Thus Spoke Zarathustra (41 page)

Or like the eagle staring
Long, long into abysses,
Into
its
abysses:
Oh how they circle down,
Under and in,
Into ever deeper depths!
Then,
Suddenly, with straight aim,
Quivering flight,
They pounce on
lambs
,
Headlong down, ravenous,

Lusting for lambs,
Angry at all lamb-souls,
Fiercely angry at all that look.
Sheepish, lamb-eyed, curly-woolled,
Grey with lamb-sheep kindliness!

Thus,
Eagle like, panther like,
Are the poet’s desires,
Are your
desires under a thousand masks,
You fool! You poet!

You saw man
As God and sheep:
To rend the God in man
As the sheep in man,
And in rending
to laugh
-

That, that
is your blessedness!
A panther’s and eagle’s blessedness!
A poet’s and fool’s blessedness!’
When the air grows clear,
When the moon’s sickle
Creeps along, green,
Envious, in the purple twilight:
Enemy to day,
With every step secretly
Sickling down
The hanging rose-gardens,
Until they sink,
Sink down, pale, down to night:

So sank I once
From my delusion of truth,
From my daytime longings,
Weary of day, sick with light,
Sank downwards, down to evening, down to shadows:
Scorched and thirsty
With one truth:

Do you remember, do you, hot heart,
How you thirsted then?
That I am banished
From all truth,
Only a fool!
Only a poet!

Of Science

T
HUS
sang the sorcerer; and all who were present went like birds unawares into the net of his cunning and melancholy voluptuousness. Only the conscientious man of the spirit was not captured: he quickly snatched the harp away from the sorcerer and cried: ‘Air! Let in good air! Let Zarathustra in! You are making this cave sultry and poisonous, you evil old sorcerer!

‘You seduce to unknown desires and wildernesses, you false, subtle man. And alas, when such as you chatter and make ado about
truth
!

‘Woe to all free spirits who are not on their guard against
such
sorcerers! Their freedom is done with: you teach and lure back into prisons,

‘you old melancholy devil, a luring bird-call sounds from your lamenting, you are like those who with their praise of chastity secretly invite to voluptuousness!’

Thus spoke the conscientious man of the spirit; the old sorcerer, however, looked around him, enjoyed his victory, and on that account swallowed the displeasure the conscientious man had caused him. ‘Be quiet!’ he said in a modest voice, ‘good songs want to echo well; one should be long silent after good songs.

‘That is what all of them are doing, these Higher Men. But you, perhaps, have understood little of my song? There is little of the spirit of sorcery in you.’

‘You praise me’, replied the conscientious man, ‘when you separate me from yourself. Very well! But you others, what do I see? You are all sitting there with lustful eyes:

‘You free souls, where has your freedom fled! You almost
seem like men who have been gazing long at wicked girls dancing naked: your very souls are dancing!

‘There must be more of that which the sorcerer called his evil spirit of sorcery and deceit in you, you Higher Men -we must surely be different.

‘And truly, we talked and thought together enough, before Zarathustra came home to his cave, for me to know: we
are
different.

‘We
seek
different things – even up here, you and I. For I seek more
security
, that is why I came to Zarathustra. For he is still the surest tower and will

‘ – today, when everything is tottering, when all the earth quakes. But you, when I see what eyes you make, almost seem to me to be seeking
more insecurity
,

‘more horror, more danger, more earthquaking. You have a desire, I almost think, forgive me my presumption, you Higher Men,

‘you have a desire for the worst, most dangerous kind of life that terrifies me the most, for the life of wild animals, for the forests, caves, steep mountains, and labyrinths.

‘And it is not those who lead
out
of danger that please you best, but those who lead you astray from all paths, the misleaders. But if you
actually
harbour such desires, they seem to me, nevertheless, to be
impossible
.

‘For fear – that is man’s original and fundamental sensation; everything is explained by fear, original sin and original virtue. From fear grew also
my
virtue, which is called: science.

‘For fear of wild animals – that has been fostered in man the longest, including the animal he hides and fears within himself- Zarathustra calls it “the beast within”.

‘This protracted, ancient fear at length grown subtle, spiritual, intellectual – today, it seems to me, it is called:
science
.’

Thus spoke the conscientious man; but Zarathustra, who had just come back to his cave and had heard and understood the last discourse, threw the conscientious man a handful of roses and laughed at his ‘truths’. ‘What,’ he cried, ‘what did I just hear? Truly, I think you are a fool, or I myself am
one: and I shall straightway stand your “truth” on its head.

‘For
fear
– is the exception with us. Courage, however, and adventure and joy in the unknown, the unattempted –
courage
seems to me the whole pre-history of man.

‘He has envied the wildest, most courageous animals all their virtues and robbed them of them: only thus did he become – man.

‘This
courage, at length grown subtle, spiritual, intellectual, this human courage with eagle’s wings and serpent’s wisdom:
this
, it seems to me, is today called – ’

‘Zarathustra
!’ all those sitting together cried as if from a single mouth and burst into a great peal of laughter; and it was as if a heavy cloud had risen from off them. Even the sorcerer laughed and said prudently: ‘Well! My evil spirit has departed!

‘And did I myself not warn you against him, when I said he was a deceiver, a spirit of deceit and lies?

‘And especially when he shows himself naked. But how can
I
prevent his pranks I Did
I
create him and the world?

‘Very well! Let us be good again and of good cheer I And although Zarathustra looks ill-temperedly – just see him! he is angry with me:

‘before night comes he will again learn to love and praise me, he cannot live long without committing such follies.

‘He
– loves his enemies: he understands this art better than anyone I have seen. But he takes revenge for that – on his friends!’

Thus spoke the old sorcerer, and the Higher Men applauded him: so that Zarathustra went round and mischievously and lovingly shook hands with his friends, like one who has to make amends and apologize to everyone for something. As he came to the door of his cave, however, he already felt again a desire for the good air outside and for his animals, and he was about to slip out.

Among the Daughters of the Desert

1

Do not go! (said then the wanderer who called himself Zarathustra’s shadow) stay with us, otherwise the old, dull affliction may again assail us.

That old sorcerer has already done his worst for our benefit, and just look, the good, pious pope there has tears in his eyes and has again embarked on the sea of melancholy.

These kings there may still put on a brave face before us: for
they
have learned that better than any of us today! But had they no witnesses, I wager that with them, too, the bitter business would begin again – the bitter business of drifting clouds, of damp melancholy, of veiled skies, of stolen suns, of howling autumn winds,

the bitter business of our howling and cries of distress: stay with us, O Zarathustra! Here there is much hidden misery that wants to speak out, much evening, much cloud, much damp air!

You have fed us with strong man’s fare and nourishing sayings: do not let us, for dessert, be assailed again by delicate, effeminate spirits!

You alone make the air around you robust and clear I Have I ever found on earth such good air as with you in your cave?

I have seen many lands, my nose has learned to test and appraise many kinds of air: but with you my nostrils taste their greatest delight!

Except, except – oh forgive an old memory! Forgive me an old after-dinner song that I once composed among the daughters of the desert -

for with them there was the same good, clear, oriental air; there I was farthest away from cloudy, damp, melancholy Old Europe!

In those days I loved such oriental girls and other blue
kingdoms of heaven, over which no clouds and no thoughts hung.

You would not believe how prettily they sat there when they were not dancing, deep but without thoughts, like little secrets, like ribboned riddles, like after-dinner nuts -

motley and strange indeed! but without clouds: riddles that one can read: to please such girls I then devised an after-dinner psalm.

Thus spoke the wanderer and shadow; and before anyone could answer him he had seized the old sorcerer’s harp, crossed his legs, and looked calmly and sagely about him -with his nostrils, however, he drew in the air slowly and inquiringly, like someone tasting strange air in strange lands. Thereupon he began to sing with a kind of roaring.

2

Deserts grew: woe to him who harbours deserts
!

Ha! Solemnly!
Solemnly indeed!
A worthy beginning!
Solemnly in an African way!
Worthy of a lion
Or of a moral screech-ape
– but it is nothing for you,
You desert maidens,
At whose feet I,
For the first time,
A European under palm-trees,
Am permitted to sit. Selah.

Wonderful, truly!
Here I now sit,
Beside the desert, and
Yet so far from the desert,
And in no way devastated:
For I am swallowed down

By this smallest oasis:
– it simply opened, yawning,
Its sweetest mouth,
The sweetest-smelling of all little mouths:
Then I fell in,
Down, straight through – among you,
You dearest maidens! Selah.

All hail to that whale
If it made things so pleasant
For its guests! – you understand
My learned allusion?
All hail to his belly
If it was
As sweet an oasis-belly
As this is: which, however, I call in question,
– since I come from Europe,
Which is more sceptical than
Any little old wife.
May God improve it!
Amen!

Here I now sit
In this smallest oasis
Like a date,
Brown, sweet, oozing golden,
Longing for a girl’s rounded mouth,
But longing more for girlish,
Ice-cold, snow-white, cutting
Teeth: for these do
The hearts of all hot dates lust. Selah.

Like, all too like
That aforesaid southern fruit
Do I lie here, by little
Flying insects
Sniffed and played around,
And by even smaller,
More foolish and more sinful

Wishes and notions,
Besieged by you,
You silent girl-kittens
Full of misgivings,
Dudu and Suleika,
Sphinxed round
, that I may cram
Much feeling into two words:
(May God forgive me
This sin of speech!)
I sit here sniffing the finest air,
Air of Paradise, truly,
Bright, buoyant air, gold-streaked,
As good air as ever
Fell from the moon -
Came it by chance,
Or did it happen by wantonness,
As the old poets tell?
I, doubter, however, call it
In question; since I come
From Europe,
Which is more sceptical than any
Little old wife.
May God improve it I
Amen.

Drinking in the fairest air,
With nostrils swollen like goblets,
Without future, without memories,
Thus do I sit here, you
Dearest maidens,
And regard the palm-tree,
And watch how, like a dancer,
It bends and bows and sways at the hips,
– if one watches long one follows suit!
Like a dancer who, it would seem,
Has stood long, dangerously long,
Always on one little leg?
– so that she has forgotten, it would seem,
Her other leg?
At least, in vain
I sought the missing Twin-jewel
– that is, the other leg –
In the sacred vicinity
Of her dearest, daintiest
Little fluttering, flickering, fan-swirling skirt.
Yes, if you would quite believe me,
You sweet maidens:
She has lost it!
It has gone!
Gone for ever!
That other leg!
Oh, what a shame about that other dear leg!
Where can it now be, sorrowing forsaken?
That lonely leg?
Perhaps in fear before an
Angry, blonde-maned
Lion-monster? Or perhaps even
Gnawed off, broken in pieces -
Pitiable, alas! alas! broken in pieces! Selah.