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 Zarathustra. His disciples laughed, sure enough, at this talk; and one of them said even: «Sooner would I believe that Zarathustra has 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 interview with the fire-dog:
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The earth, said he, has a skin; and this skin has 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 con-cerning all the spouting and subversive devils, of which not only old wo-men are afraid.
«Up with you, fire-dog, out of your depth!» cried I, «and confess how deep that depth is! Whence comes that which you snort up?
You drink copiously at the sea: that does your embittered eloquence betray! In sooth, for a dog of the depth, you take your nourishment too much from the surface!
At the most, I regard you as the ventriloquist of the earth: and ever, when I have heard subversive and spouting devils speak, I have found them like you: embittered, mendacious, and shallow.
You understand how to roar and obscure with ashes! You are the best braggarts, and have sufficiently learned the art of making dregs boil.
Where you are, there must always be dregs at hand, and much that is spongy, hollow, and compressed: it wants to have freedom.
‘Freedom’ you all roar most eagerly: but I have unlearned the belief in ‘great events,’ when there is much roaring and smoke about them.
And believe me, friend Hullabaloo! The greatest events- are not our noisiest, but our still hours.
Not around the inventors of new noise, but around the inventors of new values, does the world revolve; inaudibly it revolves.
And just own to it! Little had ever taken place when your 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 does it now arise, seducing by its suffering; and verily! it will yet thank you for o’erthrowing it, you 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 you may again come to life, and that virtue- may come to you!-«
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Thus spoke 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, you dissembling dog! you surely know your own species best!
Like yourself the state is a dissembling dog; like you does it like to speak with smoke and roaring- to make believe, like you, that it speaks out of the heart of things.
For it seeks 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 vapor 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 subsided; as soon, however, as he was quiet, I said laughingly:
«You are angry, fire-dog: so I am in the right about you!
And that I may also maintain the right, hear the story of another fire-dog; he speaks actually out of the heart of the earth.
Gold does his breath exhale, and golden rain: so does his heart desire. What are ashes and smoke and hot dregs to him!
Laughter flits from him like a variegated cloud; adverse is he to your gargling and spewing and grips in the bowels!
The gold, however, and the laughter- these does he take out of the heart of the earth: for, that you 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 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. You have surely heard something of the Wanderer and his Shadow?
One thing, however, is certain: I must keep a tighter hold of it; other-wise 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!’
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For what is it then- the highest time?»-Thus spoke Zarathustra.
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Chapter 19 The Soothsayer
«-AND I saw a great sadness come over mankind. The best turned weary of their works.
A doctrine appeared, a faith ran beside it: ‘All is empty, all is alike, all has been!’
And from all hills there re-echoed: ‘All is empty, all is alike, all has been!’
To be sure we have harvested: but why have all our fruits become rot-ten and brown? What was it fell last night from the evil moon?
In vain was all our labor, poison has our wine become, the evil eye has singed yellow our fields and hearts.
Arid have we all become; and fire falling upon us, then do we turn dust like ashes:- yes, the fire itself have we made aweary.
All our fountains have dried up, even the sea has receded. All the ground tries to gape, but the depth will not swallow!
‘Alas! where is there still a sea in which one could be drowned?’ so sounds our plaint- across shallow swamps.
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 transformed him. Sorrowfully did he go about and wearily; and he became like to those of whom the soothsayer had spoken.-
Said he to his disciples, a little while, and there comes the long twi-light. 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,
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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 what Zarathustra said when he awoke; his voice, however, came to 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 to me, this dream; the meaning is hidden in it and en-caged, and do 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 cor-ridors when the leaves of the gate opened: ungraciously did this bird cry, unwillingly 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.
Thrice did there peal peals at the gate like thunders, thrice did the vaults resound and howl again: then did I go to the sate.
Alpa!
