Euryalus, wounded by love’s unerring dart, could get no rest for his limbs; a secret fire ran in his veins, devouring the very marrow of his bones. But he did not know who Sosias was, or guess that he was sent by Lucretia. And (as we all have more to wish for than to hope) when he perceived that he was in love he marvelled for a long time at his own discretion, and often reproached himself:

‘What, Euryalus, you knew love’s empire: long pursuit, short laughter, few joys, many fears, always dying, never dead—that’s the lover. Why must you, yet again, involve yourself in these trifles?’

But when he saw that he resisted in vain, ‘Why, then’—cried he—‘should I, poor wretch, strive uselessly against love? May I not do as Julius did, and Alexander, and Hannibal? But why speak of warriors? Look at the poets. Virgil, tied to a rope, hung half-way up a tower, while he hoped to enjoy the caresses of his mistress. But some may excuse the poet, who leads a rather disorderly life. How about the philosophers, the masters of discipline and preachers how to live? Aristotle, like a horse, was mounted by a woman; he obeyed the reins and felt the spurs.

‘The power of Emperors is equal to the Gods, and that’s not true, that is so often repeated: majesty and love are ill companions and cannot share a throne. For who’s a greater lover than our Caesar? How often has he kept love busy? They say that Hercules, strongest of men and true son of the Gods, cast away his quiver and his lion’s skin, bent his neck, and suffered emeralds to be fitted on his fingers and his rough hair tamed, while with the hand that had grasped the club he guided the thread on the whirling spindle. It is a very natural passion.

‘The birds of the air know those flames; for the black dove is always loved by the green bird, and white pigeons often mate with parti-coloured ones, if I remember aright what Sappho wrote to Phaon of Sicily. And what about the four-footed animals. The horse makes war for its mate; the timid deer seek battle and, by their cries, reveal the fever that possesses them. Hircanian tigers burn, and the boar sharpens its death-dealing tusks. Roused by love, the tawny lions lash their tails, and the wild whales burn in the sea. Nothing is safe from love, and it’s denied to nothing: even hatred dies at love’s command. Love rouses the fierce flames of youth, restores to weary age its burnt-out ardours, and strikes the breasts of maidens with a strange fire. And why should I oppose nature’s law? Love conquers all: Let us give way to love.’

Having come to this decision, he looked around for a procuress to whom he might entrust his letters for the lady, and he had in Nisus a true companion, who knew all about these matters. So he undertook this business, and brought a little woman, who took a letter composed after this manner:

‘My letter would bring you health, Lucretia, had I any health to offer you; but everything, my safety and my very hope of life, depends on you. I love you more than myself, and I think the passion in my wounded breast has not escaped you. For you must have read it in my face, so often wet with tears, and in the sighs I uttered when I saw you. Forgive me, I pray, that I open my heart to you. Your beauty has conquered me, and the extreme grace of your loveliness, by which you surpass all, has made me captive. What love was, till now I knew not; but you have brought me under Cupid’s power. I resisted long, I confess it, that I might escape so cruel a master, but your splendour made my efforts vain. I was subdued by the glances of your eyes, which make you more powerful than the sun. I am your prisoner, and belong to myself no more. You have taken from me all power to sleep or eat or drink. Day and night, I love you, I want you, call on you, await you, think of you, hope for you, rejoice in you; my heart is yours, with you I am complete. You only can save me, you only can destroy. So choose which you will do, and write me your intention. But be no crueller to me with your words than you have been with your eyes, with which you bound me to you.’

When he had sealed this with a jewel, the procuress took it, and went with all speed to Lucretia. Finding her alone, she said:

‘This letter is sent you by the noblest and most powerful lover at the Emperor’s court, who with many prayers asks you to pity him.’

Now this woman was notorious for a bawd, and Lucretia knew it, and took it ill that a woman of such repute should be sent to her. So, turning upon her, she said:

‘What shameful audacity brings you into this house? What madness to come before me? How dare you enter the homes of nobles, tempt powerful ladies, and violate honourable marriages? I can scarce restrain myself from tearing out your hair. You bring me letters? You address me? Did I not care more for my own dignity than your deserts, I’d see to it to-day that never again would you carry love-letters about. Go, go quickly, you poisonous creature, and take your letter with you. No, give it to me, that I may tear it up and throw it in the fire.’

And, snatching the paper, she tore it in many pieces, stamped it underfoot, and cast it on the ashes.

‘And that’s how you should be punished, you bawd. It’s burning you want, not a drink. But go away, immediately, before my husband finds you and gives you the punishment I have spared you. And take care you never come before my eyes again.’

The woman had expected worse than this, but she knew the ways of married ladies, and said to herself, ‘Yes, now you want him most, because you pretend to be most unwilling;’ and then to Lucretia, ‘Pardon, Lady, I thought I was doing you a service, and that you would be pleased. If I am wrong, forgive my indiscretion, and if you don’t want me to come back, I’ll obey you. But do you look, what a lover you are rejecting.’

Saying this, she went away, and returned to Euryalus and said: ‘Breathe, happy suitor, the lady loves more than her lover, but had not, at the moment, time to reply. I found Lucretia in tears, but when I said your name and gave her your letter, her face grew joyful and she kissed the paper a thousand times. Fear not, she’ll soon send a reply.’

And off she went, and took care that he never found her again, in case he repaid her lies with blows.

But Lucretia, when the old hag was gone, collected the fragments of the letter, and put each in its proper place, and fitted the torn words together till she could read it. When she had done so a thousand times, and kissed it as often, at last she wrapt it in a piece of muslin, and laid it among her most precious jewels. Then, recalling now this word, now that, she drank every hour deeper of love, and resolved to write to Euryalus, and composed a letter on these lines:

‘Cease from hoping for what cannot be obtained, Euryalus. Do not pester me with your letters and your messengers, nor put me in the ranks of those who sell themselves for a price. I am not what you think; I am not the kind of woman to whom you should send a bawd. Find another concubine, for no love can reach me that is impure. Do as you like with others, but of me ask nothing that is unworthy yourself and me. Farewell.’

Although this letter seemed to Euryalus somewhat cold, and not in keeping with the old bawd’s words, at least it showed him by what means their correspondence might be continued. For he did not hesitate to trust where Lucretia had shown her confidence. But it grieved him that he did not know the Italian language. He desired so ardently to learn it, and love made him so persistent, that in a short time he had mastered it, and could compose his letters alone. For till now he had entrusted to others anything that required to be written in Tuscan. So he replied to Lucretia:

That he was not to blame, if he had sent a woman of ill-repute, for he was a stranger and knew no better; nor had he any other messenger he could employ: the reason of his message was a love which desired of her nothing dishonourable; for he believed that she was pure, most chaste, and for that reason the more worthy of his love: extravagant women, careless of their honour, not only had he never yet loved, but hated exceedingly; for when modesty was gone, nothing remained to commend a woman: beauty was a pleasant quality, but frail, transitory, and of no value without honour: that she was endowed with both, he knew, and for that reason he loved her, and asked of her nothing licentious, nothing that would soil her reputation: he only wished to speak with her, and to tell her, in words, all his thoughts, more fully than he could do in writing.

And, with this letter, he sent gifts, less valuable in themselves than for their workmanship: And Lucretia answered:

‘I received your letter, and will say no more about the bawd. That you love me does not surprise me, for you are not the first, nor the only one, that my beauty has led astray. Many besides you have loved me, and still do; but you, as well as they, are wasting your time. To speak with you is impossible, even if I would; you had need to be a swallow to find me alone. My house is high, and all its gates are well guarded. I will keep your gifts, because I like their workmanship, but that I may not take anything from you, and lest this should seem a pledge of love, I send in return a little ring, which her husband gave to my mother, and you must accept it as the price of the jewels you have sold to me. For this gem is worth as much as your gift. Farewell.’

And thus Euryalus wrote:

‘Your letter gave me much pleasure, since it closed our quarrel about the bawd. And yet it grieved me, for you make so little of my love. For, although many love you, none of their fires is to be compared with mine. But this you will not believe, because I cannot talk with you; if only that were granted, you would no longer despise me.

‘I wish I could become a swallow, but I would even more willingly become a flea, in case you shut your window on me. But what grieves me is not that you cannot, but that you will not; for what am I, if I may not look upon my life? Oh, my Lucretia, why did you say you would not? Can it be that, even if it were possible, you would not talk with me, who am all yours? I, who desire nothing more than to do your will, who, if you bade me walk through fire would obey you in less time than it took to command. Take back that word, I implore you. Though the means be denied us, let your will, at least, be favourable, nor kill me with your words, who give me life with your eyes. And alter that decision, that made you say that I would waste my time. Cease from such cruelty; be gentler with your lover.

‘For, if you persist in talking like that, you’ll become a murderess, you may be sure of that. It would be easier for you to kill me with your words, than for anyone else with the sword. I will ask nothing more, only I demand that you return my love. Here is nothing that you can object to; no one can forbid you that. Say that you love me, and I am happy. As for my poor gifts, I am glad that you have them, on whatever grounds; for they will remind you sometimes of my love. But they were small, and these I send now are smaller. Still, don’t despise them, for your lover sends them; and in a few days better things should reach me from my country; when they come, you’ll have them. And your ring will never leave my finger, where I make it wet with many kisses, instead of you. Farewell, my joy, and send me what solace you can.’

To this, after long reflection, Lucretia at last replied:

‘Gladly, Euryalus, would I yield to you, and, as you request, admit you to my love. For your noble character deserves it, and your behaviour merits that you should not love in vain. I will not say how much your beauty pleases me, and the kindness of your face. But it is not for my happiness, that I should love you. I know myself; if I begin to love, there will be no bounds to it, no limits. You cannot remain here for long, and when once we have enjoyed each other, I’ll not be able to do without you. You would not want to take me hence, nor I to stay behind.

‘It is the example of many women, who loved strangers and were deserted, that persuades me not to return your love. Jason forsook Medea, who helped him to slay the guardian-dragon and carry off the golden fleece. Theseus would have been sacrificed as a prey to the Minotaur, but he took Ariadne’s advice, and so escaped; and yet he deserted her, and left her on an island. And what of poor Dido, who gave refuge to Aeneas? Was not her foreign love the cause of her death?

‘I know how perilous it is to receive a stranger’s love, and will not expose myself to such disasters. You men have stronger hearts, and can more readily subdue your passions. But when a woman gives way to that insanity, there’s no escape but death. Women do not love, they go mad; and there is nothing more terrible than a woman in love, whose love is not returned. When once we have received that flame, we care not for reputation nor for life. There’s but one remedy, possession of the beloved. For the more we lack, the more we want; we fear no danger, if we can but satisfy our desires.

‘Now I am a married woman, noble, rich, and it is best that I should shun love, and more especially yours, which cannot last. I do not wish to be called a Phillis of Rhodope, or a second Sappho. So I beseech you, ask no more for my love, and gradually suppress your own, and so destroy it. For that’s much easier for a man to do than for a woman. And, if you love me, as you say you do, you should not ask of me what must be my destruction. In return for your gifts, I am sending a golden cross, set with pearls: it is small, but not without value. Farewell.’

Euryalus did not leave this unanswered, but, as though inflamed by what she now wrote, he seized his pen, and composed a reply after this manner:

‘Hail, my soul, my Lucretia, who save me with your words, even when you mix a little poison with them. But that, I hope, when you have heard me, you will withdraw. Your letter has reached my hands, closed and sealed with your jewel. I have read it often, and kissed it oftener, but its effect on me is different from what, it appears, was your intention.

‘You ask me to stop loving you, because it is no good your fostering a stranger’s love, and you give examples of women who have been deceived. But you write all this so beautifully and so elegantly that I can only admire and love your intelligence, not forget it. Who could stop loving, just when he has learned the prudence and the wisdom of his mistress? If you wanted to destroy my love, you should not have displayed your erudition. For that is not to put out the fire, but to blow the tiny sparks into a mighty blaze.

‘For my part, while I read, I loved you the more, perceiving that to your great beauty and honour was added learning. Those are but words, with which you ask me to stop loving you. Ask the hills to flatten themselves out, or the rivers to flow back to their springs. It is as impossible for me not to love you, as for Phoebus to leave his course. When the mountains of Scythia can lose their snows, the oceans their fishes, and the woods their wild beasts, then only will Euryalus be able to forget you.

‘It's not so easy as you think, Lucretia, for men to kill their desires, and many have said of your sex what you ascribe to mine. But I’ve no wish to start that quarrel now. I must reply to the arguments you bring against me. For you give as the reason why you will not return my love, that foreign loves have ruined many women, and you quote examples. Well, I too might tell of many whom women have deserted. For Troilus, as you know, the son of Priam, was betrayed by Cressida; Helen deceived Deiphobus; and Circe all her lovers, turning them with her physics into pigs and other wild beasts. But it is not right to judge all humanity from the experience of a few. If we go on like that, then, for two or three or even ten men that are bad, you will condemn and abominate them all; and, for as many women, must I hate the sex? Rather let us consider other examples, such love as was between Antony and Cleopatra, and many others that a letter is too short to tell of.

‘But you have read Ovid, and you have seen there that, after the sack of Troy, many of the Achaeans met, on their wanderings, foreign loves, and never returned home. For they clung to their mistresses, and preferred to forego their kin, their home, power, and all the rest that’s dearest in one’s country, rather than leave their sweethearts.

‘And so I ask you, my Lucretia, consider these examples, and not those that are adverse to our love and that befell only a few. For in this I think like you, that I must love you for ever, and be for ever yours. And don’t call me a foreigner, for I am more a citizen than any born in this town; for chance assigned to them what I have chosen. I have no country, except where you are, and though, some day, it may happen that I shall go away, my return will be swift. I’ll never go back to Germany, unless it be so to settle and arrange my affairs, that I may be with you as long as possible. I’ll easily find an excuse for staying with you. The Emperor has much business in these parts, and I’ll see to it that he entrusts all that to me. Sometimes I’ll undertake an embassy, sometimes discharge an office. Caesar should have a vicar in Tuscany, and I’ll obtain that post.

‘And do not fear, Lucretia, my joy, my heart, my hope, that I could live without my heart, or ever leave you. Come now—at last—take pity on your lover, who is fading away like snow in the sun. Think of all my troubles, and put an end to my martyrdom at length. Why torture me so long? I wonder that I have endured so many torments, so many sleepless nights, so many fasts. See how thin and pale I am. Only a little thing holds my body and soul together.

‘If I had killed your parents or your sons, you could not punish me more than you do. If you treat me thus, who love you, how will you use one who has offended you or hurt you? Oh, my Lucretia, my lady, my salvation, and my refuge, receive me into your grace, write to me at last, that I am dear to you. I only want to be allowed to say, I serve Lucretia. Even kings and emperors love their servants, when they know them to be faithful. Nor do the Gods scorn to love again those who love them. Farewell, my hope, my fear.’

As a tower, that is destroyed within, looks outwardly impregnable, but when the battering-ram is turned against it, straightway collapses, so Lucretia fell to Euryalus’ words. For when she fully recognized her lover’s devotion, she too confessed the love she had dissembled, and opened her heart to him in this letter:

‘I can oppose you no longer, Euryalus, nor any longer deny you my love. You have conquered, and now I am yours. Alas, that ever I received your letters! Too many dangers must surround me, unless your loyalty and your prudence protect me. See that you observe what you have written. I come now to receive your love and, if you fail me, you are cruel, and false, and the worst of men. It is easy to betray a woman, but the easier the more shameful. So far, all’s well. If you think you will desert me, say so, before my love burns higher. Let us not begin what later we’ll repent of. In all things, we should look to the end. I, who am a woman, see too little, but you are a man and must take thought for us both. For now I give myself to you, and pledge my faith. But I’ll not begin to be yours, unless I am to be for ever yours. Farewell, my bulwark, guide of my life.’