ury the corpse without his
securing anything to take back as evidence that he has defeated and
killed him. If he has no proof or evidence he will be held in contempt,
for Kay is so mean and obstinate, so given to mockery, and so annoying,
that he could never succeed in convincing him. He would go about for
ever insulting him, flinging his mockery and taunts as he did the other
day. These taunts are still fresh and rankling in his heart. But with
her sugar and honey a new Love now softened him; he had been to hunt
upon his lands and had gathered in his prey. His enemy carries off
his heart, and he loves the creature who hates him most. The lady, all
unaware, has well avenged her lord's death. She has secured greater
revenge than she could ever have done unless she had been aided by Love,
who attacks him so gently that he wounds his heart through his eyes.
And this wound is more enduring than any inflicted by lance or sword.
A sword-blow is cured and healed at once as soon as a doctor attends to
it, but the wound of love is worst when it is nearest to its physician.
This is the wound of my lord Yvain, from which he will never more
recover, for Love has installed himself with him. He deserts and goes
away from the places he was wont to frequent. He cares for no lodging
or landlord save this one, and he is very wise in leaving a poor
lodging-place in order to betake himself to him. In order to devote
himself completely to him, he will have no other lodging-place, though
often he is wont to seek out lowly hostelries. It is a shame that
Love should ever so basely conduct himself as to select the meanest
lodging-place quite as readily as the best. But now he has come where he
is welcome, and where he will be treated honourably, and where he will
do well to stay. This is the way Love ought to act, being such a noble
creature that it is marvellous how he dares shamefully to descend to
such low estate. He is like him who spreads his balm upon the ashes and
dust, who mingles sugar with gall, and suet with honey. However, he did
not act so this time, but rather lodged in a noble place, for which no
one can reproach him. When the dead man had been buried, all the people
dispersed, leaving no clerks or knights or ladies, excepting only
her who makes no secret of her grief. She alone remains behind, often
clutching at her throat, wringing her hands, and beating her palms, as
she reads her psalms in her gilt lettered psalter. All this wh