flesh of his neck beneath the shining
mail, so that it causes the blood to start. Then the lion thinks that
he sees his master and companion dead. You never heard greater grief
narrated or told about anything than he now began to show. He casts
himself about, and scratches and cries, and has the wish to kill himself
with the sword with which he thinks his master has killed himself.
Taking the sword from him with his teeth he lays it on a fallen tree,
and steadies it on a trunk behind, so that it will not slip or give
way, when he hurls his breast against it, His intention was nearly
accomplished when his master recovered from his swoon, and the lion
restrained himself as he was blindly rushing upon death, like a wild
boar heedless of where he wounds himself. Thus my lord Yvain lies in
a swoon beside the stone, but, on recovering, he violently reproached
himself for the year during which he had overstayed his leave, and
for which he had incurred his lady's hate, and he said: "Why does this
wretch not kill himself who has thus deprived himself of joy? Alas! why
do I not take my life? How can I stay here and look upon what belongs
to my lady? Why does the soul still tarry in my body? What is the soul
doing in so miserable a frame? If it had already escaped away it would
not be in such torment. It is fitting to hate and blame and despise
myself, even as in fact I do. Whoever loses his bliss and contentment
through fault or error of his own ought to hate himself mortally. He
ought to hate and kill himself. And now, when no one is looking on, why
do I thus spare myself? Why do I not take my life? Have I not seen this
lion a prey to such grief on my behalf that he was on the point just now
of thrusting my sword through his breast? And ought I to fear death who
have changed happiness into grief? Joy is now a stranger to me. Joy?
What joy is that? I shall say no more of that, for no one could speak of
such a thing; and I have asked a foolish question. That was the greatest
joy of all which was assured as my possession, but it endured for but
a little while. Whoever loses such joy through his own misdeed is
undeserving of happiness."

(Vv. 3563-3898.) While he thus bemoaned his fate, a lorn damsel in sorry
plight, who was in the chapel, saw him and heard his words through
a crack in the wall. As soon as he was recovered from his swoon, she
called to him: "God," said she, "who is that I hear? Who is it that thus
complains?" And he