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<h2> XXVIII. THE RABBLE. </h2>
<p>Life is a well of delight; but where the rabble also drink, there all
fountains are poisoned.</p>
<p>To everything cleanly am I well disposed; but I hate to see the grinning
mouths and the thirst of the unclean.</p>
<p>They cast their eye down into the fountain: and now glanceth up to me
their odious smile out of the fountain.</p>
<p>The holy water have they poisoned with their lustfulness; and when they
called their filthy dreams delight, then poisoned they also the words.</p>
<p>Indignant becometh the flame when they put their damp hearts to the fire;
the spirit itself bubbleth and smoketh when the rabble approach the fire.</p>
<p>Mawkish and over-mellow becometh the fruit in their hands: unsteady, and
withered at the top, doth their look make the fruit-tree.</p>
<p>And many a one who hath turned away from life, hath only turned away from
the rabble: he hated to share with them fountain, flame, and fruit.</p>
<p>And many a one who hath gone into the wilderness and suffered thirst with
beasts of prey, disliked only to sit at the cistern with filthy
camel-drivers.</p>
<p>And many a one who hath come along as a destroyer, and as a hailstorm to
all cornfields, wanted merely to put his foot into the jaws of the rabble,
and thus stop their throat.</p>
<p>And it is not the mouthful which hath most choked me, to know that life
itself requireth enmity and death and torture-crosses:—</p>
<p>But I asked once, and suffocated almost with my question: What? is the
rabble also NECESSARY for life?</p>
<p>Are poisoned fountains necessary, and stinking fires, and filthy dreams,
and maggots in the bread of life?</p>
<p>Not my hatred, but my loathing, gnawed hungrily at my life! Ah, ofttimes
became I weary of spirit, when I found even the rabble spiritual!</p>
<p>And on the rulers turned I my back, when I saw what they now call ruling:
to traffic and bargain for power—with the rabble!</p>
<p>Amongst peoples of a strange language did I dwell, with stopped ears: so
that the language of their trafficking might remain strange unto me, and
their bargaining for power.</p>
<p>And holding my nose, I went morosely through all yesterdays and to-days:
verily, badly smell all yesterdays and to-days of the scribbling rabble!</p>
<p>Like a cripple become deaf, and blind, and dumb—thus have I lived
long; that I might not live with the power-rabble, the scribe-rabble, and
the pleasure-rabble.</p>
<p>Toilsomely did my spirit mount stairs, and cautiously; alms of delight
were its refreshment; on the staff did life creep along with the blind
one.</p>
<p>What hath happened unto me? How have I freed myself from loathing? Who
hath rejuvenated mine eye? How have I flown to the height where no rabble
any longer sit at the wells?</p>
<p>Did my loathing itself create for me wings and fountain-divining powers?
Verily, to the loftiest height had I to fly, to find again the well of
delight!</p>
<p>Oh, I have found it, my brethren! Here on the loftiest height bubbleth up
for me the well of delight! And there is a life at whose waters none of
the rabble drink with me!</p>
<p>Almost too violently dost thou flow for me, thou fountain of delight! And
often emptiest thou the goblet again, in wanting to fill it!</p>
<p>And yet must I learn to approach thee more modestly: far too violently
doth my heart still flow towards thee:—</p>
<p>My heart on which my summer burneth, my short, hot, melancholy, over-happy
summer: how my summer heart longeth for thy coolness!</p>
<p>Past, the lingering distress of my spring! Past, the wickedness of my
snowflakes in June! Summer have I become entirely, and summer-noontide!</p>
<p>A summer on the loftiest height, with cold fountains and blissful
stillness: oh, come, my friends, that the stillness may become more
blissful!</p>
<p>For this is OUR height and our home: too high and steep do we here dwell
for all uncleanly ones and their thirst.</p>
<p>Cast but your pure eyes into the well of my delight, my friends! How could
it become turbid thereby! It shall laugh back to you with ITS purity.</p>
<p>On the tree of the future build we our nest; eagles shall bring us lone
ones food in their beaks!</p>
<p>Verily, no food of which the impure could be fellow-partakers! Fire, would
they think they devoured, and burn their mouths!</p>
<p>Verily, no abodes do we here keep ready for the impure! An ice-cave to
their bodies would our happiness be, and to their spirits!</p>
<p>And as strong winds will we live above them, neighbours to the eagles,
neighbours to the snow, neighbours to the sun: thus live the strong winds.</p>
<p>And like a wind will I one day blow amongst them, and with my spirit, take
the breath from their spirit: thus willeth my future.</p>
<p>Verily, a strong wind is Zarathustra to all low places; and this counsel
counselleth he to his enemies, and to whatever spitteth and speweth: “Take
care not to spit AGAINST the wind!”—</p>
<p>Thus spake Zarathustra.</p>
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