Chapter 76
Among the Desert's Daughters
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“Go not away!” said then the wanderer who called himself Zarathustra’s shadow, “abide with us—otherwise the old gloomy affliction might again fall upon us.
“Don’t go!” said the wanderer who called himself Zarathustra’s shadow. “Stay with us. Otherwise, that old gloomy affliction might fall upon us again.”
Now hath that old magician given us of his worst for our good, and lo! the good, pious pope there hath tears in his eyes, and hath quite embarked again upon the sea of melancholy.
Now that old magician has given us his worst for our own good. And look! The good, pious pope has tears in his eyes and has set sail again on the sea of melancholy.
Those kings may well put on a good air before us still: for that have THEY learned best of us all at present! Had they however no one to see them, I wager that with them also the bad game would again commence,—
Those kings may still put on a good show before us. For of all of us today, THEY have learned that best! But if no one were watching them, I bet the bad game would begin again with them too.
—The bad game of drifting clouds, of damp melancholy, of curtained heavens, of stolen suns, of howling autumn-winds,
The bad game of drifting clouds, damp gloom, veiled skies, stolen suns, and howling autumn winds,
—The bad game of our howling and crying for help! Abide with us, O Zarathustra! Here there is much concealed misery that wisheth to speak, much evening, much cloud, much damp air!
What a dreadful game, our howling and crying for help! Stay with us, O Zarathustra! Here there is much hidden misery that wants to speak, much evening, much cloud, much damp air!
Thou hast nourished us with strong food for men, and powerful proverbs: do not let the weakly, womanly spirits attack us anew at dessert!
You have fed us hearty food for men and powerful sayings. Do not let weak, womanly spirits attack us again at dessert!
Thou alone makest the air around thee strong and clear! Did I ever find anywhere on earth such good air as with thee in thy cave?
You alone make the air around you strong and clear! Have I ever found such good air anywhere on earth as here with you in your cave?
Many lands have I seen, my nose hath learned to test and estimate many kinds of air: but with thee do my nostrils taste their greatest delight!
I have seen many lands, and my nose has learned to test and judge many kinds of air. But with you, my nostrils taste their greatest delight!
Unless it be,—unless it be—, do forgive an old recollection! Forgive me an old after-dinner song, which I once composed amongst daughters of the desert:—
Unless it is, unless it is, forgive me an old memory! Forgive me an old after-dinner song that I once composed among the daughters of the desert:
For with them was there equally good, clear, Oriental air; there was I furthest from cloudy, damp, melancholy Old-Europe!
For with them, too, the air was good, clear, and Oriental. There I was farthest from cloudy, damp, melancholy Old Europe!
Then did I love such Oriental maidens and other blue kingdoms of heaven, over which hang no clouds and no thoughts.
Then I loved such Eastern maidens and other blue kingdoms of heaven, where no clouds or thoughts hung overhead.
Ye would not believe how charmingly they sat there, when they did not dance, profound, but without thoughts, like little secrets, like beribboned riddles, like dessert-nuts—
You would not believe how charming they looked sitting there when they weren’t dancing. They seemed deep, but had no thoughts, like little secrets, like riddles tied with ribbons, like nuts served for dessert.
Many-hued and foreign, forsooth! but without clouds: riddles which can be guessed: to please such maidens I then composed an after-dinner psalm.”
Colorful and strange indeed, but without clouds: riddles that can be solved. To please such young women, I composed an after-dinner psalm.”
Thus spake the wanderer who called himself Zarathustra’s shadow; and before any one answered him, he had seized the harp of the old magician, crossed his legs, and looked calmly and sagely around him:—with his nostrils, however, he inhaled the air slowly and questioningly, like one who in new countries tasteth new foreign air. Afterward he began to sing with a kind of roaring.
So spoke the wanderer who called himself Zarathustra’s shadow. Before anyone answered him, he grabbed the old magician’s harp and crossed his legs. He looked around calmly and wisely. But he breathed in slowly through his nostrils, as if testing the air, like someone tasting unfamiliar air in a new country. Then he began to sing with a kind of roar.
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THE DESERTS GROW: WOE HIM WHO DOTH THEM HIDE!
THE DESERTS GROW: WOE TO THE ONE WHO HIDES THEM!
—Ha! Solemnly! In effect solemnly! A worthy beginning! Afric manner, solemnly! Of a lion worthy, Or perhaps of a virtuous howl-monkey— —But it’s naught to you, Ye friendly damsels dearly loved, At whose own feet to me, The first occasion, To a European under palm-trees, A seat is now granted. Selah. Wonderful, truly! Here do I sit now, The desert nigh, and yet I am So far still from the desert, Even in naught yet deserted: That is, I’m swallowed down By this the smallest oasis—: —It opened up just yawning, Its loveliest mouth agape, Most sweet-odoured of all mouthlets: Then fell I right in, Right down, right through—in ’mong you, Ye friendly damsels dearly loved! Selah. Hail! hail! to that whale, fishlike, If it thus for its guest’s convenience Made things nice!—(ye well know, Surely, my learned allusion?) Hail to its belly, If it had e’er A such loveliest oasis-belly As this is: though however I doubt about it, —With this come I out of Old-Europe, That doubt’th more eagerly than doth any Elderly married woman. May the Lord improve it! Amen! Here do I sit now, In this the smallest oasis, Like a date indeed, Brown, quite sweet, gold-suppurating, For rounded mouth of maiden longing, But yet still more for youthful, maidlike, Ice-cold and snow-white and incisory Front teeth: and for such assuredly, Pine the hearts all of ardent date-fruits. Selah. To the there-named south-fruits now, Similar, all-too-similar, Do I lie here; by little Flying insects Round-sniffled and round-played, And also by yet littler, Foolisher, and peccabler Wishes and phantasies,— Environed by you, Ye silent, presentientest Maiden-kittens, Dudu and Suleika, —ROUNDSPHINXED, that into one word I may crowd much feeling: (Forgive me, O God, All such speech-sinning!) —Sit I here the best of air sniffling, Paradisal air, truly, Bright and buoyant air, golden-mottled, As goodly air as ever From lunar orb downfell— Be it by hazard, Or supervened it by arrogancy? As the ancient poets relate it. But doubter, I’m now calling it In question: with this do I come indeed Out of Europe, That doubt’th more eagerly than doth any Elderly married woman. May the Lord improve it! Amen. This the finest air drinking, With nostrils out-swelled like goblets, Lacking future, lacking remembrances Thus do I sit here, ye Friendly damsels dearly loved, And look at the palm-tree there, How it, to a dance-girl, like, Doth bow and bend and on its haunches bob, —One doth it too, when one view’th it long!— To a dance-girl like, who as it seem’th to me, Too long, and dangerously persistent, Always, always, just on SINGLE leg hath stood? —Then forgot she thereby, as it seem’th to me, The OTHER leg? For vainly I, at least, Did search for the amissing Fellow-jewel —Namely, the other leg— In the sanctified precincts, Nigh her very dearest, very tenderest, Flapping and fluttering and flickering skirting. Yea, if ye should, ye beauteous friendly ones, Quite take my word: She hath, alas! LOST it! Hu! Hu! Hu! Hu! Hu! It is away! For ever away! The other leg! Oh, pity for that loveliest other leg! Where may it now tarry, all-forsaken weeping? The lonesomest leg? In fear perhaps before a Furious, yellow, blond and curled Leonine monster? Or perhaps even Gnawed away, nibbled badly— Most wretched, woeful! woeful! nibbled badly! Selah. Oh, weep ye not, Gentle spirits! Weep ye not, ye Date-fruit spirits! Milk-bosoms! Ye sweetwood-heart Purselets! Weep ye no more, Pallid Dudu! Be a man, Suleika! Bold! Bold! —Or else should there perhaps Something strengthening, heart-strengthening, Here most proper be? Some inspiring text? Some solemn exhortation?— Ha! Up now! honour! Moral honour! European honour! Blow again, continue, Bellows-box of virtue! Ha! Once more thy roaring, Thy moral roaring! As a virtuous lion Nigh the daughters of deserts roaring! —For virtue’s out-howl, Ye very dearest maidens, Is more than every European fervour, European hot-hunger! And now do I stand here, As European, I can’t be different, God’s help to me! Amen!
Ha! Solemnly! Indeed, solemnly! A worthy beginning! In the African manner, solemnly! Worthy of a lion, Or perhaps of a virtuous howler monkey. But that is nothing to you, My dear, friendly young women, At whose feet I, For the first time, A European under palm trees, Am now allowed to sit. Selah. Wonderful, truly! Here I sit now, Close to the desert, and yet Still so far from the desert, Not deserted at all: That is, I have been swallowed By this smallest of oases. It opened wide in a yawn, Its loveliest mouth gaping, The sweetest smelling of all little mouths. Then I fell right in, Right down, right through, among you, My dear, friendly young women! Selah. Hail! Hail to that fishlike whale, If it made things so pleasant For its guest's comfort! (You surely know The learned allusion I am making?) Hail to its belly, If it ever had Such a lovely oasis for a belly As this one, though I doubt it. With this doubt I come from Old-Europe, Which doubts more eagerly than any Elderly married woman. May the Lord improve it! Amen! Here I sit now, In this smallest of oases, Like a date, in fact, Brown, quite sweet, oozing gold, Longing for a young woman's round mouth, But longing even more for youthful, maidenly Front teeth, ice-cold, snow-white, and sharp. For teeth like these, surely, The hearts of all passionate dates long. Selah. Like those southern fruits I just mentioned, All too like them, I lie here, while little Flying insects Sniff and play around me, And still smaller, Foolisher, and more sinful Wishes and fantasies do the same. I am surrounded by you, You silent, most perceptive Maiden kittens, Dudu and Suleika, ROUNDSPHINXED, to pack so much feeling Into one word. (Forgive me, O God, All such sins against language!) Here I sit, sniffing the finest air, Paradise air, truly, Bright and buoyant air, flecked with gold, As fine as any air that ever Fell from the moon. Did it fall by chance, Or did it come down out of arrogance, As the ancient poets tell it? But, being a doubter, I now Question that. For I come From Europe, Which doubts more eagerly than any Elderly married woman. May the Lord improve it! Amen. Drinking this finest air, With nostrils swollen like goblets, Without a future, without memories, I sit here like this, my Dear, friendly young women, And look at that palm tree. It is like a dancer, Bowing, bending, and bobbing on its haunches. You do the same if you watch it long enough! It is like a dancer who, it seems to me, Has stood too long, dangerously long, Always, always, on just ONE leg. Has she, it seems to me, Forgotten the OTHER leg? For I, at least, searched in vain For the missing Matching jewel, The other leg, In the sacred space Near her dearest, tenderest Skirt, flapping and fluttering and flickering. Yes, my beautiful, friendly ones, If you will take my word for it, She has, alas, LOST it! Hu! Hu! Hu! Hu! Hu! It is gone! Gone forever! The other leg! Oh, pity that loveliest other leg! Where might it be now, weeping, utterly abandoned? That loneliest leg? Perhaps afraid of a Fierce, yellow, blond, curly Lion of a monster? Or perhaps even Gnawed away, badly nibbled. Most wretched, woeful! Woeful! Badly nibbled! Selah. Oh, do not weep, Gentle spirits! Do not weep, you Date-fruit spirits! Milk-bosoms! You little purses With hearts of sweet wood! Weep no more, Pale Dudu! Be a man, Suleika! Be bold! Bold! Or perhaps something strengthening, Something to strengthen the heart, Would be just right here? Some inspiring text? Some solemn call to action? Ha! Up now! Honor! Moral honor! European honor! Blow again, keep going, Bellows of virtue! Ha! Let me hear you roar again, Your moral roar! Roar like a virtuous lion Near the daughters of the deserts! For virtue's howl, My dearest young women, Surpasses every European passion, every hot European hunger! And now I stand here, As a European, I cannot be otherwise. God help me! Amen!
THE DESERTS GROW: WOE HIM WHO DOTH THEM HIDE!
THE DESERTS ARE GROWING: WOE TO THE ONE WHO HIDES THEM!