I have erred;— but at least it’s a consolation
that my error was due to the false situation.
It wasn’t my personal self that fell.
’Twas in fact this prophetical way of life,
so utterly lacking the salt of activity,
that took its revenge in these qualms of bad taste.
It’s a sorry business this prophetising!
One’s office compels one to walk in a mist;
in playing the prophet, you throw up the game
the moment you act like a rational being.
In so far I’ve done what the occasion demanded,
in the mere fact of paying my court to that goose.
But, nevertheless —
[Bursts out laughing.]
Hm, to think of it now!
To try to make time stop by jigging and dancing,
and to cope with the current by capering and prancing!
To thrum on the lute-strings, to fondle and sigh,
and end, like a rooster,— by getting well plucked!
Such conduct is truly prophetic frenzy.—
Yes, plucked!— Phew! I’m plucked clean enough indeed.
Well, well, I’ve a trifle still left in reserve;
I’ve a little in America, a little in my pocket;
so I won’t be quite driven to beg my bread.—