查拉图斯特拉如是说 英文版 Thus Spake Zarathustra
尼采 Friedrich Nietzsche
L. On the Olive-Mount.
Winter, a bad guest, sitteth with me at home; blue are my hands with hisfriendly hand-shaking.
I honour him, that bad guest, but gladly leave him alone. Gladly do I runaway from him; and when one runneth WELL, then one escapeth him!
With warm feet and warm thoughts do I run where the wind is calm--to thesunny corner of mine olive-mount.
There do I laugh at my stern guest, and am still fond of him; because hecleareth my house of flies, and quieteth many little noises.
For he suffereth it not if a gnat wanteth to buzz, or even two of them;also the lanes maketh he lonesome, so that the moonlight is afraid there atnight.
A hard guest is he,--but I honour him, and do not worship, like thetenderlings, the pot-bellied fire-idol.
countenance:--moonlight is afraid .
Better even a little teeth-chattering than idol-adoration!--so willeth mynature. And especially have I a grudge against all ardent, steaming,steamy fire-idols.
Him whom I love, I love better in winter than in summer; better do I nowmock at mine enemies, and more heartily, when winter sitteth in my house.
Heartily, verily, even when I CREEP into bed--: there, still laugheth andwantoneth my hidden happiness; even my deceptive dream laugheth.
I, a--creeper? Never in my life did I creep before the powerful; and ifever I lied, then did I lie out of love. Therefore am I glad even in mywinter-bed.
A poor bed warmeth me more than a rich one, for I am jealous of my poverty.And in winter she is most faithful unto me.
With a wickedness do I begin every day: I mock at the winter with a coldbath: on that account grumbleth my stern house-mate.
Also do I like to tickle him with a wax-taper, that he may finally let theheavens emerge from ashy-grey twilight.
For especially wicked am I in the morning: at the early hour when the pailrattleth at the well, and horses neigh warmly in grey lanes:--
Impatiently do I then wait, that the clear sky may finally dawn for me, thesnow-bearded winter-sky, the hoary one, the white-head,--
--The winter-sky, the silent winter-sky, which often stifleth even its sun!
Did I perhaps learn from it the long clear silence? Or did it learn itfrom me? Or hath each of us devised it himself?
Of all good things the origin is a thousandfold,--all good roguish thingsspring into existence for joy: how could they always do so--for once only!
they may OVERLOOK.
A good roguish thing is also the long silence, and to look, like thewinter-sky, out of a clear, round-eyed countenance:--
--Like it to stifle one's sun, and one's inflexible solar will: verily,this art and this winter-roguishness have I learnt WELL!
My best-loved wickedness and art is it, that my silence hath learned not tobetray itself by silence.
Clattering with diction and dice, I outwit the solemn assistants: allthose stern watchers, shall my will and purpose elude.
That no one might see down into my depth and into mine ultimate will--forthat purpose did I devise the long clear silence.
Many a shrewd one did I find: he veiled his countenance and made his watermuddy, that no one might see therethrough and thereunder.
But precisely unto him came the shrewder distrusters and nut-crackers:precisely from him did they fish his best-concealed fish!
But the clear, the honest, the transparent--these are for me the wisestsilent ones: in them, so PROFOUND is the depth that even the clearestwater doth not--betray it.--
Thou snow-bearded, silent, winter-sky, thou round-eyed whitehead above me!Oh, thou heavenly simile of my soul and its wantonness!
And MUST I not conceal myself like one who hath swallowed gold--lest mysoul should be ripped up?
MUST I not wear stilts, that they may OVERLOOK my long legs--all thoseenviers and injurers around me?
Those dingy, fire-warmed, used-up, green-tinted, ill-natured souls--howCOULD their envy endure my happiness!
Thus do I show them only the ice and winter of my peaks--and NOT that mymountain windeth all the solar girdles around it!
They hear only the whistling of my winter-storms: and know NOT that I alsotravel over warm seas, like longing, heavy, hot south-winds.
They commiserate also my accidents and chances:--but MY word saith:"Suffer the chance to come unto me: innocent is it as a little child!"
How COULD they endure my happiness, if I did not put around it accidents,and winter-privations, and bear-skin caps, and enmantling snowflakes!
--If I did not myself commiserate their PITY, the pity of those enviers andinjurers!
--If I did not myself sigh before them, and chatter with cold, andpatiently LET myself be swathed in their pity!
This is the wise waggish-will and good-will of my soul, that it CONCEALETHNOT its winters and glacial storms; it concealeth not its chilblainseither.
To one man, lonesomeness is the flight of the sick one; to another, it isthe flight FROM the sick ones.
Let them HEAR me chattering and sighing with winter-cold, all those poorsquinting knaves around me! With such sighing and chattering do I fleefrom their heated rooms.
him, that bad guest, but!
Let them sympathise with me and sigh with me on account of my chilblains:"At the ice of knowledge will he yet FREEZE TO DEATH!"--so they mourn.
Meanwhile do I run with warm feet hither and thither on mine olive-mount:in the sunny corner of mine olive-mount do I sing, and mock at all pity.--
Thus sang Zarathustra.