Ecce Homo Complete Works, Volume Seventeen

OF THE POVERTY OF THE RICHEST Ten years passed by— Not a drop reached me, No rain-fraught wind, no dew of love —A rainless land.... Now entreat I my wisdom Not to become stingy in this drought; Overflow thyself, trickle thy dew, Be thyself the rain of the parched wilderness! I once bade the clouds Depart from my mountains; Once I said to them, "More light, ye dark ones!" To-day I entice them to come: Make me dark with your udders: —I would milk you, Ye cows of the heights! Milk-warm wisdom, sweet dew of love I pour over the land. Away, away, ye truths That look so gloomy! I will not have on my mountains Bitter, impatient truths. May truth approach me to-day Gilded by smiles, Sweetened by the sun, browned by love,— A ripe truth I would fain break off from the tree. To-day I stretch my hands Toward the tresses of chance, Wise enough to lead, To outwit chance like a child. To-day I will be hospitable 'Gainst the unwelcome, 'Gainst destiny itself I will not be prickly.... —Zarathustra is no hedgehog. My soul, Insatiable with its tongue, Has already tasted of all things good and evil, And has dived into all depths. But ever, like the cork, It swims to the surface again, And floats like

oil upon brown seas: Because of this soul men call me fortunate. Who are my father and mother? Is not my father Prince Plenty? And my mother Silent Laughter? Did not the union of these two Beget me, the enigmatic beast— Me, the monster of light— Me, Zarathustra, the squanderer of all wisdom? Sick to-day from tenderness, A dewy wind, Zarathustra sits waiting, waiting on his mountains— Sweet and stewing In his own juice, Beneath his own summit, Beneath his ice, Weary and happy, A Creator on his seventh day. —Silence! A truth passes over me Like a cloud,— With invisible lightnings it strikes me, On broad, slow stairs, Its happiness climbs to me: Come, come, beloved truth! —Silence! 'Tis my truth! From timid eyes, From velvet shudders, Her glance meets mine, Sweet and wicked, a maiden's glance. She has guessed the reason of my happiness, She has guessed me—ha! what is she thinking? A purple dragon Lurks in the abyss of her maiden's glance. —Silence! My truth is speaking!— "Woe to thee, Zarathustra! Thou lookest like one That hath swallowed gold: They will slit up thy belly yet! Thou art too rich, Thou corrupter of many! Thou makest too many jealous, Too many poor.... Even on me thy

light casts a shadow— I feel chill: go away, thou rich one Go away, Zarathustra, from the path of thy sun BETWEEN BIRDS OF PREY Who would here descend, How soon Is he swallowed up by the depths! But thou, Zarathustra, Still lovest the abysses, Lovest them as doth the fir tree! The fir flings its roots Where the rock itself gazes Shuddering at the depths,— The fir pauses before the abysses Where all around Would fain descend: Amid the impatience Of wild, rolling, leaping torrents It waits so patient, stern and silent, Lonely.... Lonely! Who would venture Here to be guest— To be thy guest? A bird of prey, perchance Joyous at others' misfortune, Will cling persistent To the hair of the steadfast watcher, With frenzied laughter, A vulture's laughter.... Wherefore so steadfast? —Mocks he so cruel: He must have wings, who loves the abyss, He must not stay on the cliff, As thou who hangest there!— O Zarathustra, Cruellest Nimrod! Of late still a hunter of God, A spider's web to capture virtue, An arrow of evil! Now Hunted by thyself, Thine own prey Caught in the grip of thine own soul. Now Lonely to me and thee, Twofold in thine own knowledge, Mid a hundred mirrors False to thyself, Mid

a hundred memories Uncertain, Weary at every wound, Shivering at every frost, Throttled in thine own noose, Self-knower! Self-hangman! Why didst bind thyself With the noose of thy wisdom? Why luredst thyself Into the old serpent's paradise? Why stolest into Thyself, thyself?... A sick man now, Sick of serpent's poison, A captive now Who hast drawn the hardest lot: In thine own shaft Bowed as thou workest, In thine own cavern Digging at thyself, Helpless quite, Stiff, A cold corse Overwhelmed with a hundred burdens, Overburdened by thyself, A knower! A self-knower! The wise Zarathustra!... Thou soughtest the heaviest burden, So foundest thou thyself, And canst not shake thyself off.... Watching, Chewing, One that stands upright no more! Thou wilt grow deformed even in thy grave, Deformed spirit! And of late still so proud On all the stilts of thy pride! Of late still the godless hermit, The hermit with one comrade—the devil, The scarlet prince of every devilment!... Now— Between two nothings Huddled up, A question-mark, A weary riddle, A riddle for vultures.... They will "solve" thee, They hunger already for thy "solution," They flutter already about their "riddle," About thee, the

doomed one! O Zarathustra, Self-knower! Self-hangman! THE SUN SINKS I Not much longer thirstest thou, O burnt-up heart! Promise is in the air, From unknown mouths I feel a breath, —The great coolness comes.... My sun stood hot above me at noonday: A greeting to you that are coming, Ye sudden winds, Ye cool spirits of afternoon! The air is strange and pure. See how the night Leers at me with eyes askance, Like a seducer!... Be strong, my brave heart, And ask not "Why?" 2 The day of my life! The sun sinks, And the calm flood Already is gilded. Warm breathes the rock: Did happiness at noonday Take its siesta well upon it? In green light Happiness still glimmers up from the brown abyss Day of my life! Eventide's nigh, Thy eye already Glows half-broken, Thy dew already Pours out its tear-drops, Already over the white seas Walks the purple of thy love, Thy last hesitating holiness.... 3 Golden gaiety, come! Thou, the sweetest foretaste— Foretaste of death! —Went I my way too swiftly? Now that the foot grows weary, Thine eye still catches me, Thy happiness still catches me. Around but waves and play. Whatever was hard —Sank into blue oblivion. My boat now stands idle. Storm and

motion—how did it forget them! Desire and Hope are drowned, Sea and soul are becalmed. Seventh Solitude! Never felt! Sweet certainty nearer, Or warmer the sun's ray. —Glows not the ice of my summit yet? Silvery, light, a fish Now my vessel swims out.... THE LAST DESIRE[1] So would I die As then I saw him die, The friend, who like a god Into my darkling youth Threw lightning's light and fire: Buoyant yet deep was he, Yea, in the battle's strife With the gay dancer's heart. Amid the warriors His was the lightest heart, Amid the conquerors His brow was dark with thought— He was a fate poised on his destiny: Unbending, casting thought into the past And future, such was he. Fearful beneath the weight of victory, Yet chanting, as both victory and death Came hand and hand to him. Commanding even as he lay in death, And his command that man annihilate. So would I die As then I saw him die, Victorious and destroying. THE BEACON Here, where the island grew amid the seas, A sacrificial rock high-towering, Here under darkling heavens, Zarathustra lights his mountain-fires, A beacon for ships that have strayed, A beacon for them that have an answer!... These flames with grey-white belly, In

cold distances sparkle their desire, Stretches its neck towards ever purer heights— A snake upreared in impatience: This signal I set up there before me. This flame is mine own soul, Insatiable for new distances, Speeding upward, upward its silent heat. Why flew Zarathustra from beasts and men? Why fled he swift from all continents? Six solitudes he knows already— But even the sea was not lonely enough for him, On the island he could climb, on the mount he became flame, At the seventh solitude He casts a fishing-rod far o'er his head. Storm-tossed seamen! Wreckage of ancient stars Ye seas of the future! Uncompassed heavens! At all lonely ones I now throw my fishing-rod. Give answer to the flame's impatience, Let me, the fisher on high mountains, Catch my seventh, last solitude!—— FAME AND ETERNITY[2] I Speak, tell me, how long wilt thou brood Upon this adverse fate of thine? Beware, lest from thy doleful mood A countenance 90 dark is brewed That men in seeing thee divine A hate more bitter than the brine. * * * * Speak, why does Zarathustra roam Upon the towering mountain-height? Distrustful, cankered, dour, his home Is shut so long from human sight? * * * * See, suddenly flames

forth a lightning-flash, The pit profound with thunderous challenge fights Against the heavens, midst clamorous crack and crash Of the great mountain! Cradled in the heights, Born as the fruit of hate and lightning's love, The wrath of Zarathustra dwells above And looms with menace of a thundercloud. * * * * Ye, who have roofs, go quickly, creep and hide! To bed, ye tenderlings! For thunders loud Upon the blasts of storm triumphant ride, And bastions and ramparts sway and rock, The lightning sears the dusky face of night, And eerie truths like gleams of Hades mock The sense familiar. So in storm breaks forth The flaming curse of Zarathustra's wrath. 2 This fame, which all the wide world loves, I touch with gloves, And scorning beat Beneath my feet. * * * * Who hanker after the pay of it? Who cast themselves in the way of it? These prostitutes to gold, These merchant folk. They fold Their unctuous palms over the jingling fame, Whose ringing chink wins all the world's acclaim. * * * * Hast thou the lust to buy? It needs no skill. They are all venal. Let thy purse be deep, And let their greedy paws unhindered creep Into its depths. So let them take their fill, For if thou dost not

offer them enough, Their "virtue" they'll parade, to hide their huff. * * * * They are all virtuous, yea every one. Virtue and fame are ever in accord So long as time doth run, The tongues that prate of virtue as reward Earn fame. For virtue is fame's clever bawd. * * * * Amongst these virtuous, I prefer to be One guilty of all vile and horrid sin! And when I see fame's importunity So advertise her shameless harlotry, Ambition turns to gall. Amidst such kin One place alone, the lowest, would I win. * * * * This fame, which all the wide world loves, I touch with gloves, And scorning beat Beneath my feet. 3 Hush! I see vastness!—and of vasty things Shall man be dumb, unless he can enshrine Them with his words? Then take the might which brings The heart upon thy tongue, charmed wisdom mine! * * * * I look above, there rolls the star-strown sea. O night, mute silence, voiceless cry of stars! And lo! A sign! The heaven its verge unbars— A shining constellation falls towards me. 4 O loftiest, star-clustered crown of Being! O carved tablets of Eternity! And dost thou truly bend thy way to me? Thy loveliness, to all—obscurity, What? Fear'st not to unveil before my seeing? * * * * O shield

of Destiny! O carven tablets of Eternity! Yea, verily, thou knowest—what mankind doth hate, What I alone do love: thou art inviolate To strokes of change and time, of fates the fate! 'Tis only thou, O dire Necessity, Canst kindle everlasting love in me! * * * * O loftiest crown of Life! O shield of Fate! That no desire can reach to invocate, That ne'er defiled or sullied is by Nay, Eternal Yea of life, for e'er am I thy Yea: For I love thee, Eternity!