Proudly and haughtily stood the throne on which my father, the King of the night, was going to recline. A glory shone forth from my mother's countenance, such as I always saw shining forth from it on such a night. And the Queen's Daughter, Busie, was entirely, from her head to her heels, as if she really belonged to the "Song of Songs." No! What am I saying? She was the "Song of Songs" itself.
The only pity was that the King's son was put sitting so far away from the Queen's Daughter. I remember that they once sat at the Passover ceremony in a different position. They were together, once on a time, years ago. One beside the other they sat....
I remember that the King's Son asked his father "The Four Questions." And I remember that the Queen's Daughter stole from his Majesty the "Afikomen"—the pieces of Passover cake he had hidden away to make the special blessing over. And I? What had I done then? How much did we laugh at that time! I remember that, once on a time, years ago, when the "Seder" was ended, the Queen had taken off her royal garment of silk, and the King had taken off his white robes, and we two, Busie and I, sat together in a corner playing with the nuts which my mother had given us. And there, in the corner, I told Busie a story—one of the fairy tales I had learnt at school from my comrade Sheika, who knew everything in the world. It was the story of the beautiful Queen's Daughter who had been taken from under the wedding canopy, bewitched, and put into a palace of crystal for seven years on end, and who was waiting for some one to raise himself up into the air by pronouncing the Holy Name, flying above the clouds, across hills, and over valleys, over rivers, and across deserts, to release her, to set her free.
. . . . .
But all this happened once on a time, years ago. Now the Queen's Daughter is grown up. She is big. And the King's Son is grown up. He is big. And we two are seated in such a way, so pitilessly, that we cannot even see one another. Imagine it to yourself! On the right of his majesty sat the King's Son. On the left of her majesty sat the Queen's Daughter!... And we recited the "Haggadah," my father and I, at the top of our voices, as once on a time, years ago, page after page, and in the same sing-song as of old. And my mother and Busie repeated the words after us, softly, page after page, until we came to the "Song of Songs." I recited the "Song of Songs" together with my father, as once on a time, years ago, in the same melody as of old, passage after passage. And my mother and Busie repeated the words after us, softly, passage after passage, until the King of the night, tired out, after the long Passover ceremony, and somewhat dulled by the four cups of raisin wine, began to doze off by degrees. He nodded for a few minutes, woke up, and went on singing the "Song of Songs." He began in a loud voice:
"Many waters cannot quench love."....
And I caught him up, in the same strain:
"Neither can floods drown it."
The recital grew softer and softer with us both, as the night wore on, until at last his majesty fell asleep in real earnest. The Queen touched him on the sleeve of his white robe. She woke him with a sweet, affectionate gentleness, and told him he should go to bed. In the meantime, Busie and I got the chance of saying a few words to one another. I got up from my place and went over close beside her. And we stood opposite one another for the first time, closely, on this night. I pointed out to her how rarely beautiful the night was.
"On such a night," I said to her, "it is good to go walking."