《查拉图斯特拉如是说·第三部》第17节
L. ON THE OLIVE-MOUNT. Winter, a bad guest, sitteth with me at home; blue are my hands with his friendly hand-shaking. I honour him, that bad guest, but gladly leave him alone. Gladly do I run away from him; and when one runneth WELL, then one escapeth him! With warm feet and warm thoughts do I run where the wind is calm—to the sunny corner of mine olive-mount. There do I laugh at my stern guest, and am still fond of him; because he cleareth my house of flies, and quieteth many little noises. For he suffereth it not if a gnat wanteth to buzz, or even two of them; also the lanes maketh he lonesome, so that the moonlight is afraid there at night. A hard guest is he,—but I honour him, and do not worship, like the tenderlings, the pot-bellied fire-idol. Better even a little teeth-chattering than idol-adoration!—so willeth my nature. And especially have I a grudge against all ardent, steaming, steamy fire-idols. Him whom I love, I love better in winter than in summer; better do I now mock at mine enemies, and more heartily, when winter sitteth in my house. Heartily, verily, even when I CREEP into bed—: there, still laugheth and wantoneth my hidden happiness; even my deceptive dream laugheth. I, a—creeper? Never in my life did I creep before the powerful; and if ever I lied, then did I lie out of love. Therefore am I glad even in my winter-bed. A poor bed warmeth me more than a rich one, for I am jealous of my poverty. And in winter she is most faithful unto me. With a wickedness do I begin every day: I mock at the winter with a cold bath: on that account grumbleth my stern house-mate. Also do I like to tickle him with a wax-taper, that he may finally let the heavens emerge from ashy-grey twilight. For especially wicked am I in the morning: at the early hour when the pail rattleth at the well, and horses neigh warmly in grey lanes:— Impatiently do I then wait, that the clear sky may finally dawn for me, the snow-bearded winter-sky, the hoary one, the whitehead,— —The winter-sky, the silent winter-sky, which often stifleth even its sun! Did I perhaps learn from it the long clear silence? Or did it learn it from me? Or hath each of us devised it himself? Of all good things the origin is a thousandfold,—all good roguish things spring into existence for joy: how could they always do so—for once only! A good roguish thing is also the long silence, and to look, like the winter-sky, out of a clear, round-eyed countenance:— —Like it to stifle one’s sun, and one’s inflexible solar will: verily, this art and this winter-roguishness have I learnt WELL!
注释摘要
查拉图斯特拉此刻已从海上归返大陆，却并未径直返回他的山穴，而是在人间多做盘桓。这一节正接续着他对“矮化的人类”的失望与嘲讽之后，陡然转入一种近乎独语的内在场面。冬天被他拟人化为一位“坏客人”，这严酷季节强行登门，握住了他的双手，把他的手冻得发青。他称这种握手为“友好的”，言下自有深意：冬日的凛冽恰恰是真实而诚挚的触碰，胜过一切浮泛的温情。于是他逃离开来，逃…