Joseph Friedlander, comp. The Standard Book of Jewish Verse. 1917.
By Heinrich Heine (Trans. Margaret Armour)Princess Sabbath
I
We behold enchanted princes
Who at times their form recover,
Fair as first they were created.
Has again a king for father;
Pipes his amorous ditties sweetly
On the flute in jewelled raiment.
Is but brief, and, without warning,
Lo! we see his Royal Highness
Shuffled back into a monster.
Is my song. His name is Israel,
And a witch’s spell has changed him
To the likeness of a dog.
All the week, a cur, he noses
Through life’s filthy mire and sweepings,
Butt of mocking city Arabs;
On a sudden, in the twilight,
The enchantment weakens, ceases,
And the dog once more is human.
As a man, with man’s emotions,
Head and heart alike uplifted,
Clad in pure and festal raiment.
Of my high and royal father!
Lo! I kiss your holy door-posts,
Tents of Jacob, with my mouth!”
A mysterious stir and whisper,
And the hidden master’s breathing
Shudders weirdly through the silence.
(Vulgo, synagogue attendant)
Springing up and down, and busy
With the lamps that he is lighting.
How they sparkle, how they glimmer!
Proudly flame the candles also
On the rails of the Almemor.
Is preserved, and which is curtained
By a costly silken hanging,
Whereon precious stones are gleaming.
Stands the synagogue precentor,
Small and spruce, his mantle black
With an air coquettish shouldering;
At his neck he works—forefinger
Oddly pressed against his temple,
And the thumb against his throat.
Till at last his voice he raises;
Till he sings with joy resounding,
“Lecho dodi likrath kallah!”
Come, beloved one, the bride
Waits already to uncover
To thine eyes her blushing face!”
Of this pretty marriage song,
Is the famous minnesinger,
Don Jehudah ben Halevy.
Of the wedding of Prince Israel
And the gentle Princess Sabbath,
Whom they call the silent princess.
Is the princess—not more lovely
Was the famous Queen of Sheba,
Bosom friend of Solomon,
Sought by wit to shine and dazzle,
And became at length fatiguing
With her very clever riddles.
Held in hearty detestation
Every form of witty warfare
And of intellectual combat.
Loud declamatory passion—
Pathos ranting round and storming
With dishevelled hair and streaming.
Hides her modest, braided tresses,
Like the meek gazelle she gazes,
Blooms as slender as the myrtle.
Save the smoking of tobacco;
“Dearest, smoking is forbidden,
For to-day it is the Sabbath.
There shall steam for thee a dish
That in very truth divine is—
Thou shalt eat to-day of schalet!
Schalet, daughter of Elysium!”
So had Schiller’s song resounded,
Had he ever tasted schalet,
Food of heaven, which, on Sinai,
God Himself instructed Moses
In the secret of preparing,
And revealed in flames of lightning
All the doctrines good and pious,
And the holy Ten Commandments.
Of the true and only God:
Paradisal bread of rapture;
And, with such a food compared,
False divinities of Greece,
Who were devils ’neath disguises,
Is the merest devils’ offal.
Glow his eyes as if transfigured,
And his waistcoat he unbuttons;
Smiling blissfully he murmurs,
That I hear—the flowing fountains
In the palmy vale of Beth-el,
Where the camels lie at rest?
Of the fat and thriving wethers
That the shepherd drives at evening
Down Mount Gilead from the pastures?”
And with long, swift legs of shadow
Comes the evil hour of magic—
And the prince begins to sigh;
Of a witch upon his heart;
Shudders, fearful of the canine
Metamorphosis that waits him.
Box of spikenard to her lover,
Who inhales it, fain to revel
Once again in pleasant odours.
Next the cup of parting also—
And he drinks in haste, till only
Drops a few are in the goblet.
Then he takes a little wax-light,
And he dips it in the moisture
Till it crackles and is quenched.