Latest / Logic Library / 70 - Thus Spake Zarathustra - Friedrich Nietzsche
Transcript
- Part four, Chapter seventy Noontide, and Zarathustra ran and ran, but he found no one else, and was alathe, and ever found himself again. He enjoyed and quaffed his solitude and thought of good things for hours. About the hour of noontide, However, when the sun stood exactly over the Tustra's head, he passed an old, bent and nile tree, which was encircled round by ardent love of a wine, and hidden from itself. From this there hung yellow grapes in abundance, confronting the wanderer. Then he felt inclined to quench a little thirst and to bake off for himself a cluster of grapes. When, however, he had already his arm outstretched for that purpose, he felt still still more inclined for something else, namely to lie down beside the tree at the hour of perfect now died asleep. This Zaratushtra did, and no sooner had delayed himself on the ground in the stillness and secrecy of the varigated grass, than he had forgotten his little thirst and fell asleep. For as the proverb of Zathustras said, one thing is more necessary than the other, only that his eyes remained open, for they never grew weary of viewing and admiring the tree and the love of the wine. In falling asleep, however, Zathustras spake thus to his heart, Hush, hush, hath not the world now become perfect? What hath happened unto me? As a delicate wing dances invisibly upon baquetted seas light feather light, so danceth sleep upon me. No ie doth it close to me? It leaveth my soul awake? Light? Is it wearily? Feather light? It persuadeth me? I know not how it toucheth me in wildly with a caressing hand. It constraineth me. Yeah, it constraineth me, so that my soul stretcheth itself out. How long and weary it becometh my strange soul. Hath the seventh day evening come to it precisely at noon tide? Hath it already wondered too long, blissfully among good and ripe things. It stretched itself out long longer it lies till my strange soul too many good things? Hath it already tasted? This golden sadness oppresses it it distorteth its mouth. As a ship that putteth into the calmest cove, it now drieth up to the land, wary of long wages and uncertain sees. Is not the land more faithful as such a ship hugketh the shore, tuggeth the shore. Then it sufficeth for a spider to spin its stread from the ship to the land. The stronger ropes are required there as such a very ship in the calmest cove. So do I also now repose nigh to the earth, faithful, trusting, waiting, bound to eat with the lightest threads. Oer happiness, Oh happiness. Wilt thou perhaps sing o my soul, thou liest in the grass? This is the secret solemn hour when the shepherd plait his pipe. Take care hot noontide sleepeth on the fields. Do not sing hush the world is perfect. Do not sing thou, bravery bird my soul. Do not even whisper lo hush the old noon tide sleepeth it moveth its mouth. Doth it not just now drink a drop of happiness, an old brown drop of golden happiness, golden wine, something which keith over it its happiness, laugh it. Thus laugheth a god. Hush for happiness, how little sufficeth for happiness? The spake I once and thought myself wise, But it was blasphemy that have iron nor learned wise? Fools speak better the least thing, precisely, the gentlest thing, the lightest thing, a lizard's rustling, a breath, our whisk, an eye glance, little maketh up the best happiness. Hush, what hath befallen me? Hark? Had time flown away? Do I not fall a haent? Not fallen? Hark into the well of eternity? What happeneth to me? Hush? Itch tingeth me alas to the heart, to the heart, Oh, break up, break up my heart, after such happiness, after such a sting? What hath not? The world has not become perfect? Round and ripe? Oh for the golden round ring. Whither doth it fly? Let me run after it? Quick? Hush? And there la Tustra stretched himself and felt that he was asleep. Up, said he to himself, thou sleeper, thou noon tight sleeper? Well then up yea old legs. It is time, and more than time when he a good stretch of road is still awaiting. You now have ye slept your fill for how long a time a half eternity? Well? Then up now mine old heart? For how long after such a sleep? May'st thou remain awake? But then tree fall asleep anew, and his soul spake against him and defend itself and lay down again. Leave me alone. Hush, hath not the world just now become perfect? Oh for the golden round ball. Get up, said d'artustra, Thou little thief, Thou sluggard, what still stretching thyself yawning, signing, falling into deep wells? Who art thou then o my soul? And here he became frightened for a sunbeam shot down from heaven about his face. Oh, heaven above me, said he, sighing, and sat upright. Thou gazest at me. Thou art canst unto my strange soul. When wilt thou drink this drop of dew that fell down on all earthly things, When wilt thou drink this strange soul, when thou well of eternity, Thou joyoust awful noon, tight abyss, When wilt thou drink my soul back into thee. Thus spake Zirtustra and rose from his couch beside the tree, as awakening from a strange drunkenness. And behold there stood the sun still exactly above his head. One night, however, rightly infer therefrom that Zaratustra had not then slept long end of Chapter seventy