《查拉图斯特拉如是说·第二部》第39节
XLI. THE SOOTHSAYER. “—And I saw a great sadness come over mankind. The best turned weary of their works. A doctrine appeared, a faith ran beside it: ‘All is empty, all is alike, all hath been!’ And from all hills there re-echoed: ‘All is empty, all is alike, all hath been!’ To be sure we have harvested: but why have all our fruits become rotten and brown? What was it fell last night from the evil moon? In vain was all our labour, poison hath our wine become, the evil eye hath singed yellow our fields and hearts. Arid have we all become; and fire falling upon us, then do we turn dust like ashes:—yea, the fire itself have we made aweary. All our fountains have dried up, even the sea hath receded. All the ground trieth to gape, but the depth will not swallow! ‘Alas! where is there still a sea in which one could be drowned?’ so soundeth our plaint—across shallow swamps. Verily, even for dying have we become too weary; now do we keep awake and live on—in sepulchres.” Thus did Zarathustra hear a soothsayer speak; and the foreboding touched his heart and transformed him. Sorrowfully did he go about and wearily; and he became like unto those of whom the soothsayer had spoken.— Verily, said he unto his disciples, a little while, and there cometh the long twilight. Alas, how shall I preserve my light through it! That it may not smother in this sorrowfulness! To remoter worlds shall it be a light, and also to remotest nights! Thus did Zarathustra go about grieved in his heart, and for three days he did not take any meat or drink: he had no rest, and lost his speech. At last it came to pass that he fell into a deep sleep. His disciples, however, sat around him in long night-watches, and waited anxiously to see if he would awake, and speak again, and recover from his affliction. And this is the discourse that Zarathustra spake when he awoke; his voice, however, came unto his disciples as from afar: Hear, I pray you, the dream that I dreamed, my friends, and help me to divine its meaning! A riddle is it still unto me, this dream; the meaning is hidden in it and encaged, and doth not yet fly above it on free pinions. All life had I renounced, so I dreamed. Night-watchman and grave-guardian had I become, aloft, in the lone mountain-fortress of Death. There did I guard his coffins: full stood the musty vaults of those trophies of victory. Out of glass coffins did vanquished life gaze upon me. The odour of dust-covered eternities did I breathe: sultry and dust-covered lay my soul. And who could have aired his soul there!
注释摘要
预言家的这番话像一阵阴冷的风，吹透了查拉图斯特拉。在此之前的几个章节里，他刚刚经历过舞蹈、歌唱，甚至在火犬面前发出过战胜者的笑声——而此刻，一种巨大的悲哀忽然降临到他身上，不是来自外在的打击，而是源于一个简单却蚀骨的预告：一切都将归于空虚。 梦境里的查拉图斯特拉变成了另一个人。他不再是那个走下山去赠予智慧的人，而成了一个山巅死亡堡寨里的守夜人和守墓者。他的…