Existentialism
Friedrich Nietzsche
(1844 - 1900)
Thus Spake Zarathustra
|
A
sublime one saw I today, a solemn one, a penitent of the
spirit: Oh, how my soul laughed at his ugliness! (thus
spake zarathustra) |
28.The
Rabble
LIFE is a well of delight; but where the
rabble also drink, there all fountains are poisoned.
To everything cleanly am I well disposed;
but I hate to see the grinning mouths and the thirst of the unclean.
They cast their eye down into the fountain:
and now glanceth up to me their odious smile out of the fountain.
The holy water have they poisoned with
their lustfulness; and when they called their filthy dreams delight, then
poisoned they also the words.
Indignant becometh the flame when they
put their damp hearts to the fire; the spirit itself bubbleth and smoketh
when the rabble approach the fire.
Mawkish and over-mellow becometh the fruit
in their hands: unsteady, and withered at the top, doth their look make
the fruit-tree.
And many a one who hath turned away from
life, hath only turned away from the rabble: he hated to share with them
fountain, flame, and fruit.
And many a one who hath gone into the wilderness
and suffered thirst with beasts of prey, disliked only to sit at the cistern
with filthy camel-drivers.
And many a one who hath come along as a
destroyer, and as a hailstorm to all cornfields, wanted merely to put
his foot into the jaws of the rabble, and thus stop their throat.
And it is not the mouthful which hath most
choked me, to know that life itself requireth enmity and death and torture-crosses:But
I asked once, and suffocated almost with my question: What? Is the rabble
also necessary for life?
Are poisoned fountains necessary, and stinking
fires, and filthy dreams, and maggots in the bread of life?
Not my hatred, but my loathing, gnawed
hungrily at my life! Ah, ofttimes became I weary of spirit, when I found
even the rabble spiritual!
And on the rulers turned I my back, when
I saw what they now call ruling: to traffic and bargain for power- with
the rabble!
Amongst peoples of a strange language did
I dwell, with stopped ears: so that the language of their trafficking
might remain strange unto me, and their bargaining for power.
And holding my nose, I went morosely through
all yesterdays and todays: verily, badly smell all yesterdays and todays
of the scribbling rabble!
Like a cripple become deaf, and blind,
and dumb- thus have I lived long; that I might not live with the power-rabble,
the scribe-rabble, and the pleasure-rabble.
Toilsomely did my spirit mount stairs,
and cautiously; alms of delight were its refreshment; on the staff did
life creep along with the blind one.
What hath happened unto me? How have I
freed myself from loathing? Who hath rejuvenated mine eye? How have I
flown to the height where no rabble any longer sit at the wells?
Did my loathing itself create for me wings
and fountain-divining powers? Verily, to the loftiest height had I to
fly, to find again the well of delight!
Oh, I have found it, my brethren! Here
on the loftiest height bubbleth up for me the well of delight! And there
is a life at whose waters none of the rabble drink with me!
Almost too violently dost thou flow for
me, thou fountain of delight! And often emptiest thou the goblet again,
in wanting to fill it!
And yet must I learn to approach thee more
modestly: far too violently doth my heart still flow towards thee:My heart
on which my summer burneth, my short, hot, melancholy, over-happy summer:
how my summer heart longeth for thy coolness!
Past, the lingering distress of my spring!
Past, the wickedness of my snowflakes in June! Summer have I become entirely,
and summer-noontide!
A summer on the loftiest height, with cold
fountains and blissful stillness: oh, come, my friends, that the stillness
may become more blissful!
For this is our height and our home: too
high and steep do we here dwell for all uncleanly ones and their thirst.
Cast but your pure eyes into the well of
my delight, my friends! How could it become turbid thereby! It shall laugh
back to you with its purity.
On the tree of the future build we our
nest; eagles shall bring us lone ones food in their beaks!
Verily, no food of which the impure could
be fellow-partakers! Fire, would they think they devoured, and burn their
mouths!
Verily, no abodes do we here keep ready
for the impure! An ice-cave to their bodies would our happiness be, and
to their spirits!
And as strong winds will we live above
them, neighbours to the eagles, neighbours to the snow, neighbours to
the sun: thus live the strong winds.
And like a wind will I one day blow amongst
them, and with my spirit, take the breath from their spirit: thus willeth
my future.
Verily, a strong wind is Zarathustra to
all low places; and this counsel counselleth he to his enemies, and to
whatever spitteth and speweth: "Take care not to spit against the
wind!"Thus spake Zarathustra.
Ce
qu'on fait n'est jamais compris mais seulement loué ou blâmé.
Nietzsche, Gay Science |
