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41 - Thus Spake Zarathustra - Friedrich Nietzsche · The Philosophy Insights Collection

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  Part two, Chapter forty one. The soothsayer and I saw a great sadness
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  come over mankind. The best turned weary of their works. A doctrine appeared,
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  A faith ran beside it. All is empty, all is alike,
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  all hath been, And from all hills there re echoed, all is empty,
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  all is alike, all hath been. To be sure, we have
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  harvested. But why have all our fruits become rotten and brown? What was
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  it fell last night from the evil moon? In vain? Was all our
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  labor poison? Hath our wine become the evil eye? Hath singed? Yellow?
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  Our fields and hearts erid? Have we all become and fire falling upon
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  us? Then do we turn dust like ashes? Yea, the fire itself?
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  Have we made a weary? All our fountains have dried up? Even
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  the sea hath receded. All the ground trieth to gape, But the depth
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  will not swallow. Alas where is there still a sea in which one could
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  be drowned? So soundeth our plaint across shallow swamps verily, even for dying?
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  Have we become too weary? Now? Do we keep awake and live
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  on? In sepulchers? Thus did Zarathustra hear a soothsayer speak, and the
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  foreboding touched his heart and transformed him. Sorrowfully did he go about and wearily,
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  and he became like unto those of whom the soothsayer had spoken. Verily
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  said he he unto his disciples a little while, and there cometh of the
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  long twilight. Alas, how shall I preserve my light through it, that
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  it may not smother in this sorrowfulness? To a remoter world, shall it
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  be a light, and also to remotest nights. Thus did Zarathustra go about,
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  grieved in his heart, and for three days he did not take any
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  meat or drink. He had no rest, and lost his speech. At
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  last it came to pass that he fell into a deep sleep. His disciples,
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  however, sat around him in long night watches, and waited anxiously to
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  see if he would awake and speak again and recover from his affliction. And
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  this is the discourse that Zarathustra spake. When he awoke. His voice,
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  however, came unto his disciples as from afar. Here, I pray you
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  the dream that I dreamed, my friends, and help me to divine its
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  meaning. A riddle is it still unto me this dream. The meaning is
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  hidden in it and encaged, and doth not yet fly above it on free
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  pinions. All life had I renounced, so I dreamed night watchmen and grave
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  guardian. Had I become aloft in the lone mountain fortress of death? There
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  did I guard his coffins full stood the musty vaults of those trophies of victory.
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  Out of glass coffins. Did vanquished life gaze upon me? The odor
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  of dust covered eternities. Did I breathe? Sultry and dust covered lay my
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  soul? And who could have aired his soul? There? Brightness of midnight
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  was ever around me. Lonesomeness cowered beside her, and as the third death
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  rattle stillness the worst of my female friends. Keys did I carry, the
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  rustiest of all keys, and I knew how to open with them? The
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  most creaking of all gates, Like bitterly angry croaking, ran the sound through
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  the long corridors. When the leaves of the gate opened, ungraciously did this
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  bird cry? Unwillingly was it awakened? But more frightful even, and more
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  heart strangling was it when it again became silent and still All around and I
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  alone sat in that malignant silence. Thus did time pass with me and slip
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  by? If time there still was, what do I know thereof? But
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  at last there happened that which awoke me. Thrice did there peal peals at
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  the gate like thunders? Thrice did the vaults resound and howl again? Then
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  did I go to the gate? Alpa, cried, I who carrieth his
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  ashes unto the mountain? Alpa, Alpa, who carrieth his ashes unto the
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  mountain? And I pressed the key and pulled at the gate, and exerted
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  myself, But not a finger's breadth was it yet open. Then did a
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  roaring wind tear the folds apart, whistling, whizzing and piercing. It threw
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  unto me a black coffin, And in the roaring and whistling and whizzing,
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  the coffin burst up and spouted out a thousand peals of laughter, and a
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  thousand caricatures of children, angels, owls, fools, and a child sized
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  butterflies laughed and mocked and roared at me fearfully? Was I terrified? Thereby
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  it prostrated me, and I cried with horror as ne'er I cried before,
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  but mine own crying awoke me, and I came to myself. Thus did
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  Zarathustra relate his dream, and then was silent, for as yet he knew
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  not the interpretation thereof. But the disciple, whom he loved most arose quickly
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  seized Zarathustra's hand and said, thy life itself interpreteth unto us this dream of
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  Zarathustra. Art thou not thyself. The wind with shrill whistling, which bursteth
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  open the gates of the fortress of death. Art thou not thyself. The
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  coffin full of many hued malices and angel caricatures of life, like a thousand
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  peals of children's laughter, cometh Zarathustra into all sepulchers, laughing at those night
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  watchmen and grave guardians, and whoever else rattleth with sinister keys. With thy
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  laughter. Wilt thou frighten and prostrate them? Fainting and recovering, will demonstrate
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  Thy power over them. And when the long twilight cometh and the mortal weariness,
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  even then, wilt thou not disappear from our firmament. Thou, advocate
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  of life new stars, hast thou made us see a new nocturnal glories.
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  Verly laughter itself, hast thou spread out over us like a many hued canopy.
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  Now will children's laughter ever from coffin's flow? Now will a stronger wind
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  ever come victoriously onto all mortal weariness? Of this? Thou art thyself,
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  the pledge and the prophet. Verily they themselves didst thou dream thine enemies.
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  That was thy sorest dream. But as thou wokest from them and camest to
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  thyself, so shall they awaken from themselves and come unto thee. Thus spake
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  the Disciple and all the others. Then thronged around Zarathustra, grasped him by
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  the hands, and tried to persuade him to leave his bed in his sadness
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  and return unto them. Zarathustra, however, sat upright on his couch,
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  with an absent look, like one returning from long foreign sojourn. Did he
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  look on his disciples and examine their features, But still he knew them not.
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  When however, they raised him and set him upon his feet, behold,
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  all on a sudden his eye changed. He understood everything that had happened,
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  stroked his beard and said with a strong voice. Well, this hath
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  just its time. But see to it, my disciples, that we have
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  a good repast and without delay. Thus do I mean to make amends for
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  bad dreams. The soothsayer, however, shall eat and drink at my side,
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  and verily I will yet show him a sea in which he can drown
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  himself. Thus spake Zarathustra. Then did he gaze long into the face of
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  the disciple who had been the dream interpreter, and shook his head. End
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  of chapter forty one.