JOSEPHINE, THE SONGSTRESS
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their mouths closed, and she is one of them. At bad news-and
many a day it is one piece of bad news after another, some false,
some half.true-she gets up immediately, although she usually
drags herself wearily along the ground, and she stretches her neck
to try to get a general view of her flock, like a shepherd before a
storm. Of course, children make similar claims in their wild,
ungovernable way, but Josephine's are not as unjustified as theirs.
Certainly, she does not save us, nor does she infuse us with any
new strength; it is easy to pose as the savior of such a nation,
which, accustomed as it is to suffering, unsparing of itself, quick
to decision, and familiar with death, seems timid only because of
the foolhardy atmosphere in which it lives constantly, and being,
besides, as prolific as it is daring-it is easy, I say, to pass oneself
off after the event as the savior of such a people, a people that
somehow always manages to save itself, even if at such a cost that
the student of history-as a rule we neglect the study of history
completely-blenches with horror. And yet it is true that precisely
in
emergencies we listen to Josephine's voice better than otherwise.
The menaces hanging over our heads make us quieter, humbler
and more compliant with Josephine's dictatorial ways; we gather
together eagerly, press close to one another eagerly, especially as
it is for an occasion having nothing to do with the agonizing main
question; it is as if we were drinking a last hurried cup of peace
together before the battle-and hurry would be necessary, which
Josephine forgets all too often.
It
would not be a song-recital so
much as a gathering together of the nation, and what is more, a
gathering where all would be silent save for that little squeaking
out front; the hour would be far too grave to spend in chatter.
Of course, such a state of affairs would not satisfy Josephine
at all. In spite of the nervous uneasiness which fills Josephine
because her position has never been quite clarified, she is so
blinded by her self-importance that she fails to notice many things,
and without too much trouble can be induced to overlook even a
great deal more; a crowd of flatterers is continually busy towards
this end, which is really in the general interest. - But to sing as a
side-show, unnoticed, off in a comer at a gathering of the nation–
certainly she would never sacrifice her singing for that, in spite
of the fact that this would be no small thing in itself.
But she does not even have to do that, for her art is not un-
