Read The Portable Nietzsche Online
Authors: Friedrich Nietzsche
The Portable Nietzsche (50 page)
Thus spoke the wanderer and shadow; and before anyone answered him he had already seized the harp of the old magician, crossed his legs, and looked around, composed and wise. But with his nostrils he drew in the air slowly and questioningly, as one tastes the new foreign air in a new country. Then he began to sing with a kind of roar.
2Wilderness grows: woe unto him that harbors wildernesses!
Hah! Solemnl
Indeed solemn!
A worthy beginning.
African solemnity.
Worthy of a lion
Or of a moral howling monkeyâ
But nothing for you,
My most charming friends
At whose feet I,
As the first
European under palm trees,
Am allowed to sit. Selah.
Indeed solemn!
A worthy beginning.
African solemnity.
Worthy of a lion
Or of a moral howling monkeyâ
But nothing for you,
My most charming friends
At whose feet I,
As the first
European under palm trees,
Am allowed to sit. Selah.
Â
Wonderful surely!
There I sit now,
Near the wilderness and already
So far from the wilderness again,
And in no way wild or wantonâ
Merely swallowed
By this smallest oasis:
It just opened, yawning,
Its lovely orifice,
The most fragrant of all little mouthsâ
And I fell in
And down and throughâamong you,
My most charming friends. Selah.
There I sit now,
Near the wilderness and already
So far from the wilderness again,
And in no way wild or wantonâ
Merely swallowed
By this smallest oasis:
It just opened, yawning,
Its lovely orifice,
The most fragrant of all little mouthsâ
And I fell in
And down and throughâamong you,
My most charming friends. Selah.
Â
Hail, hail to that whale
If he let his guest be that
Well off! You do understand
My scholarly allusion?
Hail to his belly
If it was as
Lovely an oasis belly
As thisâwhich, however, I should certainly doubt;
After all, I come from Europe
Which is more doubt-addicted than all
Elderly married women.
May God improve itl
Amen.
If he let his guest be that
Well off! You do understand
My scholarly allusion?
Hail to his belly
If it was as
Lovely an oasis belly
As thisâwhich, however, I should certainly doubt;
After all, I come from Europe
Which is more doubt-addicted than all
Elderly married women.
May God improve itl
Amen.
Â
There I sit now,
In this smallest oasis,
Just like a date,
Brown, sweet through, oozing gold, lusting
For the round mouth of a girl,
But even more for girlish,
Ice-cold, snow-white, cutting
Incisors: for after these
Pants the heart of all hot dates. Selah.
In this smallest oasis,
Just like a date,
Brown, sweet through, oozing gold, lusting
For the round mouth of a girl,
But even more for girlish,
Ice-cold, snow-white, cutting
Incisors: for after these
Pants the heart of all hot dates. Selah.
Â
Similar, all-too-similar
To the aforementioned fruit,
I lie here, sniffed at
And played about
By little winged bugsâ
Also by still smaller,
More foolish, more sinful
Wishes and notions-
Enveloped by you,
Silent and foreboding
Girl-cats,
Dudu and Suleikaâ
Ensphinxed,
to crowd many
Feelings into one word
(May God forgive me
This linguistic sin!)â
I sit here, sniffing the best air,
Verily, paradise air,
Bright, light air, golden-striped,
As good air as ever
Fell down from the moonâ
Whether by chance
Or did it happen from prankishness?
As the old poets relate.
I, being a doubter, however, should
Doubt it; after all, I come
From Europe
Which is more doubt-addicted than all
Elderly married women.
May God improve it!
Amen.
To the aforementioned fruit,
I lie here, sniffed at
And played about
By little winged bugsâ
Also by still smaller,
More foolish, more sinful
Wishes and notions-
Enveloped by you,
Silent and foreboding
Girl-cats,
Dudu and Suleikaâ
Ensphinxed,
to crowd many
Feelings into one word
(May God forgive me
This linguistic sin!)â
I sit here, sniffing the best air,
Verily, paradise air,
Bright, light air, golden-striped,
As good air as ever
Fell down from the moonâ
Whether by chance
Or did it happen from prankishness?
As the old poets relate.
I, being a doubter, however, should
Doubt it; after all, I come
From Europe
Which is more doubt-addicted than all
Elderly married women.
May God improve it!
Amen.
Â
Drinking this most beautiful air,
My nostrils distended like cups,
Without future, without reminiscences,
Thus I sit here, O
My most charming friends,
And am watching the palm tree
As, like a dancer, she curves
And swerves and sways above her hipsâ
One does it too, if one watches long.
Like a dancer who, as it would seem to me,
Has stood too long, dangerously long
Always, always only on one little leg.
She has forgotten, it would seem to me,
The other leg.
In vain, at least,
I looked for the missed
Twin jewelâ
Namely, the other legâ
In the holy proximity
Of her most lovely, most delicate
Flimsy little fan-, flutter-, and tinsel-skirt.
Yes, if you would, my beautiful friends,
Believe me wholly:
She has lost it!
It is gone!
Forever gone!
The other leg!
What a shame about that lovely other leg!
Where may it be staying and mourning, forsaken?
The lonely leg?
Perhaps afraid of a
Grim, blond, curly
Lion monster? Or even now
Gnawed away, nibbled awayâ
Misery, alas! alas! Nibbled away! Selah.
My nostrils distended like cups,
Without future, without reminiscences,
Thus I sit here, O
My most charming friends,
And am watching the palm tree
As, like a dancer, she curves
And swerves and sways above her hipsâ
One does it too, if one watches long.
Like a dancer who, as it would seem to me,
Has stood too long, dangerously long
Always, always only on one little leg.
She has forgotten, it would seem to me,
The other leg.
In vain, at least,
I looked for the missed
Twin jewelâ
Namely, the other legâ
In the holy proximity
Of her most lovely, most delicate
Flimsy little fan-, flutter-, and tinsel-skirt.
Yes, if you would, my beautiful friends,
Believe me wholly:
She has lost it!
It is gone!
Forever gone!
The other leg!
What a shame about that lovely other leg!
Where may it be staying and mourning, forsaken?
The lonely leg?
Perhaps afraid of a
Grim, blond, curly
Lion monster? Or even now
Gnawed away, nibbled awayâ
Misery, alas! alas! Nibbled away! Selah.
Â
Oh do not weep,
Soft hearts!
Do not weep, you
Date hearts! Milk bosoms!
You little licorice
Heart-sacs!
Weep no more,
Pale Dudul
Be a man, Suleika! Courage! Courage!
Or should
Something invigorating, heart-invigorating
Be appropriate here?
An unctuous maxim?
A solemn exhortation?
Soft hearts!
Do not weep, you
Date hearts! Milk bosoms!
You little licorice
Heart-sacs!
Weep no more,
Pale Dudul
Be a man, Suleika! Courage! Courage!
Or should
Something invigorating, heart-invigorating
Be appropriate here?
An unctuous maxim?
A solemn exhortation?
Â
Hah! Come up, dignity!
Virtuous dignity! European dignity!
Blow, blow again,
Bellows of virtue!
Hah!
Once more roar,
Roar morally!
As a moral lion
Roar before the daughters of the wilderness!
For virtuous howling,
My most charming girls,
Is more than anything else
European fervor, European ravenous hunger.
And there I stand even now
As a European;
I cannot do else; God help me!
Amen.
Virtuous dignity! European dignity!
Blow, blow again,
Bellows of virtue!
Hah!
Once more roar,
Roar morally!
As a moral lion
Roar before the daughters of the wilderness!
For virtuous howling,
My most charming girls,
Is more than anything else
European fervor, European ravenous hunger.
And there I stand even now
As a European;
I cannot do else; God help me!
Amen.
Wilderness grows: woe unto him that harbors wildernesses!
THE AWAKENING1
After the song of the wanderer and shadow, the cave all at once became full of noise and laughter; and since all of the assembled guests talked at the same time and even the ass, thus encouraged, would no longer remain silent, Zarathustra was overcome by a slight aversion and by scorn for his company, although he enjoyed their gaiety. For this seemed to him a sign of convalescence. So he slipped out into the open and talked to his animals.
“Where is their distress now?” he said, and immediately he felt relief from his own little annoyance. “Up here with me, it seems, they have unlearned crying in distress. Although unfortunately not yet crying in general.” And Zarathustra covered up his ears, for just then the Yeah-Yuh of the ass was strangely blended with the jubilating noise of these higher men.
“They are merry,” he began again, “and, who knows? perhaps at their host's expense. And if they learned to laugh from me, it still is not
my
laughter that they have learned. But what does it matter? They are old people, convalescing in their own way, laughing in their own way; my ears have suffered worse things without becoming grumpy. This day represents a triumph: he is even now retreating, he is fleeing,
the
spirit of gravity
, my old archenemy. How happily this day wants to end after beginning so badly and gravely. And it
wants
to end. Even now evening is approaching: he is riding over the sea, this good rider. How the blessed one, returning home, sways in his crimson saddle! The sky looks clear, the world lies deep: O all you strange visitors, living with me is well worth while!”
my
laughter that they have learned. But what does it matter? They are old people, convalescing in their own way, laughing in their own way; my ears have suffered worse things without becoming grumpy. This day represents a triumph: he is even now retreating, he is fleeing,
the
spirit of gravity
, my old archenemy. How happily this day wants to end after beginning so badly and gravely. And it
wants
to end. Even now evening is approaching: he is riding over the sea, this good rider. How the blessed one, returning home, sways in his crimson saddle! The sky looks clear, the world lies deep: O all you strange visitors, living with me is well worth while!”
Thus spoke Zarathustra. And again the clamor and laughter of the higher men came to him from the cave, so he began again: “They are biting, my bait is worksing: from them too their enemy retreats, the spirit of gravity. Even now they have learned to laugh at themselves: do I hear right? My virile nourishment, the savor and strength of my words, are taking effect; and verily, I did not feed them bloating vegetables, but warriors' nourishment, conquerors' nourishment: I wakened new desires. New hopes throb in their arms and legs; their hearts stretch out. They are finding new words, soon their spirit will breathe prankishness. Such nourishment, to be sure, may not be suitable for children or for nostalgic old and young little females. Their entrails are persuaded in a different way; I am not their physician and teacher.
“Nausea is retreating from these higher men. Well then! That is my triumph. In my realm they feel safe, all stupid shame runs away, they unburden themselves. They unburden their hearts, good hours come back to them, they celebrate and chew the cud: they become grateful. This I take to be the best sign: they become grateful. Not much longer, and they will think up festivals and put up monuments to their old friends. They are convalescing!” Thus spoke Zarathustra gaily to his heart, and he looked out; but his animals pressed close to him and respected his happiness and his silence.
2Suddenly, however, Zarathustra's ears were startled; for the cave which had so far been full of noise and laughter suddenly became deathly still, while his nose perceived a pleasant smoke and incense, as of burning pine cones. “What is going on? What are they doing?” he asked himself, and he stole to the entrance to watch his guests, unnoticed. But, wonder upon wonder! What did he have to see with his own eyes?
“They have all become pious again, they are praying, they are mad!” he said, and he was amazed beyond measure. And indeed, all these higher men, the two kings, the retired pope, the wicked magician, the voluntary beggar, the wanderer and shadow, the old soothsayer, the conscientious in spirit, and the ugliest manâthey were all kneeling like children and devout little old women and adoring the ass. And just then the ugliest man began to gurgle and snort as if something inexpressible wanted to get out of him; but when he really found words, behold, it was a pious, strange litany to glorify the adored and censed ass. And this litany went thus:
Â
Amen! And praise and honor and wisdom and thanks and glory and strength be to our god, from everlasting to everlasting!
But the ass brayed: Yea-Yuh.
He carries our burden, he took upon himself the form of a servant, he is patient of heart and never says No; and whoever loves his God, chastises him.
But the ass brayed: Yea-Yuh.
He does not speak, except he always says Yea to the world he created: thus he praises his world. It is his cleverness that does not speak: thus he is rarely found to be wrong.
But the ass brayed: Yea-Yuh.
Plain-looking, he walks through the world. Gray is the body color in which he shrouds his virtue. If he has spirit, he hides it; but everybody believes in his long ears.
But the ass brayed: Yea-Yuh.
What hidden wisdom it is that he has long ears and only says Yea and never No! Has he not created the world in his own image, namely, as stupid as possible?
But the ass brayed: Yea-Yuh.
You walk on straight and crooked paths; it matters little to you what seems straight or crooked to us men. Beyond good and evil is your kingdom. It is your innocence not to know what innocence is.
But the ass brayed: Yea-Yuh.
Behold how you push none away from you, not the beggars nor the kings. Little children you let come unto you, and when sinners entice you, you simply say Yea-Yuh.
But the ass brayed: Yea-Yuh.
You love she-asses and fresh figs; you do not despise food. A thistle tickles your heart if you happen to be hungry. In this lies the wisdom of a god.
But the ass brayed: Yea-Yuh.
THE ASS FESTIVAL1
At this point of the litany Zarathustra could no longer control himself and himself shouted Yea-Yuh, even louder than the ass, and he jumped right into the middle of his guests, who had gone mad. “But what are you doing there, children of men?” he cried as he pulled the praying men up from the floor. “Alas, if someone other than Zarathustra had watched you! Everyone would judge that with your new faith you were the worst blasphemers or the most foolish of all little old women.
“And you too, old pope, how do you reconcile this with yourself that you adore an ass in this way as a god?”
“O Zarathustra,” replied the pope, “forgive me, but in what pertains to God I am even more enlightened than you. And that is proper. Better to adore God in this form than in no form at all! Think about this maxim, my noble friend: you will quickly see that there is wisdom in such a maxim.
“He who said, âGod is a spirit,' took the biggest step and leap to disbelief that anybody has yet taken on earth: such a saying can hardly be redressed on earth. My old heart leaps and jumps that there is still something on earth to adore. Forgive, O Zarathustra, an old pious pope's heart!”
“And you,” Zarathustra said to the wanderer and shadow, “you call and consider yourself a free spirit? And you go in for such idolatry and popery? You are behaving even more wickedly, verily, than with your wicked brown girls, you wicked new believer.”
“Wickedly enough,” replied the wanderer and shadow; “you are right: but is it my fault? The old god lives again, Zarathustra, you may say what you will. It is all the fault of the ugliest man: he has awakened him again. And when he says that he once killed himâin the case of gods
death
is always a mere prejudice.”
death
is always a mere prejudice.”
“And you,” said Zarathustra, “you wicked old magician, what have you done? Who should henceforth believe in you in this free age, if
you
believe in such theo-asininities? It was a stupidity that you committed; how could you, you clever one, commit such a stupidity?”
you
believe in such theo-asininities? It was a stupidity that you committed; how could you, you clever one, commit such a stupidity?”
“O Zarathustra,” replied the clever magician, “you are right, it was a stupidity; and it was hard enough for me too.”
“And you of all people,” said Zarathustra to the conscientious in spirit, “consider with a finger alongside your nose: doesn't anything here go against your conscience? Is your spirit not too clean for such praying and the haze of these canters?”
“There is something in this,” replied the conscientious man, placing a finger alongside his nose; “there is something in this spectacle that even pleases my conscience. Perhaps I may not believe in God; but it is certain that God seems relatively most credible to me in this form. God is supposed to be eternal, according to the witness of the most pious: whoever has that much time, takes his time. As slowly and as stupidly as possible: in
this
way, one like that can still get very far.
this
way, one like that can still get very far.
“And whoever has too much spirit might well grow foolishly fond of stupidity and folly itself. Think about yourself, O Zarathustra! You yourselfâverily, overabundance and wisdom could easily turn you too into an ass. Is not the perfect sage fond of walking on the most crooked ways? The evidence shows this, O Zarathustraâand
you
are the evidence.”
you
are the evidence.”
“And you yourself, finally,” said Zarathustra, turning to the ugliest man, who still lay on the ground, and raising his arm toward the ass (for he was offering him wine to drink). “Speak, you inexpressible one, what have you done? You seem changed to me, your eyes are glowing, the cloak of the sublime lies over your ugliness:
what
have you done? Is it true what they say, that you have wakened him again? And why? Had he not been killed and finished for a reason? You yourself seem awakened to me: what have you done? Why did
you
revert? Why did
you
convert yourself? Speak, you inexpressible one!”
what
have you done? Is it true what they say, that you have wakened him again? And why? Had he not been killed and finished for a reason? You yourself seem awakened to me: what have you done? Why did
you
revert? Why did
you
convert yourself? Speak, you inexpressible one!”
Other books
1514642093 (R) by Amanda Dick
The Conversations (New Directions Paperbook) by Aira, César
A Killer First Date by Alyxandra Harvey
Armed With Steele by Kyra Jacobs
Chasing Cassidy by D. Kelly
Cowboy Trouble (The McCord Brothers 1.5) by Delores Fossen
The Summer the World Ended by Matthew S. Cox
Pulse - Part Two by Deborah Bladon
Thanksgiving 101 by Rick Rodgers
Flashman in the Peninsula by Robert Brightwell