Or they look for long evenings at a crafty, lurking cross-spider, that preaches prudence to the spiders themselves, and teaches that «under crosses it is good for web-spinning!»
Or they sit all day at swamps with angle-rods, and on that account think themselves profound; but whoever fishes where there are no fish, I do not even call him superficial!
Or they learn in godly-gay style to play the harp with a hymn-poet, who would rather harp himself into the heart of young girls:- for he has tired of old girls and their praises.
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Or they learn to shudder with a learned semi-madcap, who waits in darkened rooms for spirits to come to him- and the spirit runs away entirely!
Or they listen to an old roving howl- and growl-piper, who has learned from the sad winds the sadness of sounds; now pips he as the wind, and preaches sadness in sad strains.
And some of them have even become night-watchmen: they know now how to blow horns, and go about at night and awaken old things which have long fallen asleep.
Five words about old things did I hear last night at the garden-wall: they came from such old, sorrowful, arid night-watchmen.
«For a father he cares not sufficiently for his children: human fathers do this better!»-
«He is too old! He now cares no more for his children,»- answered the other night-watchman.
«Has he then children? No one can prove it unless he himself prove it! I have long wished that he would for once prove it thoroughly.»
«Prove? As if he had ever proved anything! Proving is difficult to him; he lays great stress on one’s believing him.»
«Ay! Ay! Belief saves him; belief in him. That is the way with old people! So it is with us also!»-
-Thus spoke to each other the two old night-watchmen and light-scarers, and tooted then sorrowfully on their horns: so did it happen last night at the garden-wall.
To me, however, did the heart writhe with laughter, and was like to break; it knew not where to go, and sunk into the midriff.
It will be my death yet- to choke with laughter when I see asses drunk-en, and hear night-watchmen thus doubt about God.
Has the time not long since passed for all such doubts? Who may nowadays awaken such old slumbering, light-shunning things!
With the old Deities has it long since come to an end:- and verily, a good joyful Deity-end had they!
They did not «twilight» themselves to death- that do people fabricate! On the contrary, they- laughed themselves to death once on a time!
That took place when the ungodliest utterance came from a God him-self- the utterance: «There is but one God! you shall have no other gods before me!»-
-An old grim-beard of a God, a jealous one, forgot himself in such wise:-
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And all the gods then laughed, and shook upon their thrones, and ex-claimed: «Is it not just divinity that there are gods, but no God?»
He that has an ear let him hear.-
Thus talked Zarathustra in the city he loved, which is surnamed «The Pied Cow.» For from here he had but two days to travel to reach once more his cave and his animals; his soul, however, rejoiced unceasingly on account of the nighness of his return home.
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Chapter 9 The Return Home
O SOLITUDE! My home, solitude! Too long have I lived wildly in wild remoteness, to return to you without tears!
Now threaten me with the finger as mothers threaten; now smile upon me as mothers smile; now say just: «Who was it that like a whirlwind once rushed away from me?-
-Who when departing called out: ‘Too long have I sat with solitude; there have I unlearned silence!’ That have you learned now- surely?
O Zarathustra, everything do I know; and that you were more for-saken amongst the many, you unique one, than you ever were with me!
One thing is forsakenness, another matter is solitude: that have you now learned! And that amongst men you will ever be wild and strange:
-Wild and strange even when they love you: for above all they want to be treated indulgently!
Here, however, are you at home and house with yourself; here can you utter everything, and unbosom all motives; nothing is here ashamed of concealed, congealed feelings.
Here do all things come caressingly to your talk and flatter you: for they want to ride upon your back. On every simile do you here ride to every truth.
Honestly and openly may you here talk to all things: and verily, it sounds as praise in their ears, for one to talk to all things- directly!
Another matter, however, is forsakenness. For, do you remember, O Zarathustra? When your bird screamed overhead, when you stood in the forest, irresolute, ignorant where to go, beside a corpse:-
-When you spoke: ‘Let my animals lead me! More dangerous have I found it among men than among animals:’- That was forsakenness!
And do you remember, O Zarathustra? When you sat in your isle, a well of wine giving and granting amongst empty buckets, giving and distributing amongst the thirsty:
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-Until at last you alone sat thirsty amongst the drunken ones, and wailed nightly: ‘Is taking not more blessed than giving? And stealing yet more blessed than taking?’- That was forsakenness!
And do you remember, O Zarathustra? When your still hour came and drove you forth from yourself, when with wicked whispering it said: ‘Speak and perish!’-
-When it disgusted you with all your waiting and silence, and discour-aged your humble courage: That was forsakenness!»-
O solitude! My home, solitude! How blessedly and tenderly speaks your voice to me!
We do not question each other, we do not complain to each other; we go together openly through open doors.
For all is open with you and clear; and even the hours run here on lighter feet. For in the dark, time weighs heavier upon one than in the light.
Here fly open to me all beings’ words and word-cabinets: here all be-ing wants to become words, here all becoming wants to learn of me how to talk.
Down there, however- all talking is in vain! There, forgetting and passing-by are the best wisdom: that have I learned now!
He who would understand everything in man must handle everything. But for that I have too clean hands.
I do not like even to inhale their breath; alas! that I have lived so long among their noise and bad breaths!
O blessed stillness around me! O pure odours around me! How from a deep breast this stillness fetches pure breath! How it hearkens, this blessed stillness!
But down there- there speaks everything, there is everything mis-heard. If one announce one’s wisdom with bells, the shopmen in the market-place will out-jingle it with pennies!
Everything among them talks; no one knows any longer how to under-stand. Everything falls into the water; nothing falls any longer into deep wells.
Everything among them talks, nothing succeeds any longer and ac-complishes itself. Everything cackles, but who will still sit quietly on the nest and hatch eggs?
Everything among them talks, everything is out-talked. And that which yesterday was still too hard for time itself and its tooth, hangs today, outchamped and outchewed, from the mouths of the men of today.
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Everything among them talks, everything is betrayed. And what was once called the secret and secrecy of profound souls, belongs to-day to the street-trumpeters and other butterflies.
O human hubbub, you wonderful thing! you noise in dark streets! Now are you again behind me:- my greatest danger lies behind me!
In indulging and pitying lay ever my greatest danger; and all human hubbub wishes to be indulged and tolerated.
With suppressed truths, with fool’s hand and befooled heart, and rich in petty lies of pity:- thus have I ever lived among men.
Disguised did I sit amongst them, ready to misjudge myself that I might endure them, and willingly saying to myself: «You fool, you do not know men!»
One unlearns men when one lives amongst them: there is too much foreground in all men- what can far-seeing, far-longing eyes do there!
And, fool that I was, when they misjudged me, I indulged them on that account more than myself, being habitually hard on myself, and of-ten even taking revenge on myself for the indulgence.
Stung all over by poisonous flies, and hollowed like the stone by many drops of wickedness: thus did I sit among them, and still said to myself: «Innocent is everything petty of its pettiness!»
Especially did I find those who call themselves «the good,» the most poisonous flies; they sting in all innocence, they lie in all innocence; how could they- be just towards me!
He who lives amongst the good- pity teaches him to lie. Pity makes stifling air for all free souls. For the stupidity of the good is unfathomable.
To conceal myself and my riches- that did I learn down there: for every one did I still find poor in spirit. It was the lie of my pity, that I knew in every one.
-That I saw and scented in every one, what was enough of spirit for him, and what was too much!
Their stiff wise men: I call them wise, not stiff- thus did I learn to slur over words.
The grave-diggers dig for themselves diseases. Under old rubbish rest bad
