Page:Thus Spake Zarathustra - Alexander Tille - 1896.djvu/288

 254 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, III

Dost thou not smell already the shambles and cook-shops of the spirit ? Doth not this city steam with the odour of butchered spirit ?

Dost thou not see the souls hang slack like filthy rags ? And they make even newspapers out of these rags !

Dost thou not hear how in this place the spirit hath become a play upon words ? Loathsome word- dishwater is vomited by it. And they make even newspapers out of that dishwater of words.

They hunt each other they know not whither. They make each other hot and know not why. They jungle with their tin foil ; they tinkle with their gold.

They feel cold and seek warmth for themselves in distilled waters ; they are hot and seek coolness in frozen spirits ; they are all sick and full of sores from public opinion.

All lusts and vices are here at home. But here also are virtuous ones, here is much competent virtue in service

Much competent virtue with fingers to write and hard flesh to sit and wait, blessed with small stars on the breast and stuffed small-haunched daughters.

Here also are much piety and much faithful spittle- licking and spittle-baking before the God of hosts.

For 'from above' the star droppeth, and the gra- cious spittle. Upwards every starless breast longeth.

The moon hath her court, and the court hath its

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