Thus Spoke Zarathustra (42 page)

Oh do not weep,
Gentle hearts!
Do not weep, you
Date-hearts! Milk-bosoms!
You heart-caskets
Of sweetwood!
Do not weep,
Pale Dudu!
Be a man, Suleika! Courage! Courage!
– Or would perhaps
Something bracing, heart-bracing,
Be in place here?
An anointed proverb?
A solemn exhortation?
Ha! Up, dignity!
Virtuous dignity! European dignity!
Blow, blow again,
Bellows of virtue!
Ha!
Roar once again,
Roar morally!
Roar like a moral lion
Before the daughters of the desert!
For virtuous howling,
You dearest maidens,
Is loved best of all by
European ardour, European appetite!
And here I stand now,
As European,
I cannot do otherwise, so help me God!
⁵²
Amen!

Deserts grow: woe to him who harbours deserts!

The Awakening

1

A
FTER
the song of the wanderer and shadow, the cave suddenly became full of noise and laughter: and as the assembled guests were all speaking together and even the ass no longer remained silent in the face of such encouragement, Zarathustra was overcome by a little repugnance and scorn towards his visitors: although, at the same time, he rejoiced at their gaiety. For it seemed to him to be a sign of recovery. So he stole out into the open air and spoke with his animals.

‘Where is their distress now?’ he said, and already he was breathing again after his little disgust, ‘it seems that in my home they have unlearned distressful crying!

‘although, unhappily, not yet crying itself.’ And Zarathustra stopped his ears, for just then the ‘Ye-a’ of the ass
mingled strangely with the loud rejoicing of these Higher Men.

‘They are merry,’ he began again,’ and, who knows, perhaps at the expense of their host. And if they have learned laughing from me, still it is not
my
laughter they have learned.

‘But what of it! They are old men: they recover in their own way, they laugh in their own way; my ears have suffered worse things and not been annoyed.

‘This day is a victory: it wavers already, it flees,
the Spirit of Gravity
, my old arch-enemy I How well this day is ending, that began so ill and so gravely!

‘And it
is
ending. Evening has already come: it is riding over the sea to us; that excellent horseman! How it sways, joyfully returning, in its purple saddle!

‘The sky gazes, clear, upon it, the world lies deep: O all you strange men who have come to me, it is already worth while to live with me!

Thus spoke Zarathustra. And then the shouting and laughter of the Higher Men again came from the cave: it had started again.

‘They are biting, my bait is effective, before them too their enemy, the Spirit of Gravity, is wavering. Already they are learning to laugh at themselves: do I hear aright?

‘My man’s fare, my succulent and strengthening discourse, is effective: and truly, I did not feed them with distending vegetables! But with warriors’ food, with conquerors’ food: I awakened new desires.

‘There are new hopes in their arms and legs, their hearts are stretching themselves. They are discovering new words, soon their spirits will breathe wantonness.

‘To be sure, such food may not be for children, or for fond little women, old or young. Their stomachs are persuaded otherwise; I am not their teacher and physician.

‘These Higher Men’s disgust is wavering: very well! that is my victory. They are growing assured in my kingdom, all stupid shame is leaving them, they are unburdening themselves.

‘They are unburdening their hearts, good hours are coming
back to them, they take their ease and ruminate – they grow
thankful
.

‘This I take for the best sign: they grow thankful. Before long they will be devising festivals and erecting memorials to their old joys.

‘They are
convalescents
!’ Thus spoke Zarathustra gaily to his heart and gazed out; his animals, however, pressed around him and respected his happiness and his silence.

2

But suddenly Zarathustra’s ear was startled: for the cave, which had been full of noise and laughter, all at once became deathly still; his nose, however, smelt a sweet-smelling vapour and incense, as if of burning pine-cones.

‘What is happening? What are they doing?’ he asked himself, and stole to the entrance, so that he might behold his guests unobserved. But, wonder upon wonders! what did he then see with his own eyes!

‘They have all become
pious
again, they are
praying
, they are mad!’ he said, and was astounded beyond measure. And indeed, all these Higher Men, the two kings, the retired pope, the evil sorcerer, the voluntary beggar, the wanderer and shadow, the old prophet, the conscientious man of the spirit, and the ugliest man: they were all kneeling like children and credulous old women, and worshipping the ass. And at that very moment the ugliest man began to gurgle and snort, as if something unutterable was trying to get out of him; but when he actually reached the point of speech, behold, it was a strange, pious litany in praise of the worshipped and perfumed ass. The litany went thus:

Amen! And praise and honour and wisdom and thanks and glory and strength be to our God for ever and ever!

The ass, however, brayed ‘Ye-a’.

He bears our burden, he has taken upon himself the likeness of a slave, he is patient from the heart and he never says Nay; and he who loves his God, chastises him.

The ass, however, brayed ‘Ye-a’.

He does not speak, except always to say Yea to the world he created: thus he praises his world. It is his subtlety that does not speak: thus he is seldom thought wrong.

The ass, however, brayed ‘Ye-a’.

He goes through the world unpretentiously. Grey is the favourite colour
⁵³
in which he wraps his virtue. If he has spirit, he conceals it; but everyone believes in his long ears.

The ass, however, brayed ‘Ye-a’.

What hidden wisdom it is, that he wears long ears and says only Yea and never Nay! Has he not created the world after his own image, that is, as stupid as possible?

The ass, however, brayed ‘Ye-a’.

You go straight and crooked ways; you care little what we men think straight or crooked. Your kingdom is beyond good and evil. It is your innocence not to know what innocence is.

The ass, however, brayed ‘Ye-a’.

For behold, how you spurn no one, not beggars nor kings. You suffer little children to come to you, and when bad boys bait you, you simply say Yea.

The ass, however, brayed ‘Ye-a’.

You love she-asses and fresh figs, you eat anything. A thistle titillates your heart, if you happen to be hungry. The wisdom of a god is in that.

The ass, however, brayed ‘Ye-a’.

The Ass Festival

1

A
T
this point in the litany, however, Zarathustra could no longer master himself; he cried out ‘Ye-a’ louder even than the ass, and sprang into the midst of his guests gone mad. ‘But what are you doing, my friends?’ he cried, pulling the worshippers up from the ground. ‘Woe to you if anyone else but Zarathustra had seen you.

‘Everyone would adjudge you, with your new faith, to be the worst blasphemers or the most foolish of old women!

‘And you, old pope, how can you reconcile yourself to worshipping an ass as God in this way?’

‘O Zarathustra,’ answered the pope, ‘forgive me, but in divine matters I am even more enlightened than you. That stands to reason.

‘Better to worship God in this shape than in no shape at all! Consider this saying, my exalted friend: you will quickly see that there is wisdom in such a saying.

‘He who said “God is a spirit” took the biggest step and leap towards unbelief yet taken on earth: such a saying is not easily corrected!

‘My old heart leaps and bounds to know that there is something left on earth to worship. Forgive a pious old pope’s heart that, O Zarathustra!’

‘And you,’ said Zarathustra to the wanderer and shadow, ‘you call and think yourself a free spirit? And do you carry on here such priestly idolatries?

‘Truly, you behave here even worse than you did with your wicken brown maidens, you evil new believer!’

‘It is bad enough,’ answered the wanderer and shadow, ‘you are right: but what can I do! The old God lives again, O Zarathustra, you may say what you will.

‘It is all the fault of the ugliest man: he has awakened him again. And if he says that he once killed him: with gods,
death
is always only a prejudice.’

‘And you,’ said Zarathustra, ‘you evil old sorcerer, what were you doing? Who in this free age shall believe in you henceforth, if
you
believe in such godly asininities?

‘What you did was a stupidity; how could you, prudent man, do anything so stupid!’

‘O Zarathustra,’ answered the prudent sorcerer, ‘you are right, it was a stupidity, and it was hard enough to do it.’

‘And even you,’ said Zarathustra to the conscientious man of the spirit, ‘just consider, and lay your finger on your nose! For is there nothing here against your conscience? Is your spirit not too pure for this praying and the exhalations of these devotees?’

‘There is something in it,’ answered the conscientious man
and laid his finger on his nose, ‘there is something in this spectacle which even does my conscience good.

‘I may not believe in God, perhaps: but it is certain that God seems to me most worthy belief in this form.

‘God is supposed to be eternal according to the testimony of the most pious: he who has so much time takes his time. As slow and as stupid as possible: but such a one can in that way go very far, none the less.

‘And he who has too much spirit might well become infatuated with stupidity and folly. Consider yourself, O Zarathustra!

‘You yourself – truly I even you could become an ass through abundance and wisdom.

‘Does a consummate philosopher not like to walk on the most crooked paths? Appearance teaches it, O Zarathustra –
your
appearance!’

‘And you yourself, finally,’ said Zarathustra and turned towards the ugliest man, who was still lying on the ground raising his arm up to the ass (for he was giving it wine to drink). ‘Speak, you unutterable creature, what have you been doing?

‘You seem changed, your eyes are glowing, the mantle of the sublime covers your ugliness:
what
did you do?

‘Is it true what they say, that you have awakened him again? And why? Was he not with reason killed and done away with?

‘You yourself seem awakened: what did you do? Why did
you
reform? Why were
you
converted? Speak, you unutterable creature!’

‘O Zarathustra,’ answered the ugliest man, ‘you are a rogue.

‘Whether
he
still lives or lives again or is truly dead, which of us two knows that best? I ask you.

‘But one thing I know -1 once learned it from you yourself, O Zarathustra: He who wants to kill most thoroughly –
laughs
.

‘“One kills, not by anger but by laughter” – that is what you once said. O Zarathustra, you obscure man, you destroyer without anger, you dangerous saint, you are a rogue!’

2

Then, however, Zarathustra, amazed at such purely roguish answers, leaped back to the door of his cave and, turning towards all his guests, cried in a loud voice:

‘O all you clowns, you buffoons! Why do you pretend and dissemble before me!

‘How the heart of each of you writhed with joy and mischievousness, because you had at last again become as little children, that is, pious,

‘because you at last again behaved as children do, that is, prayed, clasped your hands and said “Dear God”!

‘But now leave
this
nursery, my own cave, where today every kind of childishness is at home. Come out here and cool your hot childish wantonness and the clamour of your hearts!

‘To be sure: except you become as little children you shall not enter into
this
kingdom of heaven.’ (And Zarathustra pointed upwards with his hands.)

‘But we certainly do not want to enter into the kingdom of heaven: we have become men,
so we want the kingdom of earth
’

3

And Zarathustra began to speak once more. ‘O my new friends,’ he said, ‘you strange men, you Higher Men, how well you please me now,

‘since you have become joyful again I Truly, you have all blossomed forth: for such flowers as you, I think,
new festivals
are needed.

‘a little brave nonsense, some divine service and ass festival, some joyful old Zarathustra-fool, a blustering wind to blow your souls bright.

‘Do not forget this night and this ass festival, you Higher Men! You devised
that
at my home, I take that as a good omen – only convalescents devise such things!

‘And if you celebrate it again, this ass festival, do it for
love of yourselves, do it also for love of me! And in remembrance of
me
!’

Thus spoke Zarathustra.

The Intoxicated Song

1

M
EANWHILE,
however, one after another had gone out into the open air and the cool, thoughtful night; but Zarathustra himself led the ugliest man by the hand, to show him his nocturnal world and the big, round moon and the silver waterfalls beside his cave. There at last they stood silently together, just a group of old folk, but with comforted, brave hearts and amazed in themselves that it was so well with them on earth; but the mystery of the night drew nearer and nearer their hearts. And Zarathustra thought to himself again: ‘Oh, how well they please me now, these Higher Men!’ – but he did not say it, for he respected their happiness and their silence.