Loe raamatut: «Thus Spake Zarathustra», lehekülg 23
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Hardly, however, had Zarathustra left the cave when the old magician got up, looked cunningly about him, and said: “He is gone!
And already, ye higher men – let me tickle you with this complimentary and flattering name, as he himself doeth – already doth mine evil spirit of deceit and magic attack me, my melancholy devil,
– Which is an adversary to this Zarathustra from the very heart: forgive it for this! Now doth it wish to conjure before you, it hath just ITS hour; in vain do I struggle with this evil spirit.
Unto all of you, whatever honours ye like to assume in your names, whether ye call yourselves ‘the free spirits’ or ‘the conscientious,’ or ‘the penitents of the spirit,’ or ‘the unfettered,’ or ‘the great longers,’ —
– Unto all of you, who like me suffer FROM THE GREAT LOATHING, to whom the old God hath died, and as yet no new God lieth in cradles and swaddling clothes – unto all of you is mine evil spirit and magic-devil favourable.
I know you, ye higher men, I know him, – I know also this fiend whom I love in spite of me, this Zarathustra: he himself often seemeth to me like the beautiful mask of a saint,
– Like a new strange mummery in which mine evil spirit, the melancholy devil, delighteth: – I love Zarathustra, so doth it often seem to me, for the sake of mine evil spirit. —
But already doth IT attack me and constrain me, this spirit of melancholy, this evening-twilight devil: and verily, ye higher men, it hath a longing —
– Open your eyes! – it hath a longing to come NAKED, whether male or female, I do not yet know: but it cometh, it constraineth me, alas! open your wits!
The day dieth out, unto all things cometh now the evening, also unto the best things; hear now, and see, ye higher men, what devil – man or woman – this spirit of evening-melancholy is!”
Thus spake the old magician, looked cunningly about him, and then seized his harp.
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In evening’s limpid air,
What time the dew’s soothings
Unto the earth downpour,
Invisibly and unheard —
For tender shoe-gear wear
The soothing dews, like all that’s kind-gentle – :
Bethinkst thou then, bethinkst thou, burning heart,
How once thou thirstedest
For heaven’s kindly teardrops and dew’s down-droppings,
All singed and weary thirstedest,
What time on yellow grass-pathways
Wicked, occidental sunny glances
Through sombre trees about thee sported,
Blindingly sunny glow-glances, gladly-hurting?
“Of TRUTH the wooer? Thou?” – so taunted they —
“Nay! Merely poet!
A brute insidious, plundering, grovelling,
That aye must lie,
That wittingly, wilfully, aye must lie:
For booty lusting,
Motley masked,
Self-hidden, shrouded,
Himself his booty —
HE – of truth the wooer?
Nay! Mere fool! Mere poet!
Just motley speaking,
From mask of fool confusedly shouting,
Circumambling on fabricated word-bridges,
On motley rainbow-arches,
‘Twixt the spurious heavenly,
And spurious earthly,
Round us roving, round us soaring, —
MERE FOOL! MERE POET!
HE – of truth the wooer?
Not still, stiff, smooth and cold,
Become an image,
A godlike statue,
Set up in front of temples,
As a God’s own door-guard:
Nay! hostile to all such truthfulness-statues,
In every desert homelier than at temples,
With cattish wantonness,
Through every window leaping
Quickly into chances,
Every wild forest a-sniffing,
Greedily-longingly, sniffing,
That thou, in wild forests,
‘Mong the motley-speckled fierce creatures,
Shouldest rove, sinful-sound and fine-coloured,
With longing lips smacking,
Blessedly mocking, blessedly hellish, blessedly bloodthirsty,
Robbing, skulking, lying – roving: —
Or unto eagles like which fixedly,
Long adown the precipice look,
Adown THEIR precipice: —
Oh, how they whirl down now,
Thereunder, therein,
To ever deeper profoundness whirling! —
Then,
Sudden,
With aim aright,
With quivering flight,
On LAMBKINS pouncing,
Headlong down, sore-hungry,
For lambkins longing,
Fierce ‘gainst all lamb-spirits,
Furious-fierce all that look
Sheeplike, or lambeyed, or crisp-woolly,
– Grey, with lambsheep kindliness!
Even thus,
Eaglelike, pantherlike,
Are the poet’s desires,
Are THINE OWN desires ‘neath a thousand guises,
Thou fool! Thou poet!
Thou who all mankind viewedst —
So God, as sheep – :
The God TO REND within mankind,
As the sheep in mankind,
And in rending LAUGHING —
THAT, THAT is thine own blessedness!
Of a panther and eagle – blessedness!
Of a poet and fool – the blessedness! —
In evening’s limpid air,
What time the moon’s sickle,
Green, ‘twixt the purple-glowings,
And jealous, steal’th forth:
– Of day the foe,
With every step in secret,
The rosy garland-hammocks
Downsickling, till they’ve sunken
Down nightwards, faded, downsunken: —
Thus had I sunken one day
From mine own truth-insanity,
From mine own fervid day-longings,
Of day aweary, sick of sunshine,
– Sunk downwards, evenwards, shadowwards:
By one sole trueness
All scorched and thirsty:
– Bethinkst thou still, bethinkst thou, burning heart,
How then thou thirstedest? —
THAT I SHOULD BANNED BE
FROM ALL THE TRUENESS!
MERE FOOL! MERE POET!
LXXV. SCIENCE
Thus sang the magician; and all who were present went like birds unawares into the net of his artful and melancholy voluptuousness. Only the spiritually conscientious one had not been caught: he at once snatched the harp from the magician and called out: “Air! Let in good air! Let in Zarathustra! Thou makest this cave sultry and poisonous, thou bad old magician!
Thou seducest, thou false one, thou subtle one, to unknown desires and deserts. And alas, that such as thou should talk and make ado about the TRUTH!
Alas, to all free spirits who are not on their guard against SUCH magicians! It is all over with their freedom: thou teachest and temptest back into prisons, —
– Thou old melancholy devil, out of thy lament soundeth a lurement: thou resemblest those who with their praise of chastity secretly invite to voluptuousness!”
Thus spake the conscientious one; the old magician, however, looked about him, enjoying his triumph, and on that account put up with the annoyance which the conscientious one caused him. “Be still!” said he with modest voice, “good songs want to re-echo well; after good songs one should be long silent.
Thus do all those present, the higher men. Thou, however, hast perhaps understood but little of my song? In thee there is little of the magic spirit.
“Thou praisest me,” replied the conscientious one, “in that thou separatest me from thyself; very well! But, ye others, what do I see? Ye still sit there, all of you, with lusting eyes – :
Ye free spirits, whither hath your freedom gone! Ye almost seem to me to resemble those who have long looked at bad girls dancing naked: your souls themselves dance!
In you, ye higher men, there must be more of that which the magician calleth his evil spirit of magic and deceit: – we must indeed be different.
And verily, we spake and thought long enough together ere Zarathustra came home to his cave, for me not to be unaware that we ARE different.
We SEEK different things even here aloft, ye and I. For I seek more SECURITY; on that account have I come to Zarathustra. For he is still the most steadfast tower and will —
– To-day, when everything tottereth, when all the earth quaketh. Ye, however, when I see what eyes ye make, it almost seemeth to me that ye seek MORE INSECURITY,
– More horror, more danger, more earthquake. Ye long (it almost seemeth so to me – forgive my presumption, ye higher men) —
– Ye long for the worst and dangerousest life, which frighteneth ME most, – for the life of wild beasts, for forests, caves, steep mountains and labyrinthine gorges.
And it is not those who lead OUT OF danger that please you best, but those who lead you away from all paths, the misleaders. But if such longing in you be ACTUAL, it seemeth to me nevertheless to be IMPOSSIBLE.
For fear – that is man’s original and fundamental feeling; through fear everything is explained, original sin and original virtue. Through fear there grew also MY virtue, that is to say: Science.
For fear of wild animals – that hath been longest fostered in man, inclusive of the animal which he concealeth and feareth in himself: – Zarathustra calleth it ‘the beast inside.’
Such prolonged ancient fear, at last become subtle, spiritual and intellectual – at present, me thinketh, it is called SCIENCE.” —
Thus spake the conscientious one; but Zarathustra, who had just come back into his cave and had heard and divined the last discourse, threw a handful of roses to the conscientious one, and laughed on account of his “truths.” “Why!” he exclaimed, “what did I hear just now? Verily, it seemeth to me, thou art a fool, or else I myself am one: and quietly and quickly will I put thy ‘truth’ upside down.
For FEAR – is an exception with us. Courage, however, and adventure, and delight in the uncertain, in the unattempted – COURAGE seemeth to me the entire primitive history of man.
The wildest and most courageous animals hath he envied and robbed of all their virtues: thus only did he become – man.
THIS courage, at last become subtle, spiritual and intellectual, this human courage, with eagle’s pinions and serpent’s wisdom: THIS, it seemeth to me, is called at present – ”
“ZARATHUSTRA!” cried all of them there assembled, as if with one voice, and burst out at the same time into a great laughter; there arose, however, from them as it were a heavy cloud. Even the magician laughed, and said wisely: “Well! It is gone, mine evil spirit!
And did I not myself warn you against it when I said that it was a deceiver, a lying and deceiving spirit?
Especially when it showeth itself naked. But what can I do with regard to its tricks! Have I created it and the world?
Well! Let us be good again, and of good cheer! And although Zarathustra looketh with evil eye – just see him! he disliketh me – :
– Ere night cometh will he again learn to love and laud me; he cannot live long without committing such follies.
HE – loveth his enemies: this art knoweth he better than any one I have seen. But he taketh revenge for it – on his friends!”
Thus spake the old magician, and the higher men applauded him; so that Zarathustra went round, and mischievously and lovingly shook hands with his friends, – like one who hath to make amends and apologise to every one for something. When however he had thereby come to the door of his cave, lo, then had he again a longing for the good air outside, and for his animals, – and wished to steal out.
LXXVI. AMONG DAUGHTERS OF THE DESERT
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“Go not away!” said then the wanderer who called himself Zarathustra’s shadow, “abide with us – otherwise the old gloomy affliction might again fall upon us.
Now hath that old magician given us of his worst for our good, and lo! the good, pious pope there hath tears in his eyes, and hath quite embarked again upon the sea of melancholy.
Those kings may well put on a good air before us still: for that have THEY learned best of us all at present! Had they however no one to see them, I wager that with them also the bad game would again commence, —
– The bad game of drifting clouds, of damp melancholy, of curtained heavens, of stolen suns, of howling autumn-winds,
– The bad game of our howling and crying for help! Abide with us, O Zarathustra! Here there is much concealed misery that wisheth to speak, much evening, much cloud, much damp air!
Thou hast nourished us with strong food for men, and powerful proverbs: do not let the weakly, womanly spirits attack us anew at dessert!
Thou alone makest the air around thee strong and clear! Did I ever find anywhere on earth such good air as with thee in thy cave?
Many lands have I seen, my nose hath learned to test and estimate many kinds of air: but with thee do my nostrils taste their greatest delight!
Unless it be, – unless it be – , do forgive an old recollection! Forgive me an old after-dinner song, which I once composed amongst daughters of the desert: —
For with them was there equally good, clear, Oriental air; there was I furthest from cloudy, damp, melancholy Old-Europe!
Then did I love such Oriental maidens and other blue kingdoms of heaven, over which hang no clouds and no thoughts.
Ye would not believe how charmingly they sat there, when they did not dance, profound, but without thoughts, like little secrets, like beribboned riddles, like dessert-nuts —
Many-hued and foreign, forsooth! but without clouds: riddles which can be guessed: to please such maidens I then composed an after-dinner psalm.”
Thus spake the wanderer who called himself Zarathustra’s shadow; and before any one answered him, he had seized the harp of the old magician, crossed his legs, and looked calmly and sagely around him: – with his nostrils, however, he inhaled the air slowly and questioningly, like one who in new countries tasteth new foreign air. Afterward he began to sing with a kind of roaring.
2. THE DESERTS GROW: WOE HIM WHO DOTH THEM HIDE!
– Ha!
Solemnly!
In effect solemnly!
A worthy beginning!
Afric manner, solemnly!
Of a lion worthy,
Or perhaps of a virtuous howl-monkey —
– But it’s naught to you,
Ye friendly damsels dearly loved,
At whose own feet to me,
The first occasion,
To a European under palm-trees,
A seat is now granted. Selah.
Wonderful, truly!
Here do I sit now,
The desert nigh, and yet I am
So far still from the desert,
Even in naught yet deserted:
That is, I’m swallowed down
By this the smallest oasis – :
– It opened up just yawning,
Its loveliest mouth agape,
Most sweet-odoured of all mouthlets:
Then fell I right in,
Right down, right through – in ‘mong you,
Ye friendly damsels dearly loved! Selah.
Hail! hail! to that whale, fishlike,
If it thus for its guest’s convenience
Made things nice! – (ye well know,
Surely, my learned allusion?)
Hail to its belly,
If it had e’er
A such loveliest oasis-belly
As this is: though however I doubt about it,
– With this come I out of Old-Europe,
That doubt’th more eagerly than doth any
Elderly married woman.
May the Lord improve it!
Amen!
Here do I sit now,
In this the smallest oasis,
Like a date indeed,
Brown, quite sweet, gold-suppurating,
For rounded mouth of maiden longing,
But yet still more for youthful, maidlike,
Ice-cold and snow-white and incisory
Front teeth: and for such assuredly,
Pine the hearts all of ardent date-fruits. Selah.
To the there-named south-fruits now,
Similar, all-too-similar,
Do I lie here; by little
Flying insects
Round-sniffled and round-played,
And also by yet littler,
Foolisher, and peccabler
Wishes and phantasies, —
Environed by you,
Ye silent, presentientest
Maiden-kittens,
Dudu and Suleika,
– ROUNDSPHINXED, that into one word
I may crowd much feeling:
(Forgive me, O God,
All such speech-sinning!)
– Sit I here the best of air sniffling,
Paradisal air, truly,
Bright and buoyant air, golden-mottled,
As goodly air as ever
From lunar orb downfell —
Be it by hazard,
Or supervened it by arrogancy?
As the ancient poets relate it.
But doubter, I’m now calling it
In question: with this do I come indeed
Out of Europe,
That doubt’th more eagerly than doth any
Elderly married woman.
May the Lord improve it!
Amen.
This the finest air drinking,
With nostrils out-swelled like goblets,
Lacking future, lacking remembrances
Thus do I sit here, ye
Friendly damsels dearly loved,
And look at the palm-tree there,
How it, to a dance-girl, like,
Doth bow and bend and on its haunches bob,
– One doth it too, when one view’th it long! —
To a dance-girl like, who as it seem’th to me,
Too long, and dangerously persistent,
Always, always, just on SINGLE leg hath stood?
– Then forgot she thereby, as it seem’th to me,
The OTHER leg?
For vainly I, at least,
Did search for the amissing
Fellow-jewel
– Namely, the other leg —
In the sanctified precincts,
Nigh her very dearest, very tenderest,
Flapping and fluttering and flickering skirting.
Yea, if ye should, ye beauteous friendly ones,
Quite take my word:
She hath, alas! LOST it!
Hu! Hu! Hu! Hu! Hu!
It is away!
For ever away!
The other leg!
Oh, pity for that loveliest other leg!
Where may it now tarry, all-forsaken weeping?
The lonesomest leg?
In fear perhaps before a
Furious, yellow, blond and curled
Leonine monster? Or perhaps even
Gnawed away, nibbled badly —
Most wretched, woeful! woeful! nibbled badly! Selah.
Oh, weep ye not,
Gentle spirits!
Weep ye not, ye
Date-fruit spirits! Milk-bosoms!
Ye sweetwood-heart
Purselets!
Weep ye no more,
Pallid Dudu!
Be a man, Suleika! Bold! Bold!
– Or else should there perhaps
Something strengthening, heart-strengthening,
Here most proper be?
Some inspiring text?
Some solemn exhortation? —
Ha! Up now! honour!
Moral honour! European honour!
Blow again, continue,
Bellows-box of virtue!
Ha!
Once more thy roaring,
Thy moral roaring!
As a virtuous lion
Nigh the daughters of deserts roaring!
– For virtue’s out-howl,
Ye very dearest maidens,
Is more than every
European fervour, European hot-hunger!
And now do I stand here,
As European,
I can’t be different, God’s help to me!
Amen!
THE DESERTS GROW: WOE HIM WHO DOTH THEM HIDE!
LXXVII. THE AWAKENING
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After the song of the wanderer and shadow, the cave became all at once full of noise and laughter: and since the assembled guests all spake simultaneously, and even the ass, encouraged thereby, no longer remained silent, a little aversion and scorn for his visitors came over Zarathustra, although he rejoiced at their gladness. For it seemed to him a sign of convalescence. So he slipped out into the open air and spake to his animals.
“Whither hath their distress now gone?” said he, and already did he himself feel relieved of his petty disgust – “with me, it seemeth that they have unlearned their cries of distress!
– Though, alas! not yet their crying.” And Zarathustra stopped his ears, for just then did the YE-A of the ass mix strangely with the noisy jubilation of those higher men.
“They are merry,” he began again, “and who knoweth? perhaps at their host’s expense; and if they have learned of me to laugh, still it is not MY laughter they have learned.
But what matter about that! They are old people: they recover in their own way, they laugh in their own way; mine ears have already endured worse and have not become peevish.
This day is a victory: he already yieldeth, he fleeth, THE SPIRIT OF GRAVITY, mine old arch-enemy! How well this day is about to end, which began so badly and gloomily!
And it is ABOUT TO end. Already cometh the evening: over the sea rideth it hither, the good rider! How it bobbeth, the blessed one, the home-returning one, in its purple saddles!
The sky gazeth brightly thereon, the world lieth deep. Oh, all ye strange ones who have come to me, it is already worth while to have lived with me!”
Thus spake Zarathustra. And again came the cries and laughter of the higher men out of the cave: then began he anew:
“They bite at it, my bait taketh, there departeth also from them their enemy, the spirit of gravity. Now do they learn to laugh at themselves: do I hear rightly?
My virile food taketh effect, my strong and savoury sayings: and verily, I did not nourish them with flatulent vegetables! But with warrior-food, with conqueror-food: new desires did I awaken.
New hopes are in their arms and legs, their hearts expand. They find new words, soon will their spirits breathe wantonness.
Such food may sure enough not be proper for children, nor even for longing girls old and young. One persuadeth their bowels otherwise; I am not their physician and teacher.
The DISGUST departeth from these higher men; well! that is my victory. In my domain they become assured; all stupid shame fleeth away; they empty themselves.
They empty their hearts, good times return unto them, they keep holiday and ruminate, – they become THANKFUL.
THAT do I take as the best sign: they become thankful. Not long will it be ere they devise festivals, and put up memorials to their old joys.
They are CONVALESCENTS!” Thus spake Zarathustra joyfully to his heart and gazed outward; his animals, however, pressed up to him, and honoured his happiness and his silence.
