nor drink unless I first
see my lord eat who is lying on yonder dais" "Lady, that can never be.
People will think that you are mad when you talk such great nonsense.
You will receive a poor reward if you give occasion to-day for further
reproof." To this she vouchsafed no reply, holding his threats in slight
esteem, and the Count strikes her upon the face. At this she shrieks,
and the barons present blame the Count. "Hold, sire!" they cry to the
Count; "you ought to be ashamed of having struck this lady because she
will not eat. You have done a very ugly deed. If this lady is distressed
because of her lord whom she now sees dead, no one should say that she
is wrong." "Keep silence, all." the Count replies; "the dame is mine and
I am hers, and I will do with her as I please." At this she could not
hold her peace, but swears she will never be his. And the Count springs
up and strikes her again, and she cries out aloud. "Ha! wretch," she
says, "I care not what thou say to me, or what thou do! I fear not thy
blows, nor yet thy threats. Beat me and strike me, as thou wilt. I shall
never heed thy power so much as to do thy bidding more or less, even
were thou with thy hands fight now to snatch out my eyes or flay me
alive."

(Vv. 4853-4938.) In the midst of these words and disputes Erec recovered
from his swoon, like a man who awakes from sleep. No wonder that he was
amazed at the crowd of people he saw around. But great was his grief
and great his woe when he heard the voice of his wife. He stepped to the
floor from off the dais and quickly drew his sword. Wrath and the love
he bore his wife gave him courage. He runs thither where he sees her,
and strikes the Count squarely upon the head, so that he beats out
his brains and, knocking in his forehead, leaves him senseless and
speechless; his blood and brains flow out. The knights spring from the
tables, persuaded that it is the devil who had made his way among them
there. Of young or old there none remains, for all were thrown in great
dismay. Each one tries to outrun the other in beating a hasty retreat.
Soon they were all clear of the palace, and cry aloud, both weak and
strong: "Flee, flee, here comes the corpse!" At the door the press is
great: each one strives to make his escape, and pushes and shoves as
best he may. He who is last in the surging throng would fain get into
the foremost line. Thus they make good their escape in flight, for one
dares not stand upon anothe