the pain from which he was suffering; for all his body
was bathed in blood, and his heart hardly had strength to beat. As he
was descending a hill he fell suddenly over upon his horse's neck. As he
tried to straighten up, he lost his saddle and stirrups, falling, as if
lifeless, in a faint. Then began such heavy grief, when Enide saw him
fall to earth. Full of fear at the sight of him, she runs toward him
like one who makes no concealment of her grief. Aloud she cries, and
wrings her hands: not a shred of her robe remains untorn across her
breast. She begins to tear her hair and lacerate her tender face. [133]
"Ah God!" she cries, "fair gentle Lord, why dost Thou let me thus live
on? Come Death, and kill me hastily!" With these words she faints upon
his body. When she recovered, she said to herself reproachfully: "Woe is
me, wretched Enide; I am the murderer of my lord, in having killed
him by my speech. My lord would still be now alive, if I in my mad
presumption had not spoken the word which engaged him in this adventure.
Silence never harmed any one, but speech often worketh woe. The truth of
this I have tried and proved in more ways than one." Beside her lord she
took her seat, holding his head upon her lap. Then she begins her dole
anew. "Alas," she says, "my lord, unhappy thou, thou who never hadst a
peer; for in thee was beauty seen and prowess was made manifest; wisdom
had given thee its heart, and largess set a crown upon thee, without
which no one is esteemed. But what did I say? A grievous mistake I made
in uttering the word which has killed my lord--that fatal poisoned word
for which I must justly be reproached; and I recognise and admit that
no one is guilty but myself; I alone must be blamed for this." Then
fainting she falls upon the ground, and when she later sat up again, she
only moans again the more: "God, what shall I do, and why live on? Why
does Death delay and hesitate to come and seize me without respite?
Truly, Death holds me in great contempt! Since Death does not deign to
take my life, I must myself perforce achieve the vengeance for my sinful
deed. Thus shall I die in spite of Death, who will not heed my call for
aid. Yet, I cannot die through mere desire, nor would complaining avail
me aught. The sword, which my lord had gilded on, ought by right to
avenge his death. I will not longer consume myself in distress, in
prayer, and vain desire." She draws the sword forth from its sheath and
begins