Josephine the Songstress

Now, what is it that spurs our folk on, that we make every effort in satisfying Josephine's whims? This question isn't any easier to answer than the under-lying question to which it's easily tied, to wit: What is it about Josephine's songs, why is it that we're so captivated by them? The first question could be struck out all together as being totally subordinate to the second, if only we were able to affirm that our folk really is committed to Josephine-be it because of her songs or due to whatever else-in an unqualified way. But then, this isn't the case either, there's hardly anything to which our folk is committed in an unqualified manner, we hardly know what we're to think of such limitless adoration; our folk, these critters that, indeed, love that sort of cleverness which, in itself, is quite harmless: childish whisperings, the chitter-chatter that proves how well we're able to bring our lips into motion, how far is it from us that we'd ever say anything bad, such a folk is simply incapable of devoting itself to anything without some qualification... and Josephine has a feeling for all of this, she's nobody's fool and, indeed, it's even precisely this that she's up against, fighting against it with all of the strength she can muster with her weak throat. But now, naturally, one also mustn't go too far in such general platitudes, one always has to reserve one's judgment and, verily, our folk is devoted to Josephine, just not unconditionally. For instance, nobody would ever find it allowable to laugh at Josephine. One is permitted to admit this much: there's an awful lot about Josephine that tends toward the comic, in and of itself we all enjoy having a good laugh, despite all of the misery and absurdity of our lives we're always ready, at least to a certain extent, to crack a good joke about whatever it ever may be, but we don't ever crack jokes on Josephine's account. Sometimes I get the impression that our folk conceives its relationship to Josephine in the following manner: that she, this fragile, attention dependent, extra-ordinary (and in her own opinion extra-ordinary due to her singing)-this entity, Josephine, would be entrusted to us and that it would be incumbent upon us that we take good care of her; whatever underlies all of this probably isn't particularly clear to anybody but still this fact remains apparent nonetheless. One simply doesn't make jokes about someone over whom you are entrusted; you can laugh about yourself but not about your fledgling, laughing about such a being would be tantamount to breaking your pledge, a dereliction of duty; it is the extreme in maliciousness when those amongst us having malice inflict upon Josephine the following observation, an observation that I've heard from time to time: that when Josephine comes before us we lose our capacity to laugh. Thus it is that our folk cares for Josephine in the manner of a father who has taken on the burden of bringing up a child, a child whose arms are stretched out toward you, one doesn't know whether these hands are pleading or exacting.