Passing By

Thus slowly wandering through many peoples and divers cities, did Zarathustra return by round-about roads to his mountains and his cave. And behold, thereby came he unawares also to the gate of the GREAT CITY. Here, however, a foaming fool, with extended hands, sprang forward to him and stood in his way. It was the same fool whom the people called “the ape of Zarathustra:” for he had learned from him something of the expression and modulation of language, and perhaps liked also to borrow from the store of his wisdom. And the fool talked thus to Zarathustra:

Zarathustra wandered slowly through many lands and cities, taking winding roads back to his mountains and his cave. Along the way, he came unexpectedly to the gate of the GREAT CITY. There, a foaming fool sprang toward him with outstretched hands and blocked his way. This was the fool people called “the ape of Zarathustra.” He had learned something of Zarathustra’s way of speaking and its rhythms. Perhaps he also liked to borrow from Zarathustra’s store of wisdom. And the fool spoke to Zarathustra:

O Zarathustra, here is the great city: here hast thou nothing to seek and everything to lose.

O Zarathustra, here is the great city. You have nothing to seek here and everything to lose.

Why wouldst thou wade through this mire? Have pity upon thy foot! Spit rather on the gate of the city, and—turn back!

Why would you wade through this mud? Have pity on your foot! Spit on the city gate instead, and turn back!

Here is the hell for anchorites’ thoughts: here are great thoughts seethed alive and boiled small.

This is hell for the thoughts of hermits: here, great thoughts are boiled alive and reduced to nothing.

Here do all great sentiments decay: here may only rattle-boned sensations rattle!

Here all great feelings decay. Here only rattling, bony sensations may rattle!

Smellest thou not already the shambles and cookshops of the spirit? Steameth not this city with the fumes of slaughtered spirit?

Can you already smell the slaughterhouses and cookshops of the spirit? Doesn’t this city steam with the fumes of slaughtered spirit?

Seest thou not the souls hanging like limp dirty rags?—And they make newspapers also out of these rags!

Don't you see the souls hanging like limp, dirty rags? And they make newspapers out of these rags too!

Hearest thou not how spirit hath here become a verbal game? Loathsome verbal swill doth it vomit forth!—And they make newspapers also out of this verbal swill.

Can’t you hear how the spirit has become a game of words here? It vomits up disgusting verbal swill! And they make newspapers out of this verbal swill too.

They hound one another, and know not whither! They inflame one another, and know not why! They tinkle with their pinchbeck, they jingle with their gold.

They chase one another, not knowing where they are going! They stir one another up, not knowing why! They tinkle with their fake gold, they jingle with their real gold.

They are cold, and seek warmth from distilled waters: they are inflamed, and seek coolness from frozen spirits; they are all sick and sore through public opinion.

They are cold and seek warmth in distilled waters. They are burning up and seek relief in frozen spirits. Public opinion has made them all sick and sore.

All lusts and vices are here at home; but here there are also the virtuous; there is much appointable appointed virtue:—

All lusts and vices are at home here. But virtuous people are here too. There is much virtue fit for office and appointed to office.

Much appointable virtue with scribe-fingers, and hardy sitting-flesh and waiting-flesh, blessed with small breast-stars, and padded, haunchless daughters.

Much virtue fit for office, with clerks’ fingers and tough flesh for sitting and waiting, blessed with small medals and padded daughters with no hips.

There is here also much piety, and much faithful spittle-licking and spittle-backing, before the God of Hosts.

There is also much piety here, and much faithful spit-licking and spit-backing before the God of Hosts.

“From on high,” drippeth the star, and the gracious spittle; for the high, longeth every starless bosom.

“From above,” the star and the gracious spit drip down. For every starless heart longs for the heights.

The moon hath its court, and the court hath its moon-calves: unto all, however, that cometh from the court do the mendicant people pray, and all appointable mendicant virtues.

The moon has its court, and the court has its moon-calves. But the beggar people pray to everything that comes from the court. So do all beggar virtues eligible for appointment.

“I serve, thou servest, we serve”—so prayeth all appointable virtue to the prince: that the merited star may at last stick on the slender breast!

“I serve, you serve, we serve.” So all virtue seeking office prays to the prince, so that the well-earned star may finally be pinned to its slender breast!

But the moon still revolveth around all that is earthly: so revolveth also the prince around what is earthliest of all—that, however, is the gold of the shopman.

But the moon still revolves around all that is earthly. In the same way, the prince revolves around what is most earthly of all: the shopkeeper’s gold.

The God of the Hosts of war is not the God of the golden bar; the prince proposeth, but the shopman—disposeth!

The God of the armies of war is not the God of the gold bar. The prince proposes, but the shopkeeper decides!

By all that is luminous and strong and good in thee, O Zarathustra! Spit on this city of shopmen and return back!

By all that is bright, strong, and good in you, Zarathustra! Spit on this city of shopkeepers and turn back!

Here floweth all blood putridly and tepidly and frothily through all veins: spit on the great city, which is the great slum where all the scum frotheth together!

Here, all blood flows through all veins, rotten, lukewarm, and foaming. Spit on the great city! It is the great slum where all the scum foams together!

Spit on the city of compressed souls and slender breasts, of pointed eyes and sticky fingers—

Spit on the city of cramped souls and narrow chests, of sharp eyes and sticky fingers.

—On the city of the obtrusive, the brazen-faced, the pen-demagogues and tongue-demagogues, the overheated ambitious:—

On the city of pushy people, the shameless, the demagogues of the pen and the tongue, and the feverishly ambitious:

Where everything maimed, ill-famed, lustful, untrustful, over-mellow, sickly-yellow and seditious, festereth pernicious:—

Where everything maimed, disreputable, lustful, distrustful, overripe, sickly yellow, and rebellious festers and spreads harm:

—Spit on the great city and turn back!—

Spit on the great city and turn back!

Here, however, did Zarathustra interrupt the foaming fool, and shut his mouth.—

At this point, however, Zarathustra interrupted the foaming fool and shut his mouth.

Stop this at once! called out Zarathustra, long have thy speech and thy species disgusted me!

Stop this at once! Zarathustra called out. Your speech and your kind have disgusted me for a long time!

Why didst thou live so long by the swamp, that thou thyself hadst to become a frog and a toad?

Why did you live by the swamp for so long that you had to become a frog and a toad yourself?

Floweth there not a tainted, frothy, swamp-blood in thine own veins, when thou hast thus learned to croak and revile?

Doesn't tainted, frothy swamp blood flow in your own veins, when you have learned to croak and insult others like this?

Why wentest thou not into the forest? Or why didst thou not till the ground? Is the sea not full of green islands?

Why didn’t you go into the forest? Or why didn’t you farm the land? Isn’t the sea full of green islands?

I despise thy contempt; and when thou warnedst me—why didst thou not warn thyself?

I despise your contempt. And when you warned me, why didn't you warn yourself?

Out of love alone shall my contempt and my warning bird take wing; but not out of the swamp!—

My contempt and my warning bird will take flight from love alone, not from the swamp!

They call thee mine ape, thou foaming fool: but I call thee my grunting-pig,—by thy grunting, thou spoilest even my praise of folly.

They call you my ape, you foaming fool. But I call you my grunting pig. With your grunting, you spoil even my praise of folly.

What was it that first made thee grunt? Because no one sufficiently FLATTERED thee:—therefore didst thou seat thyself beside this filth, that thou mightest have cause for much grunting,—

What first made you grunt? No one FLATTERED you enough. So you sat down beside this filth to give yourself plenty of reason to grunt.

—That thou mightest have cause for much VENGEANCE! For vengeance, thou vain fool, is all thy foaming; I have divined thee well!

So that you might have a reason for much VENGEANCE! For all your foaming is vengeance, you vain fool. I have seen right through you!

But thy fools’-word injureth ME, even when thou art right! And even if Zarathustra’s word WERE a hundred times justified, thou wouldst ever—DO wrong with my word!

But your fool’s words hurt ME, even when you are right! And even if Zarathustra’s words WERE justified a hundred times over, you would always DO wrong with my words!

Thus spake Zarathustra. Then did he look on the great city and sighed, and was long silent. At last he spake thus:

Thus spoke Zarathustra. Then he looked at the great city and sighed. He was silent for a long time. At last he spoke:

I loathe also this great city, and not only this fool. Here and there— there is nothing to better, nothing to worsen.

I hate this great city too, not just this fool. Here and there, nothing can be improved or made worse.

Woe to this great city!—And I would that I already saw the pillar of fire in which it will be consumed!

Woe to this great city! I wish I could already see the pillar of fire that will consume it!

For such pillars of fire must precede the great noontide. But this hath its time and its own fate.—

For such pillars of fire must come before the great noon. But this has its own time and its own fate.

This precept, however, give I unto thee, in parting, thou fool: Where one can no longer love, there should one—PASS BY!—

But I leave you with this advice, fool: Where you can no longer love, PASS BY!

Thus spake Zarathustra, and passed by the fool and the great city.

So Zarathustra spoke and passed by the fool and the great city.