Chapter 50 Part Three on the Mount of Olives

Winter, a wicked guest, sits with me at home; my hand grows pale with his friendly handshake. I respect the villain, but I like to let him sit alone.I like to run away, of course I run tight, I left him— With my warm feet and warm thoughts, I ran to the place where the wind died down—— To the sunlit corner of my Mount of Olives. There I laugh at my serious guest!But liked him too; for he cleared my house of flies, and quieted every little tumult. The buzzing of a mosquito or two does not hurt him; he silences all the roads, so even the moonlight at night feels terrible there. He was a stern guest,--but I honor him, and do not pray to him a fire-god like the feeble to the pot-belly.

Even shivering from the cold is better than worshiping idols! —Those who are of my kind desire it.Especially I resent Vulcan, who is all smoky. My beloved, I loved him more in winter than in summer; I laughed at my enemies, and still more when winter now dwells in my house. Verily, more fervently, even when I climb into bed—: even then my secret happiness laughs and plays; even my deceitful dreams laugh. Am I a creeper?Never in my life have I crawled before power; if I lie down, I lie down for love.Therefore I rejoice even in my winter bed. A poor bed warms me more than a rich one, for I envy my poverty.My poverty is most faithful to me in severe winter.

I begin my day with an evil; I mock winter with cold baths: thus my stern guest resents. I also like to shine a candle on him, so that in the end he makes the blue sky appear from the dark gray dawn. Especially in the morning I do evil: in the morning the buckets ring in the well, the horses steam in the ashes. —— Then I waited anxiously, until at last the clear sky appeared, this white-haired winter sky, this silent winter sky, which often even shuts out the winter sun! Did I learn from it my long clarifying silence?Or did it learn from me?Or do we invent our own? All good comes from a thousand sources--all mischief, exists for pleasure: how can they do it just once!

A good and a bad is this long silence, and like the winter sky peeps with wide-open eyes from bright faces. --Smothered his own sun like the winter sky, Smothered his indomitable will of the sun: Verily, I have mastered this art and this winter's mischief-- That is my favorite trick and art, and my silence has learned not to betray itself by it. By chatter of words and dice, I outwit the stern expectant: it is my will and purpose to evade these stern watchers. No one can peer into my depths and my exhausted will - so I wish for myself long clear silences. I have seen many a wise man: he has covered his face, and made his waters muddy, so that no one may see the bottom.

But the wiser unbeliever and the nutshell-breaker, was upon him: was about to catch from him the well-hidden fish. But to me the wisest silent ones are the bright, brave, transparent ones: so deep is their bottom that not even the clearest water reveals it--thy white-haired winter sky, You wide-eyed silent one! You are the celestial specimen of my soul and joy. Must I not hide myself like one who swallows up gold, lest they search out my soul? I must walk without stilts; so that the envious and mutilated around me will not notice my long legs? How could these souls, smoky, smothered, weary, musty, gloomy, bear my happiness with their envy!

I would show them only the snow and winter on my peak,--not the mountains surrounded by my belt of the sun! They hear only the howling of my winter tempests: they do not know that I too have crossed warm seas like the South's hot winds. They pity my misfortunes and chances: but my way is this Let chances come!It is as innocent as a child! How can they bear my happiness, if I don't bring disaster.The misery of winter, the bearskin cap, and the snow coat, wrap it round it! If I did not pity the mercy of these envious and malicious ones! If only I hadn't breathed my last breath before them, and talked with the cold, and stoically let myself be surrounded by their mercy!

Such is the clever mischief and benevolence of my soul, which does not hide its winters and snow winds; it does not even hide its chilblains. There is one kind of solitude which is a refuge for the sick; another is a safe-house from disease. All those poor squint-eyed rascals around me, let them hear me breathe for winter's chills and sighs! In such shudders and breaths I escaped from their stuffy house. Let them pity and lament for my chilblains: we shall see him freeze to death in the icehouse of knowledge! — so they lamented. Meanwhile I walk here and there on the Mount of Olives with blazing feet: in the sunlit corner of the Mount of Olives I sing, I mock mercy. ——

Thus spake Zarathustra.