The Soothsayer

“—and I saw a great sadness come over humankind. The best grew weary of their works.

“A teaching went forth, a faith ran beside it: ‘All is empty, all is the same, all has been!’

“And from all the hills it echoed: ‘All is empty, all is the same, all has been!’

“We have harvested, it is true: but why did all our fruits turn rotten and brown? What fell down from the evil moon last night?

“In vain was all our labor, our wine has turned to poison, an evil eye has scorched our fields and hearts yellow.

“We have all grown dry; and if fire falls on us, we turn to dust like ashes:—yes, we have made fire itself weary.

“All our wells have dried up, even the sea has drawn back. All ground wants to split open, but the depth will not swallow!

“‘Ah, where is there still a sea in which one could drown’: so our lament sounds—away over shallow swamps.

“Truly, we have grown too weary even to die; now we go on waking and living on—in burial vaults!”—

Thus Zarathustra heard a soothsayer speak; and his prophecy went to his heart and transformed him. Sad and weary he went about; and he became like those of whom the soothsayer had spoken.

Truly, so he said to his disciples, a little while yet, and this long twilight comes. Ah, how shall I save my light to the other side!

That it may not suffocate in this sadness! For it shall be a light to farther worlds and to the farthest nights besides!

Thus troubled in his heart, Zarathustra went about; and for three days he took neither drink nor food, had no rest, and lost his speech. At last it happened that he fell into a deep sleep. But his disciples sat around him in long night watches and waited anxiously to see whether he would wake and speak again and be healed of his gloom.

But this is the speech that Zarathustra spoke when he woke; and his voice came to his disciples as if from a great distance.

Hear the dream I dreamed, you friends, and help me guess its meaning!

A riddle it still is to me, this dream; its meaning is hidden in it and caught, and does not yet fly over it with free wings.

I had renounced all life, so I dreamed. I had become a night watchman and a watchman of graves, there in the lonely mountain castle of death.

Up there I guarded his coffins: the musty vaults stood full of such trophies of victory. Out of glass coffins life that had been overcome gazed at me.

I breathed the smell of dust-covered eternities: sultry and dust-covered lay my soul. And who could have aired his soul there!

The brightness of midnight was always around me, loneliness crouched beside it; and, as the third, death-rattling silence, the worst of my friends.

Keys I carried, the rustiest of all keys; and I knew how to open with them the most creaking of all gates.

Like a bitterly wicked croaking the sound ran through the long corridors when the gate’s wings swung up: unfriendly this bird screamed, unwilling to be woken.

But more fearful still and more heart-wringing it was when it fell silent again and all around grew still, and I sat alone in this treacherous silence.

So time passed for me and crept, if there still was time: what do I know of it! But at last that happened which woke me.

Three times blows struck the gate, like thunder, three times the vaults echoed and howled again: then I went to the gate.

Alpa! I cried, who carries his ashes up the mountain? Alpa! Alpa! Who carries his ashes up the mountain?

And I pressed the key and heaved at the gate and strained. But still it did not stand open a finger’s breadth:

Then a roaring wind tore its wings apart: whistling, shrilling, and cutting, it threw a black coffin toward me:

And in the roaring and whistling and shrilling the coffin burst and spewed out thousandfold laughter.

And out of a thousand grimaces of children, angels, owls, fools, and butterflies as big as children, it laughed and mocked and roared at me.

I was horribly frightened by it: it threw me to the ground. And I cried out in horror as I have never cried.

But my own cry woke me:—and I came to myself.—

Thus Zarathustra told his dream and then fell silent: for he did not yet know the interpretation of his dream. But the disciple whom he loved most rose quickly, grasped Zarathustra’s hand, and said:

“Your life itself interprets this dream for us, O Zarathustra!

“Are you not yourself the wind with shrill whistling that tears open the gates of the castles of death?

“Are you not yourself the coffin full of motley malices and angel-grimaces of life?

“Truly, like thousandfold children’s laughter Zarathustra comes into all burial chambers, laughing at these night watchmen and watchmen of graves, and at whoever else rattles with gloomy keys.

“You will frighten them and throw them down with your laughter; fainting and awakening will prove your power over them.

“And even when the long twilight comes and the weariness unto death, you will not go under in our sky, you advocate of life!

“New stars you have let us see, and new splendors of the night; truly, laughter itself you have spread over us like a motley tent.

“Now children’s laughter will always well up out of coffins; now a strong wind will always come victorious to all weariness unto death: of this you yourself are our guarantor and soothsayer!

“Truly, you dreamed them themselves, your enemies: that was your heaviest dream!

“But as you woke from them and came to yourself, so shall they wake from themselves—and come to you!”—

Thus spoke the disciple; and all the others now crowded around Zarathustra and seized him by the hands and wanted to persuade him to leave his bed and his sadness and return to them. But Zarathustra sat upright on his bed, with a strange look. Like one who comes home from a long stay abroad, he looked at his disciples and examined their faces; and still he did not recognize them. But when they lifted him and set him on his feet, behold, all at once his eye was transformed; he understood all that had happened, stroked his beard, and said in a strong voice:

“Well then! This has its time; but see to it, my disciples, that we have a good meal, and quickly! Thus I mean to do penance for bad dreams!

“But the soothsayer shall eat and drink at my side: and truly, I will yet show him a sea in which he can drown!”

Thus spoke Zarathustra. But then he looked for a long time into the face of the disciple who had played the interpreter of dreams, and shook his head as he did.—