No More Learning

145
Thus do I love only my children's land, the
undiscovered in the remotest sea : for it do I bid
my sails search and search.
Unto my children will I make amends for being
the child of my fathers : and unto all the future-
for this present-day !
Thus spake Zarathustra.
XXXVII. -IMMACULATE PERCEPTION.
When yester-eve the moon arose, then did I fancy
it about to bear a sun : so broad and teeming did
it lie on the horizon.
But it was a liar with its pregnancy; and sooner
will I believe in the man in the moon than in the
woman.
To be sure, little of a man is he also, that timid
night-reveller. Verily, with a bad conscience doth
he stalk over the roofs.
For he is covetous and jealous, the monk in the
moon; covetous of the earth, and all the joys of
lovers.
Nay, I like him not, that tom-cat on the roofs !
Hateful unto me are all that slink around half-
closed windows!
Piously and silently doth he stalk along on the
star-carpets :—but I like no light-treading human
feet, on which not even a spur jingleth.
Every honest one's step speaketh; the cat
however, stealeth along over the ground. Lo! cat-
like doth the moon come along, and dishonestly. -
This parable speak I unto you sentimental


## p. 146 (#228) ############################################

146 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II.
dissemblers, unto you, the " pure discerners! " You
do / call—covetous ones!
Also ye love the earth, and the earthly: I have
divined you well! —but shame is in your love, and
a bad conscience—ye are like the moon!
To despise the earthly hath your spirit been
persuaded, but not your bowels: these, however, are
the strongest in you!
And now is your spirit ashamed to be at the
service of your bowels, and goeth by-ways and lying
ways to escape its own shame.
"That would be the highest thing for me "—so
saith your lying spirit unto itself—" to gaze upon
life without desire, and not like the dog, with hang-
ing-out tongue:
To be happy in gazing: with dead will, free
from the grip and greed of selfishness—cold and
ashy-grey all over, but with intoxicated moon-
eyes!
That would be the dearest thing to me "—thus
doth the seduced one seduce himself,—" to love the
earth as the moon loveth it, and with the eye only
to feel its beauty.
And this do I call immaculate perception of all
things: to want nothing else from them, but to be
allowed to lie before them as a mirror with a
hundred facets. "—
Oh, ye sentimental dissemblers, ye covetous ones!
Ye lack innocence in your desire: and now do ye
defame desiring on that account!
Verily, not as creators, as procreators, or as
jubilators do ye love the earth!
Where is innocence? Where there is will to


## p. 147 (#229) ############################################

XXXVII. —IMMACULATE PERCEPTION. 147
procreation. And he who seeketh to create beyond
himself, hath for me the purest will.
Where is beauty? Where I must will with my
whole Will; where I will love and perish, that an
image may not remain merely an image.
Loving and perishing: these have rhymed from
eternity. Will to love: that is to be ready also for
death. Thus do I speak unto you cowards!
But now doth your emasculated ogling profess
to be "contemplation! " And that which can be
examined with cowardly eyes is to be christened
"beautiful! " Oh, ye violators of noble names!
But it shall be your curse, ye immaculate ones, ye
pure discerners, that ye shall never bring forth, even
though ye lie broad and teeming on the horizon!
Verily, ye fill your mouth with noble words: and
we are to believe that your heart overfloweth, ye
cozeners?
But my words are poor, contemptible, stammer-
ing words: gladly do I pick up what falleth from
the table at your repasts.
Yet still can I say with them the truth—to
dissemblers! Yea, my fish-bones, shells, and prickly
leaves shall—tickle the noses of dissemblers!
Bad air is always about you and your repasts:
your lascivious thoughts, your lies, and secrets are
indeed in the air!
Dare only to believe in yourselves—in yourselves
and in your inward parts! He who doth not
believe in himself always lieth.
A God's mask have ye hung in front of you, ye
"pure ones": into a God's mask hath your execrable
coiling snake crawled.


## p. 148 (#230) ############################################

148
THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II.
Verily ye deceive, ye "contemplative ones! ”
Even Zarathustra was once the dupe of your
godlike exterior; he did not divine the serpent's
coil with which it was stuffed.
A God's soul, I once thought I saw playing in
your games, ye pure discerners! No better arts
did I once dream of than your arts !
Serpents' filth and evil odour, the distance con-
cealed from me: and that a lizard's craft prowled
thereabouts lasciviously.
But I came nigh unto you: then came to me
the day,—and now cometh it to you,—at an end is
the moon's love affair !
See there! Surprised and pale doth it stand-
before the rosy dawn!
For already she cometh, the glowing one,-her
love to the earth cometh! Innocence and creative
desire, is all solar love!
See there, how she cometh impatiently over the
sea! Do ye not feel the thirst and the hot breath
of her love?
At the sea would she suck, and drink its depths
to her height: now riseth the desire of the sea with
its thousand breasts.
Kissed and sucked would it be by the thirst of
the sun; vapour would it become, and height, and
path of light, and light itself!
Verily, like the sun do I love life, and all deep
seas.
And this meaneth to me knowledge: all that is
deep shall ascend—to my height! -
Thus spake Zarathustra.


## p. 149 (#231) ############################################

XXXVIII. —SCHOLARS. 149
XXXVIII. —SCHOLARS.
When I lay asleep, then did a sheep eat at the
ivy-wreath of my head,—it ate, and said thereby:
"Zarathustra is no longer a scholar. "
It said this, and went away clumsily and proudly.
A child told it to me.
I like to lie here where the children play, beside
the ruined wall, among thistles and red poppies.
A scholar am I still to the children, and also to
the thistles and red poppies. Innocent are they,
even in their wickedness.
But to the sheep am I no longer a scholar: so
willeth my lot—blessings upon it!
For this is the truth: I have departed from the
house of the scholars, and the door have I also
slammed behind me.
Too long did my soul sit hungry at their table:
not like them have I got the knack of investigating,
as the knack of nut-cracking.
Freedom do I love, and the air over fresh soil;
rather would I sleep on ox-skins than on their
honours and dignities.
I am too hot and scorched with mine own
thought: often is it ready to take away my breath.
Then have I to go into the open air, and away
from all dusty rooms.
But they sit cool in the cool shade: they want in
everything to be merely spectators, and they avoid
sitting where the sun burneth on the steps.
Like those who stand in the street and gape at
the passers-by: thus do they also wait, and gape
at the thoughts which others have thought.


## p. 150 (#232) ############################################

ISO THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II.
Should one lay hold of them, then do they raise
a dust like flour-sacks, and involuntarily: but who
would divine that their dust came from corn, and
from the yellow delight of the summer fields?
When they give themselves out as wise, then do
their petty sayings and truths chill me: in their
wisdom there is often an odour as if it came from
the swamp; and verily, I have even heard the frog
croak in it!
Clever are they—they have dexterous fingers:
what doth my simplicity pretend to beside their
multiplicity! All threading and knitting and
weaving do their fingers understand: thus do they
make the hose of the spirit!
Good clockworks are they: only be careful to
wind them up properly! Then do they indicate
the hour without mistake, and make a modest noise
thereby.
Like millstones do they work, and like pestles:
throw only seed-corn unto them! —they know well
how to grind corn small, and make white dust out
of it.
They keep a sharp eye on one another, and do
not trust each other the best. Ingenious in little
artifices, they wait for those whose knowledge
walketh on lame feet,—like spiders do they wait
.
I saw them always prepare their poison with
precaution; and always did they put glass gloves
on their fingers in doing so.
They also know how to play with false dice; and
so eagerly did I find them playing, that they per-
spired thereby.
We are alien to each other, and their virtues are


## p. 151 (#233) ############################################

XXXVIII. —SCHOLARS. 151
even more repugnant to my taste than their false-
hoods and false dice.
And when I lived with them, then did I live
above them. Therefore did they take a dislike to
me.
They want to hear nothing of any one walking
above their heads; and so they put wood and earth
and rubbish betwixt me and their heads.
Thus did they deafen the sound of my tread:
and least have I hitherto been heard by the most
learned.
All mankind's faults and weaknesses did they
put betwixt themselves and me :—they call it " false
ceiling" in their houses.
But nevertheless I walk with my thoughts above
their heads; and even should I walk on mine own
errors, still would I be above them and their heads.
For men are not equal: so speaketh justice. And
what I will, they may not will! —
Thus spake Zarathustra.
XXXIX. —POETS.
"Since I have known the body better"—said
Zarathustra to one of his disciples—" the spirit hath
only been to me symbolically spirit; and all the
'imperishable'—that is also but a simile. "
"So have I heard thee say once before," answered
the disciple, " and then thou addedst: 'But the
poets lie too much. ' Why didst thou say that the
poets lie too much? "
"Why? " said Zarathustra. "Thou askest why?
i


## p. 151 (#234) ############################################

ISO THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II.
Should one lay hold of them, then do they raise
a dust like flour-sacks, and involuntarily: but who
would divine that their dust came from corn, and
from the yellow delight of the summer fields?
When they give themselves out as wise, then do
their petty sayings and truths chill me: in their
wisdom there is often an odour as if it came from
the swamp; and verily, I have even heard the frog
croak in it!
Clever are they—they have dexterous fingers:
what doth my simplicity pretend to beside their
multiplicity! All threading and knitting and
weaving do their fingers understand: thus do they
make the hose of the spirit!
Good clockworks are they: only be careful to
wind them up properly! Then do they indicate
the hour without mistake, and make a modest noise
thereby.
Like millstones do they work, and like pestles:
throw only seed-corn unto them ! —they know well
how to grind corn small, and make white dust out
of it
.
They keep a sharp eye on one another, and do
not trust each other the best. Ingenious in little
artifices, they wait for those whose knowledge
walketh on lame feet,—like spiders do they wait
.
I saw them always prepare their poison with
precaution; and always did they put glass gloves
on their fingers in doing so.
They also know how to play with false dice; and
so eagerly did I find them playing, that they per-
spired thereby.
We are alien to each other, and their virtues are


## p. 151 (#235) ############################################

XXXVIII. —SCHOLARS. 151
even more repugnant to my taste than their false-
hoods and false dice.
And when I lived with them, then did I live
above them. Therefore did they take a dislike to
me.
They want to hear nothing of any one walking
above their heads; and so they put wood and earth
and rubbish betwixt me and their heads.
Thus did they deafen the sound of my tread:
and least have I hitherto been heard by the most
learned.
All mankind's faults and weaknesses did they
put betwixt themselves and me :—they call it " false
ceiling" in their houses.
But nevertheless I walk with my thoughts above
their heads; and even should I walk on mine own
errors, still would I be above them and their heads.
For men are not equal: so speaketh justice. And
what I will, they may not will! —
Thus spake Zarathustra.
XXXIX. —POETS.
"Since I have known the body better"—said
Zarathustra to one of his disciples—" the spirit hath
only been to me symbolically spirit; and all the
'imperishable'—that is also but a simile. "
"So have I heard thee say once before," answered
the disciple, " and then thou addedst: 'But the
poets lie too much. ' Why didst thou say that the
poets lie too much? "
"Why? " said Zarathustra. "Thou askest why?


## p. 151 (#236) ############################################

150 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II.
Should one lay hold of them, then do they raise
a dust like flour-sacks, and involuntarily: but who
would divine that their dust came from corn, and
from the yellow delight of the summer fields?
When they give themselves out as wise, then do
their petty sayings and truths chill me: in their
wisdom there is often an odour as if it came from
the swamp; and verily, I have even heard the frog
croak in it!
Clever are they—they have dexterous fingers:
what doth my simplicity pretend to beside their
multiplicity! All threading and knitting and
weaving do their fingers understand: thus do they
make the hose of the spirit!
Good clockworks are they: only be careful to
wind them up properly! Then do they indicate
the hour without mistake, and make a modest noise
thereby.
Like millstones do they work, and like pestles:
throw only seed-corn unto them ! —they know well
how to grind corn small, and make white dust out
of it.
They keep a sharp eye on one another, and do
not trust each other the best. Ingenious in little
artifices, they wait for those whose knowledge
walketh on lame feet,—like spiders do they wait
.
I saw them always prepare their poison with
precaution; and always did they put glass gloves
on their fingers in doing so.
They also know how to play with false dice; and
so eagerly did I find them playing, that they per-
spired thereby.
We are alien to each other, and their virtues are


## p. 151 (#237) ############################################

XXXVIII. —SCHOLARS. 151
even more repugnant to my taste than their false-
hoods and false dice.
And when I lived with them, then did I live
above them. Therefore did they take a dislike to
me.
They want to hear nothing of any one walking
above their heads; and so they put wood and earth
and rubbish betwixt me and their heads.
Thus did they deafen the sound of my tread:
and least have I hitherto been heard by the most
learned.
All mankind's faults and weaknesses did they
put betwixt themselves and me:—they call it " false
ceiling" in their houses.
But nevertheless I walk with my thoughts above
their heads; and even should I walk on mine own
errors, still would I be above them and their heads.
For men are not equal: so speaketh justice. And
what I will, they may not will! —
Thus spake Zarathustra.
XXXIX. —POETS.
"Since I have known the body better"—said
Zarathustra to one of his disciples—" the spirit hath
only been to me symbolically spirit; and all the
'imperishable'—that is also but a simile. "
"So have I heard thee say once before," answered
the disciple, " and then thou addedst: 'But the
poets lie too much. ' Why didst thou say that the
poets lie too much? "
"Why? " said Zarathustra. "Thou askest why?


## p. 152 (#238) ############################################

152 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II.
I do not belong to those who may be asked after
their Why.
Is my experience but of yesterday?
It is long
ago that I experienced the reasons for mine
opinions.
Should I not have to be a cask of memory, if I
also wanted to have my reasons with me?
It is already too much for me even to retain mine
opinions; and many a bird flieth away.
And sometimes, also, do I find a fugitive creature
in my dovecote, which is alien to me, and trembleth
when I lay my hand upon it.
But what did Zarathustra once say unto thee?
That the poets lie too much ? —But Zarathustra
also is a poet.
Believest thou that he there spake the truth?
Why dost thou believe it? "
The disciple answered: "I believe in Zarathustra. "
But Zarathustra shook his head and smiled. —
Belief doth not sanctify me, said he, least of all
the belief in myself.
But granting that some one did say in all serious-
ness that the poets lie too much: he was right—
we do lie too much.
We also know too little, and are bad learners:
so we are obliged to lie.
And which of us poets hath not adulterated his
wine? Many a poisonous hotchpotch hath evolved
in our cellars: many an indescribable thing hath
there been done.
And because we know little, therefore are we
pleased from the heart with the poor in spirit,
especially when they are young women!


## p. 153 (#239) ############################################

XXXIX. —poets. 153
And even of those things are we desirous, which
old women tell one another in the evening. This
do we call the eternally feminine in us.
And as if there were a special secret access to
knowledge, which choketh up for those who learn
anything, so do we believe in the people and in
their " wisdom. "
This, however, do all poets believe: that whoever
pricketh up his ears when lying in the grass or on
lonely slopes, learneth something of the things that
are betwixt heaven and earth.
And if there come unto them tender emotions,
then do the poets always think that nature herself
is in love with them:
And that she stealeth to their ear to whisper
secrets into it, arid amorous flatteries : of this do they
plume and pride themselves, before all mortals!
Ah, there are so many things betwixt heaven and
earth of which only the poets have dreamed!
And especially above the heavens: for all Gods
are poet-symbolisations, poet-sophistications!
Verily, ever are we drawn aloft—that is, to the
realm of the clouds: on these do we set our gaudy
puppets, and then call them Gods and Supermen:—
Are not they light enough for those chairs! —all
these Gods and Supermen ? —
Ah, how I am weary of all the inadequate that
is insisted on as actual! Ah, how I am weary of
the poets!
When Zarathustra so spake, his disciple resented
it, but was silent. And Zarathustra also was silent;
and his eye directed itself inwardly, as if it gazed
/"


## p. 154 (#240) ############################################

154
THUS SPARE
THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II.
into the far distance. At last he sighed and drew
breath.
I am of to-day and heretofore, said he thereupon ;
but something is in me that is of the morrow, and
the day following, and the hereafter.
I became weary of the poets, of the old and of
the new : superficial are they all unto me, and
shallow seas.
They did not think sufficiently into the depth;
therefore their feeling did not reach to the bottom.
Some sensation of voluptuousness and some
sensation of tedium : these have as yet been their
best contemplation.
Ghost-breathing and ghost-whisking, seemeth
to me all the jingle-jangling of their harps; what
have they known hitherto of the fervour of tones ! -
They are also not pure enough for me: they all
muddle their water that it may seem deep.
And fain would they thereby prove themselves
reconcilers : but mediaries and mixers are they
unto me, and half-and-half, and impure ! -
Ah, I cast indeed my net into their sea, and
meant to catch good fish; but always did I draw
up the head of some ancient God.
Thus did the sea give a stone to the hungry one.
And they themselves may well originate from the
sea.
Certainly, one findeth pearls in them: thereby
they are the more like hard molluscs. And instead
of a soul, I have often found in them salt slime.
They have learned from the sea also its vanity :
is not the sea the peacock of peacocks ?
Even before the ugliest of all buffaloes doth it


## p. 155 (#241) ############################################

XXXIX. —POETS.
155
spread out its tail; never doth it tire of its lace-fan
of silver and silk.
Disdainfully doth the buffalo glance thereat, nigh
to the sand with its soul, nigher still to the thicket,
nighest, however, to the swamp.
What is beauty and sea and peacock-splendour
to it! This parable I speak unto the poets.
Verily, their spirit itself is the peacock of pea-
cocks, and a sea of vanity!
Spectators, seeketh the spirit of the poet-should
they even be buffaloes -
But of this spirit became I weary; and I see the
time coming when it will become weary of itself.
Yea, changed have I seen the poets, and their
glance turned towards themselves.
Penitents of the spirit have I seen appearing ;
they grew out of the poets. —
Thus spake Zarathustra.
XL. -GREAT EVENTS.
There is an isle in the sea—not far from the
Happy Isles of Zarathustra—on which a volcano
ever smoketh; of which isle the people, and
especially the old women amongst them, say that
it is placed as a rock before the gate of the nether-
world; but that through the volcano itself the
narrow way leadeth downwards which conducteth
to this gate.
Now about the time that Zarathustra sojourned
on the Happy Isles, it happened that a ship anchored
at the isle on which standeth the smoking moun-


## p. 156 (#242) ############################################

156 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II.
tain, and the crew went ashore to shoot rabbits.
About the noontide hour, however, when the
captain and his men were together again, they
saw suddenly a man coming towards them through
the air, and a voice said distinctly: "It is time!
It is the highest time! " But when the figure was
nearest to them (it flew past quickly, however, like
a shadow, in the direction of the volcano), then did
they recognise with the greatest surprise that it
was Zarathustra; for they had all seen him before
except the captain himself, and they loved him as
the people love: in such wise that love and awe
were combined in equal degree.
"Behold! " said the old helmsman, "there goeth
Zarathustra to hell! "
About the same time that these sailors landed
on the fire-isle, there was a rumour that Zarathustra
had disappeared; and when his friends were asked
about it, they said that he had gone on board a
ship by night, without saying whither he was going.
Thus there arose some uneasiness. After three
days, however, there came the story of the ship's
crew in addition to this uneasiness—and then did
all the people say that the devil had taken Zara-
thustra. His disciples laughed, sure enough, at this
talk; and one of them said even: "Sooner would
I believe that Zarathustra hath taken the devil. "
But at the bottom of their hearts they were all full
of anxiety and longing: so their joy was great when
on the fifth day Zarathustra appeared amongst
them.
And this is the account of Zarathustra's inter-
view with the fire-dog:


## p. 157 (#243) ############################################

XL. —GREAT EVENTS. 157
The earth, said he, hath a skin; and this skin
hath diseases. One of these diseases, for example,
is called "man. "
And another of these diseases is called "the fire-
dog ": concerning him men have greatly deceived
themselves, and let themselves be deceived.
To fathom this mystery did I go o'er the sea;
and I have seen the truth naked, verily! barefooted
up to the neck.
Now do I know how it is concerning the fire-
dog; and likewise concerning all the spouting and
subversive devils, of which not only old women are
afraid.
"Up with thee, fire-dog, out of thy depth ! " cried
I, "and confess how deep that depth is! Whence
cometh that which thou snortest up?
Thou drinkest copiously at the sea: that doth
thine embittered eloquence betray I In sooth, for
a dog of the depth, thou takest thy nourishment
too much from the surface!
At the most, I regard thee as the ventriloquist
of the earth: and ever, when I have heard subver-
sive and spouting devils speak, I have found them
like thee: embittered, mendacious, and shallow.
Ye understand how to roar and obscure with
ashes! Ye are the best braggarts, and have suffi-
ciently learned the art of making dregs boil.
Where ye are, there must always be dregs at
hand, and much that is spongy, hollow, and com-
pressed: it wanteth to have freedom.
'Freedom' ye all roar most eagerly: but I have
unlearned the belief in 'great events,' when there
is much roaring and smoke about them.


## p. 158 (#244) ############################################

158 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II.
And believe me, friend Hollaballoo! The greatest
events—are not our noisiest, but our stillest hours.
Not around the inventors of new noise, but around
the inventors of new values, doth the world revolve;
inaudibly it revolveth.
And just own to it! Little had ever taken place
when thy noise and smoke passed away. What, if
a city did become a mummy, and a statue lay in
the mud!
And this do I say also to the o'erthrowers of
statues: It is certainly the greatest folly to throw
salt into the sea, and statues into the mud.
In the mud of your contempt lay the statue: but
it is just its law, that out of contempt, its life and
living beauty grow again!
With diviner features doth it now arise, seducing
by its suffering; and verily! it will yet thank you
for o'erthrowing it, ye subverters!
This counsel, however, do I counsel to kings and
churches, and to all that is weak with age or virtue
—let yourselves be o'erthrown! That ye may again
come to life, and that virtue—may come to you ! —"
Thus spake I before the fire-dog: then did he
interrupt me sullenly, and asked : " Church? What
is that? "
"Church? " answered I, "that is a kind of state,
and indeed the most mendacious. But remain
quiet, thou dissembling dog! Thou surely knowest
thine own species best!
Like thyself the state is a dissembling dog; like
thee doth it like to speak with smoke and roaring
—to make believe, like thee, that it speaketh out
of the heart of things.


## p. 159 (#245) ############################################

XL. —GREAT EVENTS. 159
For it seeketh by all means to be the most
important creature on earth, the state; and people
think it so. "
When I had said this, the fire-dog acted as if
mad with envy. "What! " cried he, "the most
important creature on earth? And people think it
so? " And so much vapour and terrible voices
came out of his throat, that I thought he would
choke with vexation and envy.
At last he became calmer and his panting sub-
sided; as soon, however, as he was quiet, I said
laughingly:
"Thou art angry, fire-dog: so I am in the right
about thee!
And that I may also maintain the right, hear the
story of another fire-dog; he speaketh actually out
of the heart of the earth.
Gold doth his breath exhale, and golden rain: so
doth his heart desire. What are ashes and smoke
and hot dregs to him!
Laughter flitteth from him like a variegated cloud;
adverse is he to thy gargling and spewing and grips
in the bowels!
The gold, however, and the laughter — these
doth he take out of the heart of the earth: for,
that thou mayst know it,—the heart of the earth is
of gold. "
When the fire-dog heard this, he could no longer
endure to listen to me. Abashed did he draw in
his tail, said "bow-wow! " in a cowed voice, and
crept down into his cave. —
Thus told Zarathustra. His disciples, however,
hardly listened to him: so great was their eagerness


## p. 160 (#246) ############################################

60 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II.
to tell him about the sailors, the rabbits, and the
flying man.
"What am I to think of it! " said Zarathustra.
"Am I indeed a ghost?
But it may have been my shadow. Ye have
surely heard something of the Wanderer and his
Shadow?
One thing, however, is certain: I must keep a
tighter hold of it; otherwise it will spoil my
reputation. "
And once more Zarathustra shook his head and
wondered. "What am I to think of it! " said he
once more.
"Why did the ghost cry: 'It is time! It is the
highest time! '
For what is it then—the highest time ? "—
Thus spake Zarathustra.
XLI. —THE SOOTHSAYER.
"—And I saw a great sadness come over man-
kind. The best turned weary of their works.
A doctrine appeared, a faith ran beside it: 'All
is empty, all is alike, all hath been! '
And from all hills there re-echoed: 'All is empty,
all is alike, all hath been! '
To be sure we have harvested: but why have all
our fruits become rotten and brown? What was it
fell last night from the evil moon?
In vain was all our labour, poison hath our wine
become, the evil eye hath singed yellow our fields
and hearts.


## p. 161 (#247) ############################################

XLI. —THE SOOTHSAYER. l6l
Arid have we all become ; and fire falling upon
us, then do we turn dust like ashes:—yea, the fire
itself have we made aweary.
All our fountains have dried up, even the sea
hath receded. All the ground trieth to gape, but
the depth will not swallow!
'Alas! where is there still a sea in which one
could be drowned? ' so soundeth our plaint—across
shallow swamps.
Verily, even for dying have we become too
weary; now do we keep awake and live on—in
sepulchres. "
Thus did Zarathustra hear a soothsayer speak;
and the foreboding touched his heart and trans-
formed him. Sorrowfully did he go about and
wearily; and he became like unto those of whom
the soothsayer had spoken. —
Verily, said he unto his disciples, a little while,
and there cometh the long twilight. Alas, how
shall I preserve my light through it!
That it may not smother in this sorrowfulness!
To remoter worlds shall it be a light, and also to
remotest nights!
Thus did Zarathustra go about grieved in his
heart, and for three days he did not take any
meat or drink: he had no rest, and lost his speech.
At last it came to pass that he fell into a deep sleep.
His disciples, however, sat around him in long
night-watches, and waited anxiously to see if he
would awake, and speak again, and recover from
his affliction.
And this is the discourse that Zarathustra spake
L


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162 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II.
when he awoke; his voice, however, came unto his
disciples as from afar:
Hear, I pray you, the dream that I dreamed, my
friends, and help me to divine its meaning!
A riddle is it still unto me, this dream; the
meaning is hidden in it and encaged, and doth not
yet fly above it on free pinions.
All life had I renounced, so I dreamed. Night-
watchman and grave-guardian had I become,
aloft, in the lone mountain-fortress of Death.
There did I guard his coffins: full stood the
musty vaults of those trophies of victory. Out of
glass coffins did vanquished life gaze upon me.
The odour of dust-covered eternities did I
breathe: sultry and dust-covered lay my soul.
And who could have aired his soul there!
Brightness of midnight was ever around me;
lonesomeness cowered beside her; and as a third,
death-rattle stillness, the worst of my female friends.
Keys did I carry, the rustiest of all keys; and I
knew how to open with them the most creaking of
all gates.
Like a bitterly angry croaking ran the sound
through the long corridors when the leaves of the
gate opened: ungraciously did this bird cry, un-
willingly was it awakened.
But more frightful even, and more heart-
strangling was it, when it again became silent and
still all around, and I alone sat in that malignant
silence.
Thus did time pass with me, and slip by, if time
there still was: what do I know thereof! But at
last there happened that which awoke me.


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XLI. —THE SOOTHSAYER. 163
Thrice did there peal peals at the gate like
thunders, thrice did the vaults resound and howl
again: then did I go to the gate.
Alpa! cried I, who carrieth his ashes unto the
mountain?