she
rises from the table, and makes her lament, but so that no one hears
or notices her. She is so beside herself that she repeatedly grasps
her throat with the desire to kill herself; but first she confesses to
herself, and repents with self-reproach, blaming and censuring herself
for the wrong she had done him, who, as she knew, had always been hers,
and would still be hers, if he were alive. She is so distressed at
the thought of her cruelty, that her beauty is seriously impaired. Her
cruelty and meanness affected her and marred her beauty more than all
the vigils and fastings with which she afflicted herself. When all her
sins rise up before her, she gathers them together, and as she reviews
them, she repeatedly exclaims: "Alas! of what was I thinking when my
lover stood before me and I should have welcomed him, that I would not
listen to his words? Was I not a fool, when I refused to look at or
speak to him? Foolish indeed? Rather was I base and cruel, so help me
God. I intended it as a jest, but he did not take it so, and has not
pardoned me. I am sure it was no one but me who gave him his death-blow.
When he came before me smiling and expecting that I would be glad to
see him and would welcome him, and when I would not look at him, was not
that a mortal blow? When I refused to speak with him, then doubtless at
one blow I deprived him of his heart and life. These two strokes have
killed him, I am sure; no other bandits have caused his death. God! can
I ever make amends for this murder and this crime? No, indeed; sooner
will the rivers and the sea dry up. Alas! how much better I should feel,
and how much comfort I should take, if only once before he died I had
held him in my arms! What? Yes, certainly, quite unclad, in order the
better to enjoy him. If he is dead, I am very wicked not to destroy
myself. Why? Can it harm my lover for me to live on after he is dead, if
I take no pleasure in anything but in the woe I bear for him? In giving
myself up to grief after his death, the very woes I court would be sweet
to me, if he were only still alive. It is wrong for a woman to wish to
die rather than to suffer for her lover's sake. It is certainly sweet
for me to mourn him long. I would rather be beaten alive than die and be
at rest."

(Vv. 4263-4414.) For two days the Queen thus mourned for him without
eating or drinking, until they thought she too would die. There are
plenty of people ready to carry bad news rather th